Three of us who braved last Thursday’s summer concert huddled through the entire event, watching chairs fold up and people leaving in swarms as the sun rolled away and temperatures dropped.
Children — who carry that warm, brown fat — never seemed to notice. They ran, whirled through the playground and ate ice cream, including our grandchildren. Evey even pulled off her fleece jacket which I quickly claimed to cover my legs.
Amy brought hula-hoops and the kids grabbed them up, taking to the dance floor, entertaining the scarce audience and even the performers.
The great music of Llew Matthews and band got some folk up dancing and staying warm. If not for a bum knee, I would have been there, too.
Jack arrived in short sleeves and went home to retrieve a jacket. He texted me from home, urging me to pack up because the thermometer read in the low 50s. But Mandy and I toughed it out and Jack returned because we loved the music and the kids showed no sign of freezing. No one else’s kids showed signs of slowing down either.
Historically, the recorded lowest temperature on July 9 read 60 degrees in 1936. (The highest, by the way, was 120 degrees in 1958.)
Last Thursday, then, broke a record with a low of 44 degrees.
I thought many who left early were probably tourists, believing that crazy Idyllwild people enjoyed their outside entertainment every summer in frigid weather. “Why, they even feed their children frozen desserts.”
The weather has been uncanny lately, hasn’t it? We’ll just ensure this week to bring a blanket. I’m not missing the Dorsey band.