It is fiendishly hot here.

"I don't want to hear you," I'm sure I'll hear a chorus from anywhere the actual or virtual temperature has been 100°F or over. I'll remind you denizens of the 100-degree-zone that most of you do have air conditioning, or, I hope, a house that was built for hot weather: high ceilings, tall windows, and/or adobe. This is a small, old house built for cold weather; in hot weather, even with ceiling fans, it's downright tropical.

Pidgie seems to be taking it the worst. He's sitting around with his wings raised to get cool air, even though we have him near the fan. I put out a bowl of water for him and let him out—Frisky, the budgie we had when I was a girl, always took flutter baths on hot days—but he wouldn't avail himself of the water. Willow is just lying sacked out.

We have all the ceiling fans roaring, the floor fan on, and a little fan pulling whatever cool air there is in our bedroom. It's still sweltering.

It's tempting to run to Lowe's or BJ's and grab a window AC, but the temperatures are supposed to be cool by Thursday and it seems silly. It's been okay at night and tolerable during the day. Plus we're going to have to pay for a collation after the funeral and we need the money.

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 5:55:00 PM

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