Sun-made, ice-cold

When the weather is hot, an unseasonably 91 degrees, and there are leftovers in the refrigerator, I do not cook. I think only to brew sun tea. It is something I learned to do from a good friend, who learned it from his mother years ago.

I grab a two-quart Rubbermaid jug, put in six teabags, fill the container with tap water, tighten the lid, and set it outdoors. The sun does the rest of the work.

Hours later, I bring the plastic container into the kitchen, remove the teabags floating inside, screw the lid tight again, shake things a bit for proper effect, and pour tea into a glass filled with ice. I pause to take a long drink. It goes down nice and cold.

What I must take for granted

At a farmers' market across town, I stock up on strawberries but can not yet locate rhubarb. Darn.

When I email a friend in snowy Colorado, and talk of having enough luscious red fruit to last the week but unfortunately still no rhubarb, she envies the year-round farmers' markets in the Bay Area.

To which I ask, semi-seriously: What, aren't all farmers' markets year-round?

Spoken like a fruit-privileged Californian.

I am reminded of the mildly morbid but telling story a brother used to share about a man who complained of having no shoes until he saw somebody else with no feet.