Hot and Bothered

Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could be ... relatively minor.

Whoever said, “It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity that will kill you,” was almost certainly from Iowa. The last two weeks of June have felt downright tropical, and we’ve only just entered the dog days of summer when things are about to get really “ruff” outside.

Lately, the heat and humidity seem to be in a relentless battle, each one trying to outdo the other, and it can really wear you out. Hopefully, better weather is on its way soon! Just the other day, I stepped outside and thought I’d wandered into a sauna instead of my backyard. It was as if Mother Nature had wrapped me in an unwanted, steaming blanket. Within seconds, my shirt turned into a damp sponge, and I swear I saw a mosquito hover in confusion, its tiny wings struggling to slice through the soupy air.

It’s not the heat, it is the humidity that makes summer so unbearable.

The atmosphere was so thick I felt like I could slice it and serve it for dinner. I’ve even considered bringing a fork on my daily walks. Who needs snacks when you can feast on the air, calorie-free? And don’t even get me started on my hair. It has officially declared its independence, taking "poof" to a whole new level. These days, it's so frizzy I can barely squeeze it under a baseball cap. I wouldn’t be surprised if a bird or two tried nesting in it.

It might be time to perform a rain dance. Having belly danced for several years, I could choreograph a routine to impress the water gods or at least touch their hearts enough to make them cry a few inches of rain.

Until then, I’ll keep avoiding the sun, managing my hair, and hoping for a break in the weather. If a little belly dancing can make the skies open up, that would be nice. Still, I’d settle for a breeze that doesn’t feel like it’s coming out of a hair dryer.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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How the Sun led me to Surgery (and Left Me in Stitches)

Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could be ... relatively minor.

Summer has rolled in, and sun worshippers gather at pools and beaches like moths to a flame! It’s the ideal season to catch some rays and aim for that perfect tan, watch out for birds trying to swoop in and swipe your snacks. It’s funny how folks lose their minds over the sun and forget that sunscreen is the VIP pass to a sunburn-free life. I’ve made that mistake more times than I’d like to admit, which eventually landed me in a dermatologist's office, getting an unwanted growth removed. It turns out that neglecting sun protection is not the brightest idea!

Summer is here! (image courtesy of Unsplash)

That morning, as I lay on the operating table, the nurse prepped me with a couple of shots of local anesthetic. She cheerfully assured me she had enough solution to numb a horse if I felt discomfort. I found that amusing, though I debated whether I should be offended. She also sheepishly admitted that she was not a fan of needles. Naturally, I had to ask why she chose nursing if she had a needle phobia. She responded that she was perfectly fine with poking others; it was getting poked herself that gave her the heebie-jeebies.

The dermatologist walked in shortly, and we exchanged pleasantries before diving into the surgery. I’ll say this: the nurse wasn’t kidding about the horse-sized desensitizing agent; I didn’t feel a thing! After the procedure, the doctor took the specimen to the lab, returning about a half hour later with good news and enough thread to stitch up a horse. (Trying to stay on theme)

As I lay there, I watched his hand wielding the needle and thread back and forth toward the ceiling, which ultimately felt like it lasted an eternity. The sight of the thread reminded me of my trips to the dentist when they always ask if I’ve been flossing. So, I jokingly said, “Next, you’re going to ask me if I’ve flossed!” The doctor then revealed he didn’t floss despite having a sister who was a dentist. The nurse, who adored her mentor, couldn’t understand how he got away with that.

While our joking had nothing to do with surgery, it served as a perfect distraction, bringing us all to stitches, emphasizing that laughter is the best medicine, no matter the situation.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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Who Left the Dog Treats Out?

Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could be ... relatively minor.

Life moves quickly, and it's easy to go through our days on autopilot, lost in thought. However, having a routine can be beneficial; it provides a structured framework that helps us complete the same tasks at the same time each day. When our minds become cluttered, we can rely on this established sequence of actions to keep us organized and ensure everything gets done.

Dogs, much like humans, thrive on their daily routines. They expect breakfast at dawn and delight in receiving treats for being their adorable selves or mastering a new trick. It’s a perfect arrangement until you realize they have trained us just as much as we have trained them.

Exhibit A: Daisy, our Aussiedoodle with beautiful brown eyes and the negotiation skills of a used car salesman, is relentless, overly confident, and somehow always closing the deal. She instituted a new household policy: no treat, no entry. She will not, under any circumstances, walk through the door without receiving her complimentary snack. Standing at the threshold as if saying, “I will not pass…unless you pay the toll.”

Naturally, we caved. To accommodate her whims, we placed a container filled with morsels of her food on the counter, like a shrine to Daisy’s demands. We even keep a few kibbles on standby to toss ceremoniously in the kitchen to coax her in.

