Suzy Says

Today I’m coming to you from Moodys, where there is WiFi access in Mendocino. Megan is walking Schatzi on the headlands, so I have a little time today. This is the post I wrote on Tuesday, which got preempted by the quickie house post yesterday. A girl has her priorities.

Rose’s service is at 4:00 today. I’m not sure what to expect, but I’m glad I can be there. I missed James’s when I was at that stupid conference in Florida, so it’s really important to me to be there today.

We never did get to the fair. It was too hot in Boonville that day. Anderson Valley is where you flip on the A/C and leave it on until you reach the Coast (going north) or the Bay (going south). Since my goal was heat avoidance, I decided not to go this year, but there’s always next year. And the year after that…

In keeping with the goal, Meg and I took Schatzi to the beach at Big River*. It’s an estuary, where the ocean meets the river, and the river stays salty for several miles inland. Megan has canoed up the river with L, my haybale hair stylist, and says it’s amazing, very peaceful and lots of wildlife. One of these days we’ll have to do that.

Even though it was a warm day, country warm is not the same as city warm. There’s always a breeze here, and when you go inside, the house is cool, being shaded by redwoods. Also I think the heat bouncing off all the sidewalks and roads and cars in the city makes things hotter, but this is just one of my theories. At the beach, there was a cool sea breeze, which was very refreshing.

You can see below why the rocky Mendocino coast is often the body double for the rocky New England coast:

Schatzi waded happily in the water, and when she came out, immediately rolled around in the sand. It was caked all over her nose, and she looked hilarious. I tried to get a picture, but she shook it off too quickly – all over us. Fortunately, she dries almost instantly.

We stopped at the Little River deli to get frozen strawberry lemonade for us and turkey jerky for Schatzi. Treats all round! The cashier recognized Megan from the fire last year, when she and Jonathan responded to the 911 call. This is a frequent occurrence, even when she’s out of uniform. My favorite is when she met a guy at the Albion store and said, “Nice to see you upright!” as she passed him in the aisle.

*Fun fact: Big River was named for the size of the trees on its shores, not for its breadth.

I slept in until 10:00 yesterday! And when I finally woke up, it was raining. Ever so lightly, but rain nonetheless.

I posted about my excitement on Facebook, and everyone seemed to think I’m a big fan of the precipitation. It wasn’t the rain per se that had me all excited, it was the surprise of the rain (it rarely, if ever, rains between April and October or November) and the fact that we hadn’t had any for more than five months. That, and the release from the hideous heat. Believe me, I’ll almost certainly switch my heat complaining for rain complaining once I move up north.

I dashed outside to check on Henry. His bed was a little damp, and his food was wet, so I took care of that while he milled around under my feet. He hasn’t been eating that much lately, which does concern me a bit. I need to catch him and get him checked out at the vet’s before he officially joins the family. Another item for my ever-lengthening To Do list.

I can’t tell you how blissful it was to be able to cook (corn soufflé, using up leftovers) make the bed (lavender and blue eucalyptus scented sheets), and just walk around without sweating. I could even sit still without sweating, and the air was completely breathable, instead of stifling. I didn’t have to put a fan on all day. And I had all the blinds open, letting in the pale, pearly light, instead of living in hot gloom with the blinds closed against the sun’s glare.

It was thrilling.

All day, I luxuriated in the blessed, blessed coolth*, and in the evening, I watched Laura, one of my favorite movies, admiring Gene Tierney’s breathtaking loveliness while sipping a nice Sonoma County sauvignon blanc. Life is good.

*From the inimitable Edward Eager’s “Magic By the Lake”. I can’t wait to introduce Jessica to his books. And E. Nesbit’s.

Whew. That’s over, at least for now. I was thrilled to wake this morning to the welcome sight of the fabulous fog wrapping the palm trees in glamorous glory. The girls are no less delighted than I am, and are racing around the house instead of wilting furrily by the door, gasping for any errant wisp of air. If panting wasn’t so undignified, they would have been doing it right along with me.

