The coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco.
It's so hot. We never get these temperatures around here - maybe just five or six days a year, if that.
San Francisco is such a different place when the temperature is in the 80's. There are so many more people outside. Everyone comes out to stroll, to garden, walk their dogs, grill their dinner. They dress in pink and blue and green and orange and show skin and wear bikini tops and short shorts and flowy, strapless dresses and sandals and open their doors and windows to let the warm, dry air in.
On the beach, where you usually see everyone in hooded sweatshirts and often bundled up in blankets, even in the summer, I now see teeny bathing suits and striped towels and flip flops, as if this were LA. The heat and sun alters people's mood, including my own. In an already cheerful, laid back city, everyone seems so expansive and joyful, like we're celebrating something. Like we're all in on it.
I personally prefer cooler weather. I like gray skies and tall clouds and walking on the beach when it's just a bit nippy. Still, I have to admit this is a really lovely change of scenery. If only Mark Twain could see us now.