ALL NINE OF THEM

The fog came back yesterday evening, later than in previous years on the Fourth. But appreciated never-the-less. At jus past nine thirty or so I left the building with a pipe to enjoy the coolness and the muffled explosions. Throughout the evening after dark there had been rumbling and booms, not too close, so it was rather enjoyable.
But I am not an aficionado particularly of fire works.
I understand that like burnt hot dogs they are traditional.
That does not mean I want them close by.

A friend had remarked that you could make a wonderful refreshing beverage with cucumbers, and for a second what I heard was peanut butter. Both my coordination and my hearing are better when it's high fifties to low sixties, and for most of the past three days it has been somewhere between seventy five and ninety degrees Fahrenheit.

Outside of the civilized zone it's been a furnace.
Mad Max Country.


It is possible, I suppose, to use peanut butter as the basis for a refreshing chilled beverage. Add sugar and a little lemon juice, plus plenty of water and crushed ice.
Perhaps I should experiment. The Skippy shake.
Pinch of salt.

Might go well with the charred hot dogs in the fog. A new July Fourth tradition.


I think I prefer fog. Bundling up warmly and going somewhere elevated to observe the only barely visible glowing puffballs in the sky, before saying "stuff this, I'm going home", is a time honoured San Francisco custom. Then, the next morning, local media shows pictures taken from a boat in the Bay of all the glory that we missed.

Some people are disappointed to see only invisible rumblings.
Don't worry, boys, the rest of the state is burning up.
That's fireworks enough for all of us.



I hope everyone still has all nine of their fingers?




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