Our friends Anne and Mike brought over barbecue ribs for dinner tonight, which was terribly sweet of them, especially since Anne is a vegetarian (she had macaroni.) I had hoped we could watch the (completely illegal) firework shows down in the Mission neighborhood after dinner. Every year, the best displays are put on by the thugs in the ‘hoods below our canyon. We watch them from the hill at the foot of our street, which we refer to as the Loma cause we’re all California and stuff.
So here’s the view of the Loma about 5:00:
And here it is, about 8:00, shortly after dinner and as the fog was blasting in:
Fogific Fourth of Julys are simply the way things roll here more often than not. So instead of fireworks, we had a lovely, cozy fire and listened to disco off my iPod.
Certainly, as a child of the south, I understand how inconceivable curling up by the hearth on a July evening seems, but we do it a lot. The Pacific at our doorstep acts like a big ass air conditioner and I, for one, bless it every day. The idea of owning a set of sweaters I wear all summer is both endearing and ludicrous and you would have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming.
The disco was nice too.