When you have a few days of intense heat in a row, it seems to accumulate like compound interest. By yesterday afternoon, it was suffocating in my house. I literally felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I was drowning in hot air. It’s a horrible feeling. Fortunately, by late evening, the sea breeze started up, and overnight the fog fairy granted my wish.

My cheapness won out over my love of luxury, and I didn’t flee to a motel after all. Instead, I watched How to Marry a Millionaire, especially enjoying Betty Grable’s befurred insouciance as she visits a snowy Maine lodge with a grumpy older man, under the misapprehension that the lodge in question will be full of Elks rather than surrounded by, well, elks. Fortunately for Betty, the lodge is accessorized with a handsome forest ranger*. Meanwhile, back in New York, Marilyn Monroe is a sight for sore eyes while trying to hide her near-sightedness in the belief that “men aren’t attentive to girls who wear glasses”. Honey, believe me: you could be wearing Coke bottle specs and they’d all still be at your feet. Especially in that red number.

I was amused to note that Lauren Bacall’s character is named Schatzi! I’ve seen the film many times, but never made the connection between the Park Avenue princess and the canine one. I wonder why that is?

My favorite scene is still the fashion show, where all three girls model clothes for Schatzi’s would-be beau, who Schatzi is convinced is poor, while in fact he is a billionaire. It was a great way to take a girl’s mind off current circumstances: beautiful cast, gorgeous costumes, and New York, New York!

*I love that old TV show, The Forest Rangers. It’s so charming.

I’m back!! With a sunburn, assorted bug bites, a box of farm-fresh produce, a brand-new haircut, and a slightly better understanding of what constitutes sensible footwear. At least in the country.

Summer’s been showing me who’s boss for the past couple of weeks. No matter how much I tell it that it’s won, it won’t let up. It’s definitely one of your more stubborn seasons (winter being the other). So I’ve been keeping the blinds closed and wearing sandals every day for so long that I’ve stopped thinking about it. When I packed for my country visit, it never crossed my heat-struck mind to bring sneakers or boots.

I would soon realize my mistake. Others would follow…

My brother has moved onto the property he and our sister are buying, just down the road from her house. It’s thirty pristine acres, five miles from the coast, so it’s sunny there when it’s foggy by the ocean. He moved our mother’s trailer there, took out the carpeting and the old couch, replaced the floor, hooked up solar panels to power the generator so there’s electric light, the refrigerator runs, and even has internet access. My sister and I stopped by before taking her adorable and adored dog Schatzi for a walk/stroll/run (depending on participant) on the property.

I was multi-tasking, because I had to run a report for work. I hooked up my iBook to my brother’s satellite dish ethernet (don’t ask me how it works), started the report, and took off with Megan and the dog while it processed.

It soon became apparent that sandals were not the best choice for walking along a dusty, rocky, unpaved road. Later, it turned out that having your hair up in the blazing sun for over an hour makes you an instant redneck. Just add a beer and a tube top and you’re ready for NASCAR!

When we came back from the walk, the report was ready, and I emailed it to my boss. It’s kind of magical to be able to do that in the middle of nowhere. Shortly after that, he called my cellphone from Detroit, and I was thinking that you couldn’t get much different than each end of the phone: me in a meadow bordered by redwoods; my boss in downtown Detroit. Would have made for a great split screen in a movie.

Up next: cemetery stroll and the attack of the late night banana slug!

The two brain cells I have left have melted. It’s been mind-numbingly hot yesterday and today, especially in the convection oven known as Chez Suzy. Here’s what I’ve done today:

– Crawl out of sweat-soaked bed. Drink cold coffee. Kind of gross, but better than the alternative of putting something hot into already overheated body.

– Notice that it’s only 10:00 am. Hours of increasing heat to come! Even the cats are too languid to eat much or do much of anything. Audrey walks away from her food completely, though June and Henry are their ever-greedy selves.

– Take cold shower. Begin to feel human. Sensation abruptly departs before towelling-off process is complete.

