95 and Humid never felt so good

I spent this afternoon in the attic of an old three story house in near north Minneapolis. The window had not yet been cut in the main room where we were working. It was dark and hot, hot, hot. The first godsend was a fan which I carried in from my truck. Without that fan running, I would not be writing this now. I would have passed out on the dirty, mud filled floor. The second and third godsends were my two boys which shared in the sweat, equally covering their shirts to the point of saturation. When we staggered down the three flights of stairs about 4:15 and burst into the afternoon sun, 95 degrees Fahrenheit didn’t feel so bad. It was even refreshing.