Today

The past few days we've had the cruellest kind of heatwave - plenty of heat, but even more humidity. Even out in the open there's been hardly any air, and inside it's worse. In the daytie I've been wandering around the house, because it's too hot and sticky to even sit down, and at night I spray my back with anti-perspirant just to get a little shut-eye. With electricity rates being what they are, I can't afford to use the fan for more than two or three minutes at a time.

But this morning...this morning was glorious. This morning was a summer morning, cool and breexy, bringing the memories of every summer day I've ever spent. The wind flows before my face, showering me with images from the past, present and future.

I can see Menorca as a child, lunchtimes down at Binidali beach, Mom and Robbie and Rebecca and the Ellison boys and Alejandro and me, eating noodles and cold meatloaf topped with ketchup, swimming and trying to catch crabs. I can see Lara and Lisa and Wendy and me, lying the the garden in our bikini tops and shorts, comparing tans and breasts, vain as only thirteen-year-old girls can be. I can see summer camp, Calypso cups and archery and waterfights and glorious, shining Oliver Levey, standing there with the sun behind him, all backwards baseball cap and straggly eyebrows and that wonderful, bright, slightly crooked smile. I can see summer nights down at Greenwood Park, me and B and Elle and Alistair and either or both of the Ians, or any combination thereof, not drinking, not smoking, not graffiting the park - just a bunch of squeaky-clean teens who didn't feel the need to rebel just then, because it was enough to be young and beautiful and alive and have nothing pressing to do.

I see Curt and me wandering through Leicester Square, buying flowers from flower-sellers and watching street theater. I see Sanjit and Ivy and me walking to the Mandir at Neasden, not for any particular reason, just happy to have an afternoon off from the relentlessness of exams.

I see lazy lunchtimes when Richard would come home from work, knowing that I'd be lying the the back garden with only bikini bottoms on, and preferring to spend forty minutes with me rather than take an hour at work for lunch. And I see picnics in the park with Cam, the two of us laughing and blowing dandelions, then running for the trees to escape a sudden cloudburst and making love on a blanket in a hidden copse, far away from the rest of the world.

And yes, I say making love - because on a day like this, it couldn't be anything less.

I remember picking berries at the berry farm with Becki and Sasha - sometimes just me and B, sometimes me and Sash, sometimes all three of us - something I did as recently as yesterday.

I love the wind. It sees everything, remembers everything. You can't hide from it. Even when you're old and tired, and your brain cells are failing, the wind will bring you an entire lifetime of memories in a single breath.

Right now, the cool morning has turned into a heavenly afternoon. Plenty of sun, but enough breeze that I can finally breathe again. Truly this is a god-given day. It's the type of day where I want to do laundry just for the pleasure of standing outside and hanging it on the line.

Today I do nothing, or at least nothing pressing. This morning I read some Dean Koontz. I took a bath, shaved my legs and washed my hair. I talked to Oli. I drank a can of Coke and ate a packet of Oreos. I listened to some music - Savage Garden's "Affirmation" album - and watched an episode of Maury. I spent ten minutes watching bumblebees on the flowers.

For the rest of the day, I plan to just be. No work crises, no hospitals. I'm going to eat some pizza while I lie on my bed and read about Japan. I'll probably take a nap. I may paint my toenails later. I plan to make muffins with the redcurrants I picked yesterday, and maybe strawberry shortcake with the berries.

Mostly I just want to sit here with my herbs and my flowers and the bees and birds, and feel the wonder and rightness of the world. I'm not saying that I'll forget about my Dad's stroke or my Mom's hip and back, or the swine flu that's finally come to my town, or innocents dead in Iran, or a shining star gone at 50 - but I want to put these things away for awhile, and take in the peace, the beauty and the sense of belonging that is evident in each precious moment of this day.

I wish all of you could see today the way I saw it.