Last week I felt hot, as I drove home from work. No wonder, a clock on the side of a bank posted 107 degrees. The heat continued through the weekend, plus humidity. My little Tuscany looks a little scorched; its grasses, wheat-colored just days ago, seem to have taken a pinkish tint, like New Mexico soil, or perhaps sunburn.
The medical insurance threat I wrote about in my August 7 post seems to be cooling down, but I won’t rest until I know the co-payment I made this morning satisfies that bill to its final place of rest.
Yesterday, cantaloupe was six pounds for one dollar at that wonderful Latino market I wrote about in my August 17 post, last year. Two, fully chilled, sit on a shelf in my refrigerator.