Hot hot heat

Boston's been hot as an oven the past few days and I am soaking up the heat like a sponge. Even though I'm a New Englander, I'm bewildered by the way Bostonians complain bitterly about the cold winters and then complain equally bitterly about the hot, humid summers. What are you waiting for, the 5 days of spring and the two weeks of fall? If you don't like the dominant seasons, move elsewhere.

That said, the heat made it really easy to accept Gimpadelic's invitation up to his family's house in northern New Hampshire this weekend. His house, perched on a hillside, is one of the most relaxing places in the world. His family was smart enough to buy up a bunch of real estate there at the turn of the century, and three generations of Gimps have spent summers, falls and the occasional frigid winter weekend up on the hill, watching the birds migrate and the White Mountains change with the seasons. His grandmother had her appendix out on the dining room table. Every corner of the house is full of memories, from old books and the first trout his dad and uncle caught in the lake, to well-loved linens and antique boardgames. Gimp's been kind enough to invite our group of college friends up once or twice a year. The house's logbook is now full of funny stories and amazing bird, bear and blueberry sightings. It's the kind of place where it's not hard to watch whole days go by without moving from the porch/couch/hammock and those days are some of the best ever.

Lunchboy and I drove up on Saturday. I wanted him to see the place because I have so many happy memories there, and because Gimp is one of my two best friends. We hung out on the porch and tried to see Mt. Washington through the haze. Then we jumped in the lake, grilled some chicken on the back deck, drank ourselves some wine and played a game of Scrabble. Sunday was more of the same. We banged out a hike on Blacksnout despite the oppressive bug infestation and then went for another swim in the lake.

Damn you, Gimp, for playing me the Brazilian Girls because now all I can hear in my head is "pussy pussy pussy marijuana" and I can't sing that out loud!!!!!!

My dad is still home in bed, and I called him every day to check up on him. He is sounding healthier and more energetic every day. He's meeting with his doctor to go over the pathology report from his surgery on Thursday and we'll know more then about whether he'll need further treatment. It's a good sign that he's getting sick of talking about the whole thing.