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Blowin’ In The Wind

January 19th, 2007

The windy season gets on my nerves. Anywhere in the Central Valley, from December to February, the wind blows hard, very hard. It’s as though the wind becomes this evil stepmother lurking around and making my life miserable.

I yell at the wind: just stop for a minute, will ya! Here in the Central Valley, it doesn’t stop – day or night. It blows, and it blows. The air is dry; pools are chilly. Step outside and watch hairstyles go frizzy.

I’ve heard that skin drinks in the luscious humid tropic air – it keeps us supple. Take cover in the dry season. My son has breathing problems. His little nose just cannot manage major shifts in humidity. When it rains, I know I’m going to get a pretty good night’s sleep. The wind starts, and I know my slumber will be restless, in fact sleepless. The poor little guy wakes up every hour to thirty minutes unable to breathe.

I start rituals in hopes of getting a dream or two in a row. Humidifiers, vaporizers, and a slow cooker line my bedroom floor from 3 p.m. until dawn. When the lights are off, it looks like a runway in a darkened plane. I have many doctors on the case, but it usually comes down to me. Drugs either work little or are useless. Now, I’m looking for cases of food allergies. I’ve given up espresso for a week. This is serious.

Before I had my son, I had no idea what a hygrometer was until sleep evaded me. Imagine my delight when I found two at Target and lugged them home in my suitcase. When the little dial gets to the “low normal” range, I rev-up the machines and shoot for “high-normal” or “low-humid.”

This brings me back to the rain. On the Caribbean, it’s raining now. I’m off in search of relief like a dowser with my stick pointed down. Sleep deprivation is not allowed as a form of torture in the Genevia Convention. Imagine the mothers who could petition! But, who would listen?