Another long weekend in the books, another few hours lost to time and television, between a short squall of rain and the wind, it’s been pretty cool so far today. According to Wikipedia (why would anyone ever lie on Wikipedia?) San Francisco is the coolest major city, climate-wise in the United States, during the traditional summer months of June, July and August – that must include such stalwarts as Seattle and Anchorage, right? I remember heading up to Tanforan the first week we were back, stepping out of the car to watch the swirling mist gathering around and owing away and thinking how not in San Diego we were (this was soon after accompanied by the thought that boy, we should have brought our bags with us to shop).
The facts are in and very clear; there’s far more people in San Jose than San Francisco, but really, the whole area is a contiguous megalopolis, town borders blurry and ill-defined (where are we now? as long as we can find the freeway, we can get there) for purposes of either expedience or some long-obscure reason: a now-dry creek, a land grant, someone’s backyard. Downtown San Mateo was constrained for thirty years or so, hemmed in on all sides by the various estates adjoining it, which is why that core is built-up and developed; I wonder about these later estates released to suburbia, although suburbia on the Peninsula is different than any I’ve seen before.
It’s a dry, daring rush through the weekend; busy and not-busy at the same time, our limited radius dictated by what the kids are willing to do and what activities strike our fancy; the walk downtown and back nearly made me pass out afterwards, Saturday afternoon, and then on to bigger and brighter things, right? It gets to be a difficult day once you concede the faults of your everyday abilities in getting you down towards the ground again, ready to run with newer reports and abilities, able to leap tall charts in a single bound. The hours drag on while you’re there but then never seem to pass so quickly thereafter.