– Sit by fan in bedroom window and read through materials for tomorrow’s conference calls, making notes of questions to ask. Set alarm for an alarming hour.

– Eat some pineapple juice which I had frozen. Pour more in, put it back in freezer for later attempts at cooling Self from the inside out.

– Douse face, hands and poitrine with cold water. Drink a glass of water. Lie on couch reading The New Yorker and cursing the Evil Star. Consider that a black leather couch was really an extremely poor furnishing choice. Wonder how hot it is in, say, Alaska. Try closing eyes and envisioning glittering snow and sparkling ice bergs.

– Doesn’t work. Get up, repeat frozen juice/water/dousing routine. Pee for approximately the millionth time (all that water, and possibly frozen juice and cold coffee) today. Wish for central air conditioning and the means to run it, preferably at meat locker temperatures.

– Avoid the weather section of the newspaper, on line and otherwise. Ditto the thermostat in the hallway. I really don’t want to know how hot it is, on the grounds that if I see it’s 95 degrees, I will actually feel worse, though I’m not sure this is humanly possible.

– Once again resolve to get that heat-reflecting paint and paint roof with it, assuming 1) I ever have the money to buy paint and roller and whatever else I’ll need to buy to actually do it; 2) I can borrow a ladder from my aged and helpful neighbor W to get up there; 3) I don’t fall off or paint myself into a corner.

– After Routine repetition, take bag of frozen mixed vegetables (how did they get in there?) out of freezer. Flop on couch, apply bag to neck, head, and belly in turn. Consider inventing a freezer sleeping bag, like those eye masks you put in the freezer, only you could slip your entire heat-struck body into it until your core temperature lowers enough for bearability.

– This could be my million dollar idea! Too bad Billy Mays is no longer around to promote it.

– Look at clock. It’s after 5:00. It should start cooling down soon, right? Maybe if I take everything out, I can squeeze myself into the refrigerator in the meantime. The freezer would obviously be better, like all penthouses, though unlike most of them, it’s clearly too small.

– Time to pour some vodka into that pineapple juice.

Friday was finally sunny after weeks of fog and clouds. Though we don’t get rain this time of year, I do find day after day of overcast skies depressing. I don’t know how people who live in notoriously cloudy and rainy locales like Seattle can stand it.

So the sun had definitely lifted my spirits as I made my way home from the bus stop. I picked up a bottle of wine at the liquor store and cracketeria, and admired the fairy-tale white blooms on the trees as I walked down the street (not for the first time, I wished I could rehabilitate my camera and share a picture of them with you – undoubtedly, the garden-savvy could tell me what they were). I was feeling all sunny and careless, as Christopher Robin would say.

When I got home, there were no (overdue) bills in the mail. Yay! I tossed my lovely silver handbag onto the couch, along with my few keys on their adorable Louis Vuitton keychain (one of the few remaining relics of more prosperous days), and looked for the kitties. Instead, I saw my teapot lying smashed on the kitchen floor. No wonder they were nowhere to be seen.

I took a closer look, thinking maybe I could repair it, but no. I picked up the pieces and went to throw them in the garbage bin outside. June took this opportunity to race outside while I was otherwise occupied.

I tossed the former teapot into the newly-emptied garbage bin and started to look for June. At times like this, it’s really hard to sound all nice when calling her. I saw her under the car, and tried to coax her out.

The process was complicated by Henry’s appearance when he heard my voice. He came running up, meowing his harsh, yet muted meow, and June took off. I chased her, and she ran into the yard next door. You know, the one with the TWO DOGS who bark all the livelong day.

She was immediately cornered by the dogs. I couldn’t get in because the gate is locked. I screamed her name and the son of the house appeared, looking quizzical. He soon saw how it was, and kindly captured the terrified June, who repaid him by scratching him horribly, and passed her to her terrified owner, who was horribly embarrassed. He was really nice about it, and to the dogs’ credit, they didn’t try to attack the intruder. They are apparently all bark and no bite.

