This morning, Monday dawns hot and sweet. The temperature here has been very high for several days now; in Paradise, it usually maxes out around 100 (!) but down the hill in the valley it's even hotter, and made worse by the vast expanses of asphalt and concrete that take up so much space. Paradise seems to be more trees than roads, and for that I am grateful. Nevertheless, I am able to find the dreamy romanticism in feeling too hot: the languid movements that take over, the slow-thinking, the sweaty glasses of ice water, the hot wind on bare skin. Yesterday I read almost an entire novel, unmoving, in my bed beneath the fan. I was taken over yesterday with a near-psychedelic PMS experience, and the heat and the pain transported me to a pseudo-dreamspace that took up most of the day. Finally, at around 6 pm, I was able to rise up and feed the child -- he was remarkably good all day and I hope that he will be better outfitted for his future as a man because of his PMS education. Whew.
This is the last week of the school year, and Friday marks the beginning of summer vacation, of days moving without restriction, of the deep hot interlude between years and the seasons of hard work.
The shop is filling up with excellent summer pieces for those of you who maybe haven't browsed in a while.
And similarly, the markets are filling up with wild loads of summer fruit, the kinds of which bring back fierce memories of childhood and instill an instant desire for consumption. each season is so fleeting, it must be enjoyed to its fullest while it is here. Again, as has happened so many thousands of time in my life, I am grateful for living in California. The abundance of fruit alone is worth its weight in gold.