Something happened with our weather. We have been in the hundreds every day since like forever except for two in a row when the temperature plummeted to the mid 90s. Even our night-time temperatures fell to the chilly and almost unbearable 70s. I almost couldn’t stand it. All my cold weather clothing is packed and now we have substantial reductions in air temperature. Fortunately for me, our sudden ice age disappeared as quickly as it arrived bringing back those lovely triple digits with night-time lows of 96 degrees.
Speaking of things that are warm, Ed and I trudged to our DFAC the other evening to take part in the Italian fiesta that occurs on Tuesday nights. There certainly is no shortage of food and varieties of things Italian, but as you probably already surmised, none of it holds a candle to the flavorful goodness Kristine whips out with ease. Anyway I digress. No, the temperature of the food is not what brought this paragraph into being; it was actually the temperature of the liquid soap we wash our hands with. I’m sure you all recall that we have to wash our hands outside in the two sinks attached to the side of the DFAC. A plethora of aromatic soap bottles in vibrant colors sits around these two sinks with Arabic writing all over them. I normally walk up to the sink, turn on the cold water (94 degrees is cold here), get my hands wet, and hit the top of the nearest dispenser (I don’t care what color or smell it is) for two squirts of liquid cleanliness. However, something I hadn’t noticed before that was clearly apparent on this particular evening was the temperature of the soap. Once the first shot landed in my hand, I instinctively pulled my hand back because the soap was HOT! The second shot landed on the counter. I understand the properties of heat transference and radiation, but never thought purple Hibiscus-smelling soap would radiate enough BTUs to cause a red mark on my hand. It was only 111 degrees outside and although the soap was sitting in the sunlight, it was evening sunlight when ultra-violet rays are supposed to be less intense. I didn’t have my thermometer with me, but guessed the temperature of the soap at 163.4 degrees Fahrenheit. Unlike the French, I learned from this experience and now have a puddle of water in the palm of my hand before mortaring it with liquid magma.
Ooooeee, when Ed gets mad, he gets loud! The other morning we went out for our run and on the return trip of our loop, Ed was seething with anger. Ed runs with a focused view of the path approximately 15 feet in front of him. Rarely does he catch glimpses of the topless female Air Force athletes parading up and down the street, but instead looks for that one rock that could endanger the harmony in which his ankle may become disenfranchised with. On this one particular occasion, Ed encountered a runner with the same focal view running the opposite direction, but directly in front of Ed. Many years ago when I used to run on a track team our coaches always instructed us to run against traffic, not with it. This was so we could see on-coming vehicles and react accordingly if need be. Running with traffic meant that you relied solely upon your sense of hearing. Obviously, this guy running towards Ed had some track experience as he was running against traffic and now against Ed. The good news is that they missed each other. It was like two giant tortoises passing each other on the beach with reckless abandon. Neither was going to inflict any substantial damage on the other, but being that close to one another was infuriating. Once Ed had completed his running and we were walking down to the coffee shop to get a Mocha Frappe, he rambled on loudly and laboriously about this ass that was running down the wrong side of the road. My attempts to explain were futile and I soon realized his voice and calm demeanor would return shortly sometime in the next 53 minutes.
I understand why Ed was upset, but since it goes against my training I am not as sympathetic as he may have wanted me to be. Although Ed has yet to bring it up, I do get a little excited about people walking down the wrong side of the sidewalk. I know I have written about that before. This may be foreign air I am breathing, but I am walking down a sidewalk on an American base and since we are the landlords, we do things our way like walking on the right side of the side walk. This isn’t England or Japan you Egyptians, so walk on the right.
Our trash cans are here, our trash cans are here! No longer do we have to throw our trash in heaps and hope that the local Hajji workers will pick it all up and dispose of it properly. Our Chinese made, 25-gallon (it’s a rough guess), plastic, double-lidded, hygienically friendly trash receptacles are here. They come in myriad colors, but our buyers seem to have a preference for blue and red as those are the most prevalent of colors. There are a couple of green ones, but they are far and few. To compensate for their diminutive size, there are many more of these plastic wonders as opposed to our previous galvanized steel monstrosities.