I was so glad I’d bought a bottle of attitude adjuster on the way home. Little did I know how much I’d need it!

I’m back! I missed you, too. I’m sure you kept busy shopping for my birthday presents while I was away.

It was the grand tour of micro-climates on my way up north: fog completely hid the dreaming spires of San Francisco, but became patchy around Frank Lloyd Wright’s* Marin Civic Center. By the time I got to Petaluma, it was blazing blue sky, and in Boonville, it was downright hot.

Megan hadn’t told Jessica’s mom Erica that I was coming up. What with all the stopping, I arrived at her shop 10 minutes before closing time. Erica later told me that she saw a late-breaking customer looming and thought, “Ugh, not now – I want to close and go home.” I had no idea about that as I cheerfully came through the door.

Both Jessica and Erica just lit up like Christmas trees when they saw me. Jessica jumped into my arms and I realized how much she’d grown. When we finished hugging, she showed me her new teeth and what she was reading (Lemony Snicket!). Then I finally got to hug Erica and admire all the new things in the shop. Also eat ice cream for the first time in years as we caught up.

Jessica, as usual, was way ahead of me and knew I was on my way to Megan’s. She wasted no time in suggesting that she accompany me. Erica called Megan to ask if that would be OK, and of course it was. Erica was delighted: would she use her unexpected free time to play trivia at the Lodge, or go home and relax in her PJs?

I asked Jessica if she still needed a car seat. “Unfortunately, yes,” she sighed dramatically, clearly thinking such things were far too babyish for her. Apparently, you can be too thin: she’s well above the height for not having a booster seat, but is so light that the law still requires it.

Once we got going, I asked Jessica if she’d like me to roll down the windows. It was 85 degrees in the Valley, and I had forgotten the needle nose pliers I use to put on heat and A/C (lost the knob and can’t turn the thing).

“Yes!” she responded. “I love to feel the wind in my hair.”

That evening, Megan showed us pictures on her phone of Jessica at the Mendocino Fun Fair (it’s her favorite day of the year) a couple of years ago. Her face was painted with beautiful pink flowers. Of course, she had to take the phone and look at the pictures. “Oh, I was so adorable that day!” she exclaimed, after looking at them carefully.

Next: Why sushi is not a good choice for lunch in the car.

*The splendid Guggenheim is 50 this year!

View from my porch

The heat wave has gone back to hell, where it definitely belongs. Probably good practice for me, though. It’s nice to be able to open the blinds instead of living in the strange, hot gloom, feeling besieged by the relentless sun.

The sun is feeling kinder and gentler today, possibly sorry for its earlier temper tantrum and trying to make up for it by being nice, even though we all know it will be back to its old tricks again soon enough.

The kitties are celebrating the return of the cool. Henry is lounging openly on the grass, instead of hiding in whatever shade he can find. The girls are chasing each other around the house instead of lying exhausted on the porch or by the front door, seeking an errant breath of air. So we’re back to normal. For now.

It’s 96 degrees as I write at 5:30 pm. The sun can’t get its ass out of here fast enough for me today. I’m kind of offended that it chose my blog’s birthday to be so unreasonable, since my dislike of heat is so well-known, but perhaps the sun was just being extra unreasonable in my honor.

Audrey is stretched out on the table on the porch, trying to catch an errant breeze. I left the girls in charge and went to Wal-Mart to buy a cheap barbecue* today, since the fancy propane one that came with the house (surprise!) doesn’t work. It’s way too hot to cook, and even if everything I could have delivered didn’t suck, I couldn’t afford it, anyway (hence shopping at Wal-Mart). Since I can’t take the heat, I’m getting the hell out of the kitchen.

On the menu tonight: grilled lemon-garlic shrimp soft tacos with fresh cilantro and a salad of field greens with my fabulous shallot vinaigrette. Come on over – you can help do the dishes!

*Which I had to assemble. You can imagine.

