Summer

... And put in 23 hours in two days.

The building management put on a "Summer Party" last evening, (6-8pm) flyers appeared this week, with little add-ons for activities penned in as the week wore on. After work, Friday, on the patio over the parking, and then cinched it with "a band." Well, how can we turn up our noses at live music so close? So we figured we'd at least go listen a while. I didn't get home until 1800, six pm, sore and in need of a shower and food. Usually, this would mean I'd hunker down. But something about the low-keyedness still appealed to two non-social people (us), and we never lost the impulse to try.

Not that I knew about it, but the temp hung out around 100° (37C) most of the day, and cooked the concrete up there until the building shaded it from the west. Now clean, damp, and with an avocado, chips and a beer inside, and my They Might Be Giants t-shirt on, we wandered out to see what was going on. It was Warm on that patio, but not in bright sun, lovely searing hot dog smell, some groups of young people together, a few well behaved children, a dog, other couples, the maintenance staff and managers (it's a fairly large place) being pleasantly unprofessionally making cotton candy, handing out ice cream bars, running a home putting green game for prizes. (Beer, "Provided by a vendor to be given out as prizes, we are not serving alcohol!") A volleyball game started behind us. The band set up, just a couple of guitars, harmonica, all three sang, and did really good Bob Marley covers, and an ecclectic scattering of other songs we know and like, such as Man Down Under, with a few blues riffs of their own. We were nearly the only ones really sitting paying attention. So when we felt too cooked ourselves (D already burnt from his bus journey to get a cable earlier in the day) and stiff perched on the concrete surround for one of the potted trees, we had to leave. The band called out to us, "No! Don't go..." We smiled and apologized, but retreated to soft seats and cool air.

A good final to a strange week.


My dear Moira is moving this week, rather suddenly because they found a great place, less rent, nearer the beach. But the short notice also means no assistance. She's just started PT for her back, and Plum is willing, but only three years old. C is optimistic though, and creative and capable. I really want a transporter right now. So I sent her the link to the song D and I sang to each other so often during our various moves in friend-distant lands. A bit raw, but I still love it. Help is Coming (One Day Late.)

Enjoy Sam Phillips.