Double-lidded means there is a smaller hinged lid in the top center of the lid itself. Because these are plastic and we have been known to have gentle breezes here, someone took the time to punch a hole in the outer lip of the lid and run parachute cord (AKA 550 cord) from the cute plastic handle to the lid. Whoever this experienced and thoughtful entity is, they also took it upon themselves to affix the trash can to a post, wall, or other extruding secure object via the 550 cord and that cute handle. I’m anxious to see how well that handle holds up in breezes just above 6 mph although since these small vessels are always full maybe there won’t be much tension on the handles. Nevertheless, there is no doubt in my mind that these Earth and people friendly containers will soon be distributing parts of themselves amongst the countryside when our anemometer exceeds anything above 10 mph.
OK Mom and Dad Palmer, you may have a few days over 100 down there in that arid environment you call Arizona, but we are now fully passing up your triple digits. Not to mention, you folks chose to live there knowing full well what the weather was like. Although I chose this job, I had nothing to do with picking this environment.
Ryan and I planned to go on a LUN (Long rUN) this evening. However, by 1700 it was still 107 in the shade. We pushed the time back close to 1800 when it was a much cooler 102.6. Thankfully Ed decided to find us during the run and provide some cool water (Ed was driving). We breached 115 today (again in the shade) and are expected to continue this ‘warming’ trend over the next couple of weeks. I recall back in December when Brian and I balked at running in minus 15 degrees because it was just too cold. I’m beginning to think anything over 85 is too hot to run in. I don’t mind sweating a little, but when the salt from your sweat metastasizes in cracks and crevices to form stalactites and stalagmites throughout your clothes and flesh, it’s time to reconsider. Right now I’m thinking a jog around the North Pole would be kind of nice.
I know this may seem hard to believe, but when the temperature increases so does the air that our air conditioner pushes into our rooms. We have been having a problem with the coolness of the air our Carrier Deluxe Air Conditioner is creating. We have had maintenance guys over here multiple times, and they all agree there is a problem with the return air duct. Great. The million dollar question is: “When will it get fixed?” This means that the coils in our unit freeze up because they are not getting an air flow to push into our rooms. So, with it being 107 in the shade outside, this same air is sucked through a rather large non-intended, mechanical, overheating opening and into our rooms. The result is hot air being blown into our rooms. As you have already probably discerned, I have made a few recommendations to the mechanics. Supposedly they are experts in HVAC maintenance, but it seems they have zero common sense. Since the problem is the air return (it obviously is not pulling enough air out of our hut), I have recommended fixing the air return line or disconnecting it all together. The second suggestion seems easiest to me. Actually, I think I will remedy this solution one evening in the near future.
My outside thermometer is no longer sending information. It still works, but is not transmitting the data to the base unit inside my hooch. I guess yesterday’s high of 115 was too much for it. I’m sure it came with a suggested temperature range on the box or instructions, but those have long been tossed away. I just hope it doesn’t turn into some gelatinous blob above 120.
The J-6 sent soldiers around the last couple of days this week and hooked up and tested cable lines. The cable is for TV and is free unless you want the expanded package for an additional $15 a month. Since basic cable already includes the Fashion Channel and the History Channel, I am good to go. The only time I really care about ESPN is during football season so there is no need for me to cough up that extra $15 besides; I’m not much of a TV watcher anyway.
The feng shui of my room just wasn’t cutting it. Sure I have more space than before, but the optically stimulating flow didn’t have the grandeur of a fully nude Rachel Welch (a few years back) so an adjustment was in order. If you’re gonna have things, they may as well have a useful place to reside. Order and purpose, that’s what I’m about! After the addition of a new shelf, a few hooks repositioned, and organization of a couple items I think I hit the mark. It only required the movement of my desk by one inch. I’m happy.
This week’s photo is of me in my room just prior to feng shui overhaul. I am about ready to open a package from my wife and have my little fold out knife in my hand. Ed captured this picture over the wall that separates us (there is about a four inch gap between the wall and ceiling). The little white signs on my door are originally from when the hut had a hallway down that center that the six rooms opened into and was the primary means in and out. The signs tell you what bunker to occupy and don’t slam the door. I’m leaving them up for nostalgia.
I’ve gotta get this one out. I’m late and can only partially blame the internet connection (well, maybe only a very small fraction of the blame). Next week I’ll relegate the tales of two brews, my current height of desert fashion, and driving slow in the fast lane. I may throw a couple of other things in there as well, but you’ll just have to wait.
Thanks for reading,
Craig
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