Extremities

This morning, I was at a field site at 9AM in Pacifica. The temperature was 39 degrees, and the wind was blowing blowing blowing. So not enthused about having to be there, the engineer and I sat in his big truck, waiting for the others. All together, we tried to stay in patches of sun as we walked through tall weeds, deluding ourselves that made a difference. The last huge wind storm toppled a Monterey Pine, which then crushed one of the abandoned buildings there. A shame really; the crushed side of the building had been home to one of the largest bee hives I have ever seen. Honeycomb was scattered everywhere, but there were no dead bees. By the end of the visit, I could not feel my hands. They were numb appendages, dry and cracked, that eventually began to burn in the car's warmer air.

Skip forward four more hours of work, laundry, and various phone calls, and you'll find me sitting in a leather cushion chair at the nail salon by my house. My arms and legs have been moisturized and massaged. My feet are up, toenails prettily painted. There is a pillow on my lap upon which my hands with pretty painted nails rest. Also on that pillow is a tiny heater, whose hum is soothing and who blows warm air on my hands.

I am asleep.

I wake and laugh with the ladies that work there. I kept emphasizing WARM. I asked if I could just sleep the night there. They laughed, shaking their heads.