Monday, August 13, 2007
Passages: August 2007
"August Is A Wicked Month", the novella by Edna O'Brien caught my eye the other day when I was looking at my collection of books. In the story, Ellen, a Londoner, went south to Provence in search of sun and sex. The blurb on the book jacket reads "....No writer in English is so good at putting the reader inside the skin of a woman." Very true. Some years back I carried the Country Girl Triology by Edna O'brien with me when I traveled to St. Albert (near Edmonton), Canada, to spend a week with friends. My friend, Sumana, and her husband wanted to show me the Canadian Rockies. We drove to Jasper, made our base in a rustic cottage at Maline and spent a few days driving around the area. Very enjoyable. I remembered that Sumana began reading the book and became completely engrossed in it. By the time we returned to St. Albert she had finished the book. I left it with her.
Here in the San Francisco Bay area, August is mostly a pleasant month. Sunny days, the daytime temperature usually hovers under 90° degrees Fahrenheit (32° degrees C); the nights are cool. There are hints that we are halfway past summer....the days are getting shorter; the sun rising later in the morning.
August is when I join JHL and her family for the annual trip to the coast. We spend a week at Pajaro Dunes. The weather there is unpredictable. One cannot be sure of sun and warm weather but that does not prevent us from enjoying ourselves. The beach house where we stay is only about 50 yards from the Pacific. We walk on the beach, run, read, listen to music, bash Bush and the Republicans, have great meals and good wines. All too soon the week passes and we return to the valley with refreshed spirits, ready to face the end of summer.
The Beach House at Pajaro Dunes
©Musafir
©MusafirAugust is when I join JHL and her family for the annual trip to the coast. We spend a week at Pajaro Dunes. The weather there is unpredictable. One cannot be sure of sun and warm weather but that does not prevent us from enjoying ourselves. The beach house where we stay is only about 50 yards from the Pacific. We walk on the beach, run, read, listen to music, bash Bush and the Republicans, have great meals and good wines. All too soon the week passes and we return to the valley with refreshed spirits, ready to face the end of summer.
