Love unfolding fiercely in the unbearable humid heat

Lots of people think that Minnesota is frozen tundra 365 days a year. It's not. Our summers can be hot and humid, and occasionally, like right now, unbearably hot and humid. Our heat indexes have been surpassing those even in the most tropical parts of the world. Check out this comparison.

I'm grateful for my old window air conditioner and the relief it provides from this heatwave. The last time I remember heat and humidity this high for this long, my kids were babies and we lived in a small house in Powderhorn Park with no air conditioning. I remember the indoor temperatures were well into the 80s.

My daughter, now 25, was a tough baby who cried for hours on end, whose little soul was inconsolable no matter how much love I offered. Last night sitting on my hot, humid front porch, feeling the thick, sticky, still night air, my ceiling fan whirling, I remembered this old piece of writing about that time. About heat, humidity, a ceiling fan, a crying baby, and how Sade saved us from ourselves:

1986

It's the nights that are the longest. She is such a hard baby. Crying all the time. Never napping. I think she is reacting to her adoption, to being yanked from one life to another. And it's been unbearably hot and humid. She is so tiny, so fierce. But we are finding a way to each others hearts. I hope the worst is over. Last night was a turning point.

My toddler son was already asleep. It was just me, the baby, the heat, the night, the whirl of the ceiling fan, her sobs. She wouldn't stop crying. I put on some music, Sade, to help me keep it together. It was music I thought was made for lovers, but last night it was music for a desperate mother and an inconsolable daughter.

For hours we slow danced.

I always hope that you remember/What we have is strong and tender/In the middle of the madness/Hold on/It's about faith /It's about trust...

Barefoot on the wood floor, my sticky skin pressed close to her little body, as the music swirled and the fan whirled through the night air, her cries slowly, surely subsided and even more slowly, she let herself fall into my skin, allowed her head to slide down on my shoulder, her damp curly hair to rest softly against my sweaty neck. I let the record play over and over and we rocked and turned and swayed and sighed and sweated and slowly, so slowly, deep into the night, she finally fell asleep.

Nothing can come/Nothing can come/Nothing can come between us.

Love unfolding, fiercely.