Henry in his tent under the rose bush

June & Audrey on the porch

All the cats are enjoying the sunny day more than I am. It’s supposed to be 85 today, which is just too hot as far as I’m concerned. Especially in April, when some people are still waiting for Spring to spring. It’s supposed to be even hotter the next few days.

I faced the inevitable and put away my duvet until next winter, when I can once again enjoy its cuddly embrace. I’d better go and drag the fans out of the shed.

It’s going to be a long summer.

Update, Monday, April 20: It was record-breaking heat yesterday and today. It’s supposed to ease off in a couple of days, though.

I was startled awake by an unexpected (and unexpectedly heavy) shower this morning. I dashed outside in my pajamas, to the detriment of my velvet slippers, and grabbed Henry’s dishes and bed. By the time I got to the back porch, I would have won the neighborhood wet PJ contest. I propped the door open, fed and watered Henry, then called him until he appeared. He seemed a little nervous, maybe because the girls have been lounging on the porch and now it feels like enemy territory, but at least he can get out of the rain. As I write, he’s lying comfortably on his newly spring cleaned couch, possibly thinking “It’s mine now, girls!”

It’s been a little like Florida today: torrential downpour, followed by sudden sun, then another downpour. I dashed between the raindrops to (literally) run some errands, including the post office, where the guy ahead of me was getting a $2,000 money order. I definitely Coveted that beautiful pile of money.

Remember the house with the white picket fence? No-one rented it on Saturday, so I’m going to look at it tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully traffic will be kinder to me than it was this weekend (when I finally got home, I learned that there had been no fewer than three accidents. No wonder it was such a mess). I’ll keep you posted, rain or shine.

It’s raining a little more now than it was earlier today, and I was happy to see Henry curled up in his blanket on the couch when I closed the blinds for the evening. I wish he’d actually get under the blanket, but I guess having it at all is better than the way he spent the other winters before he had his faithful servant.

This morning, the air was just atomizing my face gently, like an Evian mister during a first class trip to France, when I ventured out to do some shopping. I didn’t realize how much I had overdone my mental provisions (the library) and physical ones (Safeway) until I started trudging up the hill towards home. My bags seemed to get heavier with every step, and the mile stretched before me. Was it getting darker? Would I be soaked to the skin before my arms fell off, or after?

As these gloomy thoughts drifted through my gloomy head, a man passed me with two dogs. I remarked on their beauty, which was considerable: one a long-legged lady, a grey and white Great Dane and the other a handsome lad, a black Lab/Shepherd mix. It turns out they are both rescue dogs, the female being fostered until a home can be found, and the male belongs to the man. We fell into a conversation, and he walked me most of the way home. My bags had magically become lighter along with the skies as all four of us walked companionably together. I hardly noticed them by the time we parted ways.

As I neared my house, I noticed a beautiful black cat sitting on a fence, gazing at me with huge, golden eyes. She stood (or sat) her ground (or fence) as I passed, telling her how lovely she was, though she clearly already knew this and accepted it as no more than her due.

It’s amazing how total strangers, human and animal, can really make your day. Even a rainy one.

I had a conference call at 6:00 this morning, so I staggered out of bed in the early morning darkness. As I made coffee and tried to remember the dream I had so summarily been yanked out of by the alarm clock’s shrill voice, I noticed that the screen door of the porch was flapping maniacally in the wind.

When the call was over and it was light enough to see outside, I went out and discovered that it was warm but very windy, much as it was that day back in November. Most of my laundry had been blown off its hangers* on the porch, and the doormat was crumpled up like a used Kleenex. Henry was watching the leaves fly around in the wind with apparent distaste. I propped the screen door open with a cinderblock and it has stayed that way all day, though as I write, the front door just slammed shut, either from the wind blowing in the back door, or a poltergeist. I wonder if these warm, wild days are our version of the Santa Anas that blow through SoCal this time of year.

It ended up being a record-breaking warm day, which I enjoyed as I strolled to Farmer Joe in my t-shirt and sandals (don’t worry, there were other clothes in between). As I walked home with my fuchsia Chico bag full of Petrale sole, broccoli, and brown rice for dinner, I enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my face and thought, “Can it really be the middle of January?”

