The Beauty of the Day

Everything about living in the Bay Area is wonderful *except* it's pretty much too cold nine days out of ten to sit out on the patio bare-legged and sweetly damp with sweat as one might in Virginia or Georgia or North Carolina, down there in the great Heartland of Torpor.

This is a great place for moving about, air-cooled and ready for the next hill, but not so good for sitting still unless you pass through or over the coastal range and then, my friend, it's just as hot as any Republican would enjoy as he tends his rage.

Yesterday, however, was one of those rare fine warm days, and we had friends over, including our two godsons, and we sat out back around the circular table and ate and drank till the sun went away. It was one of those moments in which you had a good time and and thought of good times past.

This is not necessarily confusing if there is red wine at hand and plenty of paper for folding airplanes for the godsons, lovely lopsided paper planes that do not always fly true in the warm and golden light, their motion prompting much laughter, little shock and awe.