By Marilyn Kentz | Bio | Website
It was my last day of my week-long vacation and I was back in Berkeley visiting my 22-year-old daughter and her boyfriend. I was meeting my husband there, as we had gone in two different directions for the last part. It was the boyfriend’s 24th birthday and she had made plans for the two of them to go out to a romantic dinner. Since we had extended our stay by one day, I insisted they keep their original plans. No need to politely drag Mommy along. I told her I would start cooking the pasta salad she wanted to bring on their picnic the next day.By
7:30 it must have been 99 degrees in her cute little upstairs
apartment. The Bay Area population expects—no, counts on—the morning
fog and the evening sea breeze to keep their fresh air perfect in the
summer. With our diminishing ozone, I fear this sweltering day was only
a taste of things to come. And since they only rely on natural air
conditioning, there was not so much as a fan in sight. My head was
dripping.