A heat wave in san diego county is not the same as the heat of my childhood. Here you can fix it with an iced coffee, a dip in the icy ocean, or a fan (A fan! Not air conditioning. Just a fan. Blows my mind.) Labor day here feels like a celebration of summer just beginning to me. It is a weekend where we spend all day Saturday spring cleaning, Sunday with friends seeding pomegranates we picked from a neighboring tree, and Monday eating French food al fresco and then swimming, laying, reading.
We have been comparing the water temperature here with the temperature we grew up with. The warmest this ocean gets here in summer is how cold our Atlantic gets in the early springtime - when no one swims in it unless they are feeling particularly frisky, or have been dared.
And here, when we have made it past the white water and are up to our shoulders, when our bones are starting to feel numb and we are done asking each other if it was this cold the last time, we look back to land and there are trains, houses, roads, and cliffs where we used to see nothing but dunes. I like that we moved from one ocean to another. There are a lot of things to compare and wrap our minds around. I keep wondering when I’m old which one will feel like home.