Dogs love their treats. (photo courtesy of Unsplash)

But Daisy isn't the only creature of habit in the house. My husband also thrives on routine. His personal reward system is chocolate stars. He eats a few when he feels accomplished or, you know, when it's one of those days of the week ending in “Y.” Ironically, the dog food container sits atop a larger one filled with these sugary snacks.

Recently, while navigating the day on autopilot, my husband walked into the kitchen one afternoon, reached into the treat container, tossed three morsels into his mouth, and immediately realized something was…off. Less “sweet treat” and more “kibble crunch.” Yes, you guessed it. Man’s best friend had unknowingly shared her snack stash. He had just eaten dog food.

The lesson here? Routines are great, but sometimes they bite back, especially when they smell like liver and chicken, whether you’re a dog waiting for a treat or a grown adult accidentally eating one.

The best surprises usually come when we stop paying attention.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

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Nothing rhymes with...

Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could be ... relatively minor.

Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for a book on the top shelf of the half-price bookstore. I probably didn’t look graceful, but my curiosity about the book’s content kept me going. Its cover featured an orange with tears, an image I hadn’t seen since childhood. Realizing I was late for an important appointment, I knew I had to leave and reluctantly returned the paperback to the shelf.

A week later, I returned to the bookstore, standing again in aisle three, facing the same bookcase. There it was, just as I had left it, untouched, as if no one else had wanted it, or perhaps the store had unknowingly reserved it just for me.

Wedged between two other books, I had to tug and wiggle it free. The orange still adorned the cover, its tears cascading like rain. Yet, despite the emotional outpouring, not a single drop had left a stain.

A tearful orange. (illustration credit: Canva)

I bought the dictionary for $6.99 because it includes rhyming words. If I’m a poet and don’t know it, I might find myself in the middle of a stanza, searching for a word with a similar sound to finish a line. Or, as a writer pulling an all-nighter, crafting a nail-biter on my typewriter. Perhaps I’ll need words for a song to sing all summer long that doesn’t come on too strong while jogging after a thrilling game of ping pong.

Unfortunately, as I flipped through the pages, I couldn’t shake the image of that sorrowful round fruit on the paperback cover — endlessly weeping — an orange that will never be a poet or write an award-winning song.

Because the book is titled “Nothing Rhymes with Orange”, I bet it wishes it were another kind of fruit, like a banana. Imagine it playing the piano in Havana while wearing pajamas. Now, wouldn’t that be appealing!

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

Listed in the Humor Stack Directory (thehumorstack.substack.com)

Proud member of the Iowa Writers Collaborative.

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The Missing Piece

Laughter does not have to come from a major source. It could be ... relatively minor.

Lately, I've been feeling quite puzzled. Solving a mystery can be particularly challenging, especially when it involves 100 pieces. Each evening, I find myself sitting alone on our worn leather couch, which has been damaged by my youngest dog's chewing—holes and exposed stuffing are everywhere. However, if I stay focused, everything will eventually come together.

I have rekindled my passion for assembling one-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzles online. While it may seem mindless, each piece requires careful consideration of its shape and color. My index finger maneuvers the pieces into place to complete the image. While I’m engaged in this activity, my brain stays alert enough to toss a tennis ball into the air for my dog, who eagerly waits behind our loveseat to catch it and bring it back for another round. I can see the puzzle pieces at the bottom of my tablet, so I don't worry about them falling to the floor. After all, if even one piece is missing, the puzzle feels incomplete—something I know all too well from experience.

A missing piece leaves the puzzle incomplete.

Years ago, I tried to complete a puzzle featuring numerous polar bears, each wearing bright hats, scarves, or mittens. This colorful design made it easier to identify the pieces, unlike trying to find a polar bear in a snowstorm. My husband and I would take turns fitting together a few pieces whenever we walked by the card table, and we nearly completed the top half of the puzzle.

One day, a puzzle piece fell onto the carpet, and one of our dogs ate it. I was still able to finish the puzzle despite that missing piece. However, when another piece fell to the floor, that was the last straw. Reluctantly, I boxed up the puzzle and threw it away. Since then, I haven’t tried to complete another one.

The best part about online puzzles is that there are no missing pieces, no chewed corners, and the only thing my dog can ruin now is my concentration, which frankly didn’t stand a chance anyway.

www.wintersetmadisonian.com

Listed in the Humor Stack Directory (thehumorstack.substack.com)

Proud member of the Iowa Writers Collaborative.

Here is a link to learn more about our writers.

https://iowawriters.substack.com/i/145661110/who-we-are