Rain and Rudeness After five days of high humidity, 95-degree heat, the clouds opened around 5 AM and dropped cool rain on us. I got up to close the windows. By the time I finished I was also awake, and crept upstairs to get my e-mail. The house is limp. We are fan-cooled, except for one tiny AC unit hooked up in the kitchen, so everyone can have a crack at it. The dog has been pinned to the floor all week, his tongue swollen, his zest for canine life on hold. I looked in on my son Jon the other morning and realized that he has not opened his bedroom windows in a month. All this time he has been relying on a 5-inch fan in a sealed room. He was born dead, and was only revived with medical help. Perhaps this is part of that. When the index is in that range, it does something to your head; it discourages you from hoping. Many people love warm climates but I have felt the oppression of the jungle day, and understand how climate alone can keep people from summoning the energy to do things. And yes, I'm talking about Iowa. Yesterday Jon made a really boneheaded remark in the car. I invited my mom, who is living with us, to accompany me to pick him up at the Y. When he got in, he said, as if she were not there, or were even more deaf than she is: "What's up with Gramma?" It was precisely the wrong thing to say, as she has had him on
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