too hot

Here's Sookie enjoying the sun and 95 degree heat - for about 10 seconds.

Too hot. Too hot to go to the beach. The sand is boiling, the water is boiling. I don't understand how anything here supports life.

Too hot to sit in that pretty back yard. I huddle in here with the air conditioning set at 70 and watch the little lizards racing along the fence.

Too hot to walk the dogs. Aside from quick pee-walks, they have to wait until 10 pm.

Too hot to go anywhere. The sunblock (SBS 70) doesn't work.

I sleep well, though. There is a ceiling fan over the bed. The perfect blend of air and white noise.

that can't be right...

Year three mammogram is fine. Now I don't have to worry about my name ending up on a pink bucket of KFC for another year.

Am I in the South or not?

Stan tells me that Florida is not the South.

This is disappointing to me. Ever since my first trip west of the Mississippi (Atlanta, circa 1983) I have wanted to live in the South. (Some people try to tell me Atlanta is not the South, either.)

Now I did notice, a few months back, that when I drove about 400 miles north things kept getting more and more Southern. Please don't tell me that Charlotte isn't the South either.

What about Birmingham? I've been there and it is a lovely city, too.

Maybe I read Flannery Connor at too early an age. Maybe I am just obsessed with good food, the potential elegance of the English language, and flora and fauna.

One of the nicest things about Alaska was the presence of many happy Southerners. Several of them, nurses, worked for me in the wilds of Western Alaska. I arranged to work all holidays in return for meal deliveries from brilliant Southern cooks. And all the Southerners, black and white, seemed very comfortable with the local Eskimos - another culture known for hospitality and great seafood.

Florida seems Southern to me, especially now when it is punishingly hot and the snowbirds have left. Every two weeks another amazing flower emerges everywhere. Crape myrtle last week. There are lovely little reptiles and hibiscus everywhere.

I read "Southern Living" religiously and study Southern cuisine. I am a little worried about Trisha Yearwood's lovely cookbooks, where every recipe includes bacon, mayonnaise, and canned soup. (I bought them anyway). I was very pleased to find to find Robert St. John's cookbook, "Deep South Staples:How to survive in a southern kitchen without a can of cream of mushroom soup".

I seem to be living in the Spenard of St Petersburg

This is a great neighborhood. These fine establishments are around the corner, near Tropicana Stadium. The drive-in liquor stores are a little scary. You pay through the window. The guy in there sits in a bulletproof cube with two handguns by the register. What would happen if he fired a gun inside a bulletproof enclosure? This is something Tarantino would think of. Also, they will hand customers a free baggie full of ice cubes.

Yes, the neighborhood is full of historic bungalows and beautiful gardens. But, like dear old Spenard in Anchorage, it still has a little historic sleaze.