Pefection

The weather this weekend in San Francisco has been about as close to perfection as it gets for me. It never topped 60 degrees, it was mildly overcast but not gloomy and a slight mist was in the air. This is perfect weather for walking, long stops for having coffee outside, reading or chatting with friends. And to think it's late July! I've suffered through enough hot summers (including the week before last and May here) in other places to appreciate such a day. Though I am not that fond of extended overcast skies or ran, I definitely consider extended days of sun extremely depressing and Key West, Hawaii and Bali are my definition of hell.

There are the usual annoying SF whiners who define days like this as "cold", and I only want to send them to Alabama. Though I am not totally opposed to sun, I prefer to look at it from inside and almost always hate being in it. It's another reminder of why I need to start my plans years in advance of retiring to a more northern climate.

Hell Is Creeping Out of Town

I survived! The past two days have been living hell in San Francisco. The dreadful, skanky, killer weather I moved here to flee is beginning to leave. For 48 hours everything and everyone stank, and it was impossible to be outside which really sucks. I even spent Friday in Santa Rosa where there was a round of cheers as, over the course of just an hour, the temperature went from 102 to 95. Imagine being thrilled that it was only 95. Friday night in SF was still too hot, and there was a cracked-wacked out kid in front of the St. Francis Fountain who kept coming in and disturbing everyone. After multiple attempts to kick him out, the lanky staff finally called the cops. In the meantime, an hombre in a 49ers jersey from Pop's bar across the street got a bucket of ice water that he threw on the kid twice. I was sure that our little corner would explode into a re-enactment of Do the Right Thing until the cops arrived.

This afternoon, I met up with a group for lunch at Skates on the Berkeley Marina, easily distracted by a lanky Cal grad out for commencement lunch with the family, ignoring them as he read Proust in his rumbled blue seersucker jacket and crisp pink oxford shirt. Was I ever that adorable? He was much tastier than the chorizo in my Spanish omelet.

Though the weather was nastily balmy when we entered, by the time we left, the fog had swallowed the Golden Gate and was off to Richmond to hide its refineries. As we walked along the marina in the park that was once a garbage dump, walking briskly, no one had the audacity to say "It's freezing!" (Uh, that would be 32 degrees less than what we're experiencing.)

I'm just glad it's almost reasonable enough again to return outside, do gardening, take long walks and look at the sky again. For two days the sky was an angry yellow fire breathing ball, and now I feel far more appreciative of where I live. I may not have to put in for my transfer to Greenland after all.

How many times did I use fog and lanky in this post?