A cold wind is whipping across Nob Hill. A couple are huddled together on the corner. She is trying to spread out a map and he is hunched over with his hands dug into his pockets trying to stay warm.
What does the 4th of July mean in San Francisco? It means that while the rest of the United States is sweltering we are adding more layers of clothing. While the rest of the United States is anticipating an evening of fireworks we are trying to figure out the best place to watch the clouds turn pink and green once the show starts.
I am not complaining. Just as Christmas for New Zealanders means heat, the 4th of July means cold to us. The Muse did venture out of the city one year. It was 1986 and I was in New York City for business and pleasure. It was the year that they celebrated the newly refurbished Statue of Liberty. I will probably never see another fireworks display like that again. Spectacular. My other vivid memory of that night is how it felt to be packed into the last bus heading uptown from the Village at midnight. It was still hot. And humid. I knew at that moment that I would always be a San Franciscan.
So what will the Muse do today? Shop for ingredients to make the Barefoot Contessa's amazing Vegetable Coleslaw from the first book, page 107. Then order in the Memphis Pork dinners from BIG NATE'S BARBEQUE. After dinner we walk over to the corner of Sacramento and Mason to watch the fireworks.
Where is my red fleece jacket?
Didn't Mark Twain say, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."?
Posted by: Betsy | July 19, 2006 at 01:57 PM
we were at Stinson and it was suitably scorching. Not a sweater was needed until about 8pm. (I actually beleieved it would be cold and wore my jeans, duh!)
Posted by: sam | July 04, 2006 at 11:03 PM
Funny post, Karletta, and so true for us north coast dwellers. Up here we call them "fogworks".
Posted by: Christine | July 04, 2006 at 09:44 PM