It was beautiful in San Francisco yesterday. Felt like the temperatures were somewhere in the low 70s, and the wind came round street corners chipper and brisk. Sky the usual crayon blue.
I’ve been up here for a few days. This morning, I’ll drive back down to my house on what we call around here, “the Peninsula,” meaning the southern side of the San Francisco Bay. I’m hoping to see a small reddening of tomatoes in my front yard. Clearly that should be the word for multiple tomatoes, a “reddening.”
Much of the middle, south, and eastern parts of the US are hot right now. Very hot. Too hot. First of all, I feel for you out there and hope the heat breaks soon. Second, and with sorrow, I think of the weather and the world. As I understand it, the climate change scientists believe these extremes are caused by our behavior.
Of course, here in Northern California, the ocean sends a marine layer to cool down our nights, and the skies stay blue and dry even on hot days. Life is good, I may have a small red tomato in my front yard. Furthermore, Sturdy Gals don’t do apocalypse. We are genetically cheerful, the type to peep out after the tornado and say, “Oh, great, I wanted to remodel the kitchen anyway!”
High-tech Sturdy Gals have particular faith that geniuses can solve all kinds of problems, and we’re pleased by the multitudes of venture capitalists investing in “Green Technology.”
But it would be nice, please, to get started sooner rather than later. We could allow the world to recover. I think it’s possible, she’s a fairly Sturdy Gal herself. I always think of a large paved freeway culvert, down by the bay and its surrounding marshes. Every year silt accumulates on the bottom, over the rainy months, until finally, one day, you drive by on the way to work and the bay has recovered territory. Marsh grasses grow in banks, and a white egret stands on one leg. The flow of water develops ripples as gravel and dirt cover the fixed cement surfaces.
I find political and economical systems so complex I have no hope of deconstructing them into meaning. I cannot extract enough detail to argue. But simply, since we’re talking the ocean, since we’re talking tomatoes, one should take the small possible steps.
I can’t give up paper towels, or Ziploc bags. I am afraid of thrift stores and have friends and family in places I can only reach by plane. Which may explain why I expect to bring home a bicycle in the near future. And complete the transition to chipper old gardening lady, baskets full of organic whatevers, trousers clipped to ankles. Old women to the rescue. Bringing mint lemonade from Braising Hell.
For those new to this blog, Saturday mornings I write whatever comes to mind between early rising and noon. While the content will vary, the attitude is unlikely to change.