And...It's Back

It’s back. The sizzling—the skin-roasting—the knock-your-lungs-flat gusts—the Devil’s breath. It’s all back. It was well over 100 degrees this weekend, and any rosy feelings I might have been feeling about NorCal shriveled, browned, and turned brutal and crisp, just like the grass lining the sizzling highways. It is awful here, and I am flummoxed once again that anyone would make this place their home by choice. (One could argue that we, too, have a choice. But I’m talking about people who choose to make this their permanent home.) I invite anyone who can’t understand why we don’t like living here to come visit us on a day like yesterday.

Saturday was in the 90s, a bit more manageable. We got up early and headed to one of our favorite places in Roseville Denio’s Farmer’s Market & Auction, a sprawling flea market and farmer’s market. Our mission was to buy a rug and some produce. We were successful on all counts, finding a nice rug in one of the many carpet stalls (Denio’s, with its multiple booths of themed merchandise—rugs, hardware, electronics, etc.—has the feel of a Moroccan souk) as well as nice tomatoes, avocados, papayas, mangos, strawberries, and corn. We even tasted a cactus fruit.

But by 10am, the flea market was roasting—all the stalls are arranged on a mammoth asphalt parking lot, and once the sun rises it’s pretty much unbearable. I had a momentary swoon in one of the carpet stalls, which required me to sit on one of the carpet pallets and make small talk with the sellers (“I’m pregnant,” I said apologetically, though it’s obvious by now) while a nervous Andrew went to find me something cold to drink.

Sunday was ridiculous, in the 100s, and though this time we set off to do some errands, we won’t make that mistake again. When it’s that hot, the only thing to do is stay home in the AC. Being out in the world just makes us miserable and desperate, as evidenced by my near-meltdown when I put coins in a soda vending machine at a grocery store only to realize that the selection I wanted—the only caffeine-free option—was sold out, and my money would not be returned. Grrrr.

And so it all begins again—summer. Unbelievably, NorCalians are at it again, going on and on about how grateful they are for the “Delta breeze.” Andrew challenged the existence of this “cooling” breeze with some of his co-workers, who became defensive and angry. So I will state it here, in the “privacy” of my blog: THE DELTA BREEZE DOES NOT EXIST. WHAT WIND THERE IS IS THE DEVIL’S BREATH.

Comments

Nate said…
You preach the Truth. When we were back east someone said to me, "So really, what is it about that place that you hate so much?" I will now send that person a link to this post. Delta Breeze = Lie. And no one in NorCal will admit it.