*I don’t have a clothesline, so I hang up the clothes and drape them over chairs on the porch until they’re dry. Mostly because I’m too miserly to use the dryer, but partly because clothes last longer that way. As my brother observed, when you clean out the lint trap, “That’s your clothes in there!” In addition to minimizing my PG&E bill, I have at long last discovered the solution to the mystery of the missing sock. You know, the one that somehow disappears during the laundry process. Since I stopped using the dryer, I haven’t lost a single sock. So it really is your clothes in there!

Audrey and June watch Henry TV

It was an exceptionally beautiful day today. Clear blue skies, around 65 degrees (or 17, if you prefer – I always think Metric makes everything sound worse. Temperatures are colder, and distances longer). I had the doors and windows open most of the day, and it was nice to hear the drone of lawnmowers (not mine, though I really should do something about that grass before it starts raining again), the rush of cars on the freeway, the lonely hoot of a passing train. I still have them open, even though it’s nearly 6 in the evening and the sun just slipped into the Bay in a dazzle of pink and violet. I have noticed this past week that the sun is staying around a little later, instead of hastily packing up its things and dashing off at five, like a bored office worker.

The kittens love having the doors and window open. They can watch passing birds and people and smell the grass and flowers. They can keep a much better watch on Henry, too.

Ever since he moved onto the porch at the start of the winter’s rains, they have been fascinated. He’s like a Wii or something to them. They spend a lot of time watching him, from my desk (which can get crowded when I’m trying to work, but has the best Henry view), or the window in the kitchen. I’ll know if he moves from the couch, because the girls hit the floor and I hear their busy little feet running into the kitchen to watch him.

The past couple of days are the first ones this winter that have been warm enough to open the house, so it’s been very exciting for June and Audrey to have just a screen between them and Henry. It’s HD Henry TV!

My street in today’s hailstorm

I may have jinxed the weather by posting those sunny pictures, because it’s been cold and rainy ever since. Some of you may think that it’s always warm and sunny here, but that’s the southern part of the state. The northern part can be (and is), as the late, great Frank Sinatra once said “cold and damp”, which is probably why his house was in Palm Springs.

So I’ve been bundled up like a Dickens waif, since the house is drafty and I’m too cheap to turn the heat up. Fingerless gloves are a definite possibility if the overnight lows really do reach the freezing mark (32F/0C) they’re predicting.

Yesterday, I propped the porch door open in case Henry wanted to shelter from the storm. It turns out he did, since he was curled up on the couch* there within minutes. The girls and I could keep an eye on him from my desk, though it makes it a little crowded with two cats, my iBook, and filing system** (precarious piles of things & stuff). Not to mention essential items like the paperweight with a reproduction of Marilyn Monroe’s driver’s license in it.

As the day grew darker and colder, it occurred to me to bring Henry a blanket. I figured I might as well bring some food and water while I was at it, so I did. He took one look at me and fled in horror. Though this is not an uncommon reaction, I would have thought that the months of taking care of him would have given me some extra credit, but apparently not.

Peeking through the window a few minutes later, I saw him snuggled peacefully in the blanket. I hope he was there all night. Every night when I lock the doors, I always think of him out there in the cold and dark, and it’s nice to think he’s closer and warmer.

Update, 1 pm: It’s hailing like crazy out there. I can’t remember this happening here before. I risked life and limb for you, dear readers, to take that picture. I slid around on my wet and icy front porch and peeked around the storm-tossed camellia to get photographic evidence. Just for you! My hair is still full of melting hail!

*When I was camping here a year ago, my boss took pity on me and lent me a futon couch which had been rejected by his youngest daughter. I’m guessing they don’t want it back. It’s nice to have on the porch, though.

