Melting in May

Egads, what a miserable weekend it was in San Francisco. Saturday was almost tolerable, but today it was nearly 90, and at 10 p.m. it's still over 70. It feels like I'm in some shithole city in the south, with slowly lunkering lunkheads hanging out of their windows and on the stoops. No relief until mid-week, and I am still dealing with the aftermath of my virus, so every temperature point feels as if it's been tripled.

At least it's not has horrible as that heatwave back in July, but it still is not fun.

Before the heat hit, I managed to make it to the new Flora Grubb. I have to love a garden center that has an Edsel in among the perennial and an espresso bar next to the upscale gardening books. They're just settling into their new digs off the 3rd Street corridor, so I'll give them time before deciding whether they are style or substance, but I came away with far less than I did at the more practical albeit less glam Flowercraft. There's something to be said for their no-frills atmosphere and mix of cute Latino boy and crusty Sally-gal staff members.

I hope the heat does not scare away the butterflies that I saw all day Friday. They helped cheer my spirits during the main activity of my weekend -- writing proposals about Apurimac, Peru, and Bihar, India, thought got delayed from being flat on my stomach the first two days of the week. Though being the Peruvian Andes right now sounds great -- it's late autumn there right now.