It's 9am on Saturday. Went to an estate sale and completely scored, for the princely sum of $2.20. However I'm mildly grumpy because it's going to be another hot one and I can't take the heat. At times like this I remind myself that this heat is nothing compared to the heat at Old Place.
In the Old Place I coined the term "flame licking hell" to describe the weather. These little piggies lived in a brick house that got hotter in the evenings, at the time of day when the little piggies who lived in houses made of sticks were cooling off. Many summer nights it was still over ninety degrees at midnight. The box fan did little to help. At least the wolves didn't eat us ;)
We lived three blocks from the bay at the time. You could look down our cross street and see the container ships passing by on their way from the Delta to the Golden Gate. And the town had a little beach, but few used it. Friends had cleaned up the beach, but crossing the tracks and passing the boat junkyard and burned-out bar on the pier dimmed the romance a bit.
Whatever. One summer it just got too darned hot. I bought a vintage 1960's Jantzen knit bathing suit for 69c at the thrift store. We walked to the beach and jumped in the water. It was delicious.
I started swimming there on hot days. I'd paddle out in the middle of the tiny cove and wave to the commuter trains when they'd pass by. The passengers would wave back and the engineer would toot the whistle.
I hear that the beach has been rediscovered, and that it's full of families on the weekends. As it should be.