**I could really use Miss Lemon’s invaluable services.

It’s been in the 80s over the past few days, which both the kittens and I find a little on the toasty side. My sister thinks it’s the “last hurrah” before winter sets in, but the forecast says otherwise for now. To be fair, winter is harsher where she and my brother live (colder, with the occasional hard frost, lots more rain, frequent power outages and road closures) than in the Bay Area, so her dread is reasonable. Especially since she heats her house with a wood stove. I can tell you from personal experience how hard it is to keep the home fires burning.

The kittens and I decided to see if there were any breezes to be had on the back porch yesterday evening. Henry noticed our arrival, and strolled over and started clawing at the mat at the foot of the stairs that lead to the screen door of the porch. He has done this before, and it drives June and Audrey bananas. I think he knows it does, and likes pointing out that he gets to roam around wherever he likes, while they’re trapped inside.

He decided to take it a step further and actually walked up the stairs to the screen door. Hissing ensued, and there was a blur of claws and curses until I managed to move the girls from the door. I’m very fond of Henry, but who knows if he has rabies or worse? Also, I could just see the combined strength of the three cats tearing a hole in the door, with wholesale mayhem following.

Fortunately, disaster was averted. Henry sat aggravatingly on the lawn, having a post-fight bath, while the girls watched enviously. Good thing they can’t say what they’re thinking – sometimes.

For a different reason: yet another of those “unusual” heatwaves. This is Day Four of the latest serving of Hot’n’Heinous Hell.  The kittens are melted by the door gasping for breath, and what little is left of my mind has finally melted away.  Hence the lack of posting in my fancy new blog, and the inability to grasp how the fancy new blog works.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it (and the unfortunately black leather) couch.

Of course, the heatwave arrived in Oakland at the exact same time I arrived back from visiting my brother and sister in the coolness of the redwoods, where – oh, imagine the bliss! – a girl needs a fleece right about cocktail time if she’s planning to continue hanging out in the garden.  Timing really is everything.

It was great to be away for a few days.  My iBook was in the hospital (now restored to health, thank you for asking), so I went computerless, and cell phone reception there is patchy, so I was quite delightfully incommunicada.  Instead of checking emails and voicemails, I went to the farmer’s market with my sister; had lunch by the ocean*; bought six completely delightful and wholly unnecessary glass peacocks with real feather tails for the Christmas tree (yes, in August); walked the dog on my siblings’ property; poked around in bookstores; had my fortune told by a swami in a tie-dyed turban; drank local wine in my sister’s garden while hummingbirds and bees buzzed around; and watched the sun set and the moon rise, accompanied by glittery, diamond-bright stars.  

*If you find you’re hungry while visiting Mendocino, get a hot smoked chicken and Swiss sandwich at the Mendo Deli and eat it outside overlooking the wild, rocky Pacific.  You’ll thank me later.

The red sun against the smoky Oakland sky, Thursday evening

My brother and sister’s Summer Solstice party was suddenly ended by an unexpected and wildly out of season rain-free lightning storm. There were thousands of lightning strikes, setting the dry trees and shrubs on fire. California usually only gets rain in the winter, so wildfires are a real danger every summer.

I am proud to say that my brother has been a member of the local volunteer fire department for many years. He sleeps with his boots beside his bed, and never leaves home without his pager. He and his fellow fire fighters leapt into action. My sister went down to the firehouse to make food and wash the tired men’s sweaty, sooty clothes as they cycled in and out of the relentless flames.

She called me with updates, and for a while each was scarier than the last. At one point, my brother called from the front lines and told her to pack up all the essentials from both houses and get ready to evacuate. Fortunately, the wind shifted and spared them, leaving their houses and gardens coated in ash, like a light snowfall. I have rarely been so frightened or felt so helpless, 150 miles away from where my siblings could be losing their houses – and in my brother’s case, his life.

I am so incredibly thankful that they are safe and sound, though the fires rage on. One hundred and twenty one fires have burned 42 acres and threatened 900 homes in their county. Fellow firemen from Nevada and Oregon have come to help. The skies here are still hazy with smoke.

