It is wickedly awful in Southern California today. It's hot, to start. Oppressive. You walk outside and the heat whallops you hard and tries to suck all your breath away. Here in the Basin, the skies are blue and clear but there is a faint haze in the air if you look. It's so hot the air ripples up from the pavement and that is the only movement. No wind. The air is sluggish and like pudding. Every so often a slow current of air will carry the scent of faraway smoke past and I am minded of Lapsang Souchong tea. There is a solid wall of greyish smoke rising in the hills. No ash flakes floating on the air this time, not like it was a few years back when we had the really bad fires on both sides. The air isn't thick and choking and the sky hasn't turned a hazy blood red like it did. I hope it doesn't.
Feeling concerned for the folks who live out near Chatsworth, Agoura, Topanga.... though it looks like they're evacuating what needs evacuating and getting livestock and people out in plenty of time. Not taking any chances. We've got friends out there and the boy's family lives near West Hills, so I am watching the news a little obsessively. Not so worried about them getting burned out of their homes, but a bit concerned for their health and well being. The smoke can be awfully hard on the system. I ended up on an inhaler for a month last time and we were nowhere near the fires then either. It was much worse for folks closer in. My friend A has two very small kids and they just moved into their new house out near Agoura a few weeks ago. I'm sure she's very worried.
Welcome, Fire Season. Feels like it's going to be another long one.
Honestly, it's a bit hot to be knitting, the dog is obsessively snuggling (very aggressively too, for some reason) and so I have not been doing very much with yarn today. I am most of the way through Comfort Me With Apples by Ruth Reichl, which I am enjoying a lot. I picked up that and Tender to The Bone yesterday at the library. This woman writes about food the way that I think about food. The husband calls me a "live to eat" girl and he is right. Whereas, he eats to live. I do live to eat. I love food. I love eating food, I love preparing food, thinking about food. I am passionate about food. Also? Food is love. Over the years, we've discovered that I cook and it means "I love you." So now he eats and knows what I meant. He knows it is a love letter, only I that wrote it in Brandywine tomatos, goat cheese and good aged balsamic instead of on a card with ink. He's not so there with the reciprocal foodage - generally he cooks and it means "I"m hungry" - but there are occasions when he makes me a cup of chicken noodle soup or brings me tea and I know that I am quite passionately adored indeed. Generally, however, the boy expresses it in other ways and over the years, I've learned to read his love letters too. It is these differences that make a marriage interesting and fun, non?
It is impossible to read Reichl's books and then find what is in your fridge at all entertaining or interesting. I try though. For lunch I took very thin slivers of some very fine aged Parmesan (from the cheese man at the Farmers Market) and had it with slices of Honey Crisp apple. I think it tasted really good. I'll have to try the combination again when my taste buds are not obscured with all the goo in my head.