After just three years of living here, it's still strange to me that as the rest of the country turns to cooler weather each "autumn" -- pulling out sweaters and scarfs in burgundies and grays -- we in San Francisco throw open our windows, strip down to our swimsuits and head outside to soak up the sun that has been so long in coming to us.
It's Sun., Sept. 26, and the temperature in my fair city is a balmy 81 degrees Fahrenheit, one of the warmest days we've had all year. Yesterday was so warm that after sweating -- a phenomenon! -- at the Polk Street Blues Festival, we went to the beach at Crissy Field, where V. actually swam in the water several times. As in, fully submerged in the water, floating around, enjoying the cool of the Bay. That never happens here. And the forecast is for the warmth to continue, right on into next weekend.
I can't really complain about the heat. We do wait for it all year, and it's quite lovely to have, especially with the 10th Annual Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival just around the corner. But it does come at a conflicting time this year. As one who just got married, I'd really like nothing more than to be nesting right now -- settling in, buying new furniture, getting organizers for the kitchen, etc., etc. But who wants that when it's so lovely outside? Being inside IKEA feels like a jail sentence of sorts. So I must resign myself, I think, to the out-of-doors realm until post-Indian-wedding. Apartment, you shall have my attention some day. Just not today.