Volunteer fire departments aren’t limited to small rural communities like the one where my brother and sister live. According to the US Fire Administration, 87% of fire departments are volunteer or mostly volunteer, and protect 38% of the population.

Have you thanked your fire department today?

Update:

When my brother came off a 24 hour shift this week, he found a thank you note in his car – along with $50, a bag of cherries, and some chocolate. All along the roads, there are signs telling the fire department “We love you!” “Thank you!” – and the amounts of water available on that particular property, with directions for the fire department to take what they need. And the lone grocery store is taking donations. Nothing like a small town, especially one with such heart.

So it’s been about a million degrees here the past couple of days, which equals an even crankier than usual Me. It’s like living on the sun. By the time I got to the gym after work on Wednesday (it was a mere 88&degF/31&degC that day and I walked there up hill, arriving light-headed: what was I thinking?!), my hands were swollen little sausages and working out, despite the air-conditioning in the gym, didn’t help matters.

It was so hot yesterday that I took the cable car home, because walking up the hill, even on the shady side, was out of the question at 97 fun-filled degrees F (or 36C, which is fun-filled as a bra size but not as weather). Just leaving the overly air-conditioned office building, where I had been shivering all day in my appropriate for the baking heat of the outdoors but inappropriate for the mini-Alaska of the indoors outfit was enough. The heat hit with the force of a blast furnace, and you know what? The sun’s rays really do beat down. Like you can feel them hitting your skin and making it sizzle in spite of SPF 45 sunscreen.

This makes me wonder how people in Arizona and Florida and other places that are legendarily hot on a routine basis survive. They must go from air-conditioned car to equally A/C’d offices and then back to A/C’d apartments or houses, but the unnatural cold of the A/C is almost as unpleasant as the natural heat of the sun. Does one’s body eventually become accustomed to it and better able to cope?

Fortunately for us, the heat wave is supposed to be over by Sunday, and we should be back to our usual daytime highs of around 70 F/21 C. Sweating will once more be relegated to the gym, where it belongs, and I will no longer fear setting foot outside. I can’t wait to hear the fog horns again, signalling the arrival of the blessed fog and its natural air-conditioning.

When the alarm went off this morning, it was raining so hard that I almost called the whole day off on account of weather. But after a cup of coffee and a couple of chapters of The Voyages of Dr. Dolittle, the rain had decided to go and annoy someone else. The sky looked very confused, as if it, like me, was wondering where the hell this rain came from and why it took so long to go somewhere like Seattle, where it belongs. I hope my umbrella stays where it is, gathering dust, until Thanksgiving. After all, it’s practically summer.

Which means that the TV season is ending. Seems like just about every show has its season finale this week or last week, other than Sex & the City, which starts up again in July. It used to start on or near my birthday, but S-J Parker’s unscripted pregnancy seems to have thrown the show’s writers a curve. I wonder how they are going to handle it? They can’t have both Carrie and Miranda with babies. One baby is more than enough, and has often been proved to be too much. Look at Mad About You. Destroyed by Mabel.

I watched the season finale of Dawson’s Creek on Sunday morning. Yes, I realize that I am far too old to be watching the Creek, and that everyone else is over the Creek, but since I have no vices to speak of, I think I can be allowed this one. Anyway, Pacey was trying to talk to Audrey, his justifiably pissed-off girlfriend, before she got on a plane to go home to LA for the summer. So he bribed a security guard to let him use the PA system, and broadcast a heartfelt apology (which of course won her over). He ended his impassioned speech with an equally impassioned “Free the West Memphis Three!”, which I thought was so cool I almost woke John up to tell him about it.

If you aren’t familiar with this case, check out this site and/or watch the two documentary films, Paradise Lost and Paradise Lost 2: Revelations. Truly one of the worst miscarriages of justice in recent years, and especially frightening when you consider that these three young men are facing life in prison in two cases and death in the other simply for daring to be different in their intolerant, Bible-beating home town. So help if you can, and be thankful you don’t live somewhere like West Memphis. If you do, move. Now.