I come from Southern California. I have an August birthday. I could have taken surfing for P.E. credit in high school. Baby oil is for tanning, lemon juice is for highlighting hair, and shorts are for riding your new Christmas bike. I am a sun-worshiping beach baby who declares an act of God if the temperature dips below 70 and stays home (well, wants to). My version of Hell is not toasty warm, but snowy cold instead. If I were to commit some crime that involved a judge, he or she could truly punish me by sentencing me to snow skiing or ice fishing rather than a cozy cell somewhere. I didn’t choose to be born in California, b
ut I do make a specific point of staying. Two of my brothers, So Cal boys born and bred, now live in Manhattan. Which they love. For part of the year. The months that are filled with bone-chilling, soul-freezing cold and, worse for a West Coaster, snow, are the times they dream of places where the temperature is never measured in negative or single digits. The sound of lawn mowers and the smell of cut grass are part of a perfect day in my book. In Disney’s Pooh’s Very Hot Summer Day, the tubby little cubby is trying to find a friend to enjoy the sun with him, but is unsuccessful because none of the Hundred-Acre Wood folk have an appreciation for the heat. Those acres must be somewhere in New England.http://www.amazon.com/Poohs-Very-Hot-Summer-Day/dp/B001MVVST8/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1271814413&sr=1-4
http://www.randomhouse.com/kids/disney/
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