of barbecues and scarves
❝The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.❞
Most San Franciscans would attribute this quote to Mark Twain. Apparently, he never said it.
Whoever did say it, the statement is apt. Re-reading the posts I wrote this time last year from sweltering Vancouver, I couldn't fathom wearing shorts and a tank top now or seeking out AC. I've been wearing sandals and shorts on occasion, but usually with a hoodie over my t-shirt and a scarf in stowed in my purse in case the wind picks up (as a result, my feet and hands are two shades darker than the rest of my body). We're sleeping comfortably without a fan and with a comforter. I've wore a light jacket and pants to work most of July. August is here and, based on the long-term forecast, I don't expect much to change with respect to my attire in the coming weeks.
We've been to two barbecues this summer. At one, in June, I wore a coat that I considered a winter jacket in Vancouver. I made use of the fur-rimmed hood while eating corn on the cob and the jacket reeked of charcoal smoke for weeks because we spent most of the barbecue huddled around the grill for warmth. Yesterday's barbecue was better but—despite wearing jeans, three layers (including a long-sleeved shirt and a sweaters), and close-toed shoes with socks—I was chilly when the sun ducked into the fog.
My friends and family in Canada supply incredulous remarks when I describe the high temperatures here (which are lower than the lows in their localities). Yes, I live in California—the cold, foggy part. San Francisco is considered to lie in northern California. This is not LA. On the plus side, we live in one of the sunniest neighbourhoods, largely protected by the fog by Twin Peaks. I'm very happy not to be living on the other side of the hill.
At least it never rains. I don't think I've used my umbrella since May.
