Oaxaca’s high Monday was 88F. Sacramento’s was 106F. Where mom is, in Palm Springs, it was 113F.
In the elevator at the hotel in Mexico City, I needed to remember to press PB (planta baja, the lowest floor), instead of 1, to get to the lobby. I also needed to remember that any of the hotel workers riding in the elevator with me would, depending on the time of day, comment on either how hot or how cool the weather was. If I seemed slow in getting their comment, they would pantomime fan or shiver to help me out with the translation.
88 degrees seems like a reasonable temperature, especially since my phone reports that even Seattle is climbing into the 90s.
These three kids outside the cathedral on the zocalo in Mexico City were trying to figure out how to share this black umbrella, but someone kept getting left out. It was a great game to watch, and I wondered if it was really any relief under there or if it was a solar oven.
