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Has the summer been hot enough for ya?

Courtesy photo Shown above are Mark, Matt and Greg Rose on the Fourth of July “Yooper” dress-up day.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Today’s column is written by Lori Rose, the sister of usual Friday columnist Karen Rose.

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ESCANABA — Those four dreaded words.

“Hot enough for ya?”

When I was a lowly Daily Press carrier in my youth — I later served a stint as staff writer/youth editor/NIE coordinator in my 20s — it seemed my customers couldn’t get enough of asking that question this time of year.

I’d try to be polite, but like my dear mom and dad, I didn’t do well when the temperature and humidity went north of 80. Dad had his old saying: “It’s not fit for man nor beast today!”

He served his country in uniform after high school, ending up at Army radio school near Sacramento after doing basic in a state he referred to as “Lousy-Anna.” Dad said the heat of the bayou was made worse because the Michigan boys got there still wearing wool due to a late spring.

My mother loved her fresh air, too, and was mortified when she moved into a new home in 1964 (in August, pregnant with me) and some of the double-hung windows were actually painted shut. The others were covered in massive, ancient Venetian blinds.

We are blessed to live here in the southern U.P. with Lake Michigan only a stone’s throw away, but I think there are days when the heat can try almost anyone’s soul. For instance:

— The time I went to the elegant Oliver Auditorium with my brother Dave and his new wife in the early ’90s to take in some classical music. A blistering-hot wind had surged into the old junior high all day, and by evening we concertgoers had to use our programs like Southern belles to keep from passing out. I can only imagine how the performers felt under the stage lights.

— One toasty afternoon in the summer of ’89. My mom was babysitting three of the littlest Rose grandkids and it got indecently hot, to the point where “Grandpa” took all of us for a ride to Stonington’s Peninsula Point. I can still remember the hot toddler bodies wedged against me as we made a beeline for the coast.

Little Kristy wore a protective sunbonnet and the boys eagerly explored the shore and its cache of cool rocks and fossils. Even though it was only about a nine-degree difference from Northtown, the air from the breast of the bay of Green Bay felt heavenly. Mom, Dad, Karen and I were never so happy to live on a peninsula!

— Fourth of July, 1990-something. For our family costume contest that year, we chose the theme of “Totally Yooper.” By noon, it was mid-70s. By 1 p.m., the 80s, at contest time, I think near 90, and here comes everyone clomping by, wearing Sorel boots, wool suspender pants, chooks, flannel shirts and polar fleece. After the winners were finally named, people scrambled to get back into tanks and tees, stripping like gung-ho burlesque artists. (Ironically, another year we dressed in Hawaiian garb and it was about 58 degrees all day).

— Movie blockbuster season – 1995. My family and I wanted to witness the epic “Braveheart” at Escanaba’s new big-screen cinema. What we did not foresee, though, was the air conditioning failing while all those Scots and Brits were going at it. Things were OK for a while, but when your hands and feet started sweating, all bets were off. When you could smell the chewing tobacco from the guy three rows behind you, it was about time to call it a day. You’ve never smelled popcorn so rank or nachos so dreadful as during those two hours and 58 minutes.

— West of Escanaba, summer 1985. The dedication of the new St. Francis Hospital. Such a festive day, so many dignitaries in vestments, such glorious music, but, alas, so HOT. If memory serves, the Mass was outdoors, with metal chairs set up in the future parking lot. Asphalt and sun can do wondrous things, and when you throw in combustible seating, hoooph!

I was covering the event for the Delta Reporter and did my best to take notes and shoot ample photos. However, all I really daydreamed about was getting out of my heels and going into Willow Creek… or even the Webster Wading Pool with my nephews. Anywhere not so stifling.

So these are the top five hottest events I can remember offhand here in the U.P.

The most despicably-hot I ever experienced occurred as I waited in traffic to make a turn off the highway to the Mall of America (no AC in my old Mustang), but that’s Minnesota heat. Another thing ­altogether.

So, as we wait for autumn’s inevitable return, let’s think back to those “fun” days in the sun. If you ever got melted on the midway, sizzled on the sand, or torched in your Taurus, you know what I mean.

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