One Hundred and Nineteen in Woodland Hills, but Only 109 in Topanga

Saturday, July 22, the day of our big party. Fifty people, chez nous, for dinner and appetizers and drinks. FIFTY. And it was HOT. One hundred and nine up here on our hill and 119 not too far from here. I was pleased to hear that these were record-breaking temperatures because these are not numbers I want to repeat too often. Or ever.

Friday I spent the day alternately praying for cooler air and then cursing the fact that I'm not religious so my prayers wouldn't count. I listened to our local forecaster, Dallas Raines (yeah, I know, but I'm in L.A.). Johnny Mountain (I'm still in L.A. and I'm still telling the truth) weather predicts for a rival station, although he and Dallas used to work together. I listen to Dallas when it counts, though. He's got a degree in weather broadcasting and I'm not sure if that's a science or an arts degree.

More later. Daughter Jane just called and her power has gone out. If it gets too hot at her place, they'll all be hoofing it to the Canyon where, believe it or not, we still have electricity!