Jul 07 2008
The Torrid Zone
The Summer Solstice took itself a little too seriously this year, and just a couple of weeks later, it’s at it again. I have a little air conditioner in the living room window, wheezing out pitiful gusts of coolish air, but this David can’t beat the heat Goliath.
The problem may be the whole BTU thing. Maybe British Thermal Units are just too polite. “I say, heat, could you please turn it down a wee bit? It’s a trifle uncomfortable at the moment.” Whereas American Thermal Units might say something like, “Heat, I’m only gonna tell you once. Outta here or your ass is nuked.”
I’ve been wondering if these conditions are the norm for the East Bay, yet another of the many inconveniences I had no idea about in my glory days of living in San Francisco. An informal survey says otherwise, but I’m beginning to doubt the anecdotal evidence after three of these babies. If something keeps happening, how unusual can it be? Just sayin’.
Dolly the Church Lady came by as I was in mid-melt, mid-morning to tell me that I’d be watering plants for Jesus a little while longer. That’s what I call watering my neighbor B’s flowers while she’s at a revival meeting in Florida. She is expecting that her husband, who has Parkinson’s and has been wheelchair-bound for many years, will miraculously rise from that chair and walk again. So while we await the miracle on opposite sides of the country, I’m taking care of the tomatoes and zinnias and those little blue things that grow in the patio cracks.
Apparently the miracle is taking longer than expected, since B called Dolly to tell her to tell me they’re staying another week. I hope I don’t kill the plants with my heathen lack of gardening skills.
The heat isn’t helping the wildfires, which continue to burn. More than 20,000 people are fighting the 330 active fires statewide as of yesterday. Here’s hoping that the firefighters get a miracle of their own, and soon.
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