Summer's tease

When you live in SF, summer is a yearned-for event. Each cold, foggy morning, pulling on the woolen watchcap, zipping the fleece vest under the high-necked windbreaker, in order to withstand the gales hurtling through the decrepit cypress trees in the park (truly! On a mega force wind day I don't walk under the trees) you get this series of Summers Past visions: little white sandals, tan legs, pulling out your t shirt so the sweat could roll down your belly and soak into your waistband. Sigh.
Half the park people, out with their dogs, wouldn't have the weather any other way. Bring it!, they say to fog, to wind, to general weather adversity. Then there are those of us wimps who have forgotten our gloves and still have to pick up that icy frisbee and give it one more toss, or risk the dog's distinct displeasure.
My friend in Connecticut claims to be barricaded in his house, blasting the air conditioner and waiting for winter. My sister in VT says the late-August flowers are already blooming and fears this means early snows. I can't puzzle out what global warming really means.

Much To My Surprise

A whole year and change later and here I am, still knocking around the planet. Not around much: traveling gives me the pip. Probably because I expect it to, but I have to say I like the NY subways even less than the SF BART, which I don't like at all. Though coming home from the Taylor/King concert on a train full of Birkenstocks, bright pashminas and grey heads was a hoot.

A year ago I was still working. Stopping the daily commute and the dead hours spent trying to fool my computer into coughing up a solitaire program so I didn't have to waste so much time on the real estate ads on craigslist was a genius move, if I do congratulate myself. Now I give some time to Friends of the Library and do whatever else I want. Often not much, since there are books to read. Not working is bliss. I am less and less inclined to structure my time, with exceptions for Afro-Cuban dance class and Friday morning coffee with the friends from Curves (!) who hate FitLite as much as I do. Am I useful? Hardly, but sometimes amusing.