Trapped In A Closet

No, not like R. Kelly . . . .

We here at Metblogs have adopted a policy to only discuss the weather when its news – more than merely discussing the fact that another day has arrived and it does, indeed, have weather, as all days do.

So I’m making the weather a story. And linking it to another story. Now that I’ve laid the proper foundation . . . .

You may have noticed the unseasonably warm weather lately leading you to uncommon February activities: like ditching the boots for thongs, duking it out with your neighbors for the outside tables at your favorite cafe, rolling in the grass like a puppy in any one of a number of San Francisco parks you may have forgotten existed during these long, woeful winter months.

Just yesterday, in fact, I bought some new tank tops to go with the sunny days (okay, and as retail therapy, but whatever).

Then, on the phone last night, my Mom, harbinger of unintentional downage the way mothers are, said “yes, but I hear it will be back to normal by Friday. And as mothers are, she was right. Blame Canada for the upcoming dose of February-ness headed our way. I know I will.

I mention this only as a way of warning. I notice that when the sun does come out in this fine city – especially when it comes out warm and not just bright – everyone backs down a bit. There’s less MUNI hostility. A tad more civility exercised in the course of daily city light. The whole of San Francisco rushes outside at once to take advantage of this kind of weather because we know it is short lived. We also know it is entirely undependable. Heat-waves in February, cold snaps in July. And August. And September.

San Franciscans live their lives like the school children of a science fiction story [the name of which evades me now to the point of distraction] who get one, solitary day of sun during the whole year. On their one day of sun in the story, they lock a girl in the school closet and forget about her until the sun goes away. Whether San Franciscans have read the story or not, I impute to them knowledge of it, and an undying fear of being that little girl, the one who misses the sunshine because she’s trapped in a closet. It makes us who we are and the city what it is.

6 Comments so far

  1. ads (unregistered) on February 15th, 2006 @ 12:00 am

    The story’s “All Summer in a Day” by Ray Bradbury.

  2. cd (unregistered) on February 15th, 2006 @ 8:49 am

    Bless you! Thank you thank you! It’s like I had a permanent block on the thing. You have saved me many hours of brain-searching. (And google wasn’t cutting it either – you’d think I could’ve come up with the author just by running down the lists of best-known, but no ….)

  3. Robin Jean (unregistered) on February 15th, 2006 @ 11:33 am

    omg, I always use that story when I tell sunshine getters about how I feel living here (and in the fog ‘hood) for five years after living in Santa Cruz and Sacramento (where I *do not* miss the 100+ summers).

    I love SF. I love SF even more with warm sun, then it becomes paradise…

  4. anonymous (unregistered) on February 15th, 2006 @ 1:52 pm

    Get a grip! “Long, woeful winter months”!! I think you need to move to the East Coast where weather actually exists before referring to our climate here as long and woeful.. lol, that just sounds ridiculous to a person coming from that part of the country.

  5. cd (unregistered) on February 15th, 2006 @ 7:27 pm

    Dear Anon –

    You may have noticed that from time to time, writers employ a device commonly known as hyperbole to make more humorous an otherwise mundane situation.

    I also don’t really care if East Coasters think we should be grateful. Grass is always greener. I wouldn’t choose to live in their climate for that reason alone. I barely chose to live in this one.

  6. pinkyracer (unregistered) on February 25th, 2006 @ 12:04 pm

    Yeah, you east coast people have no idea. Being from Sunny San Mateo, I had to move 400 miles south when it came time to live in a city. The weather in SF is just too damn cold. No matter what Herb Caen taught me about LA, at least it’s warm and dry.

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