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Furry Weather Report: Foggy rain or rainy fog

Returning home today from a trip to Sunnyvale to visit with a client (interviewing a software engineer), I passed through a number of microclimates. Well, for that matter, I passed through several microclimates on my way down. I was reminded of Mark Twain's comment about the weather in San Francisco; something like, "If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes and it will change." Not strictly true; for changeable weather, nothing has the Orkney Islands beat, but true enough.

I love San Franciso—to visit, that is. I don't think I could ever live there, being more of a country girl than a city girl, but I never tire of the view of the Golden Gate Bridge as I swing around and down and out of the Waldo Grade tunnel heading south and west toward the bridge and the city beyond. Those two proud towers painted with that crappy orange rust-preventing paint always lift themselves into my heart. I feel lucky to live where I can see them any time I want.

It would be a great loss to the world were they to be demolished. I used to have nightmares when I was quite young about being in a far future time when the San Francisco Bay was no more—the passage into the bay closed with hills, the bay itself long gone, with the twisted remnants of the Golden Gate Bridge (destroyed by some ages-old war, perhaps, or just the twisting power of time and earth movements) standing in the shallow waters just off shore from the coastal hills. The climate was quite temperate in these dreams. But I digress.

When I left Santa Rosa just after noon, it was sunny and hot. By the time I was as far south as Marin, the sky was filled with those beautiful dark grey low-lying, fast-moving clouds that are part fog and part cloud, misting my windshield ever so slightly. By the time I was crossing the bridge (1-PMish), the clouds were definitely fog, moving fast in through the narrow straits and over the bridge itself.

I whizzed through a FastTrak lane, having finally purchased a FastTrak device (one of the better choices I've made, commute-wise anyway; the bridge toll is up to $5, but with the device, I am only paying $4 per south-bound crossing, and am saving several minutes of time each time as well).

The fog was lighter through San Francisco (I was taking 19th Avenue, which is also Highway 1 at that point), then lifted further as I drove on to southbound highway 280—one of the loveliest highways in the world. Though this time I was only on 280 for a few miles; I took Highway 380 over to Highway 101, which is definitely showing its age but cuts my journey shorter by about 11 miles. Most times it is faster to stay on 280 despite the extra miles, but at the time of day I was traveling, it was fine to take 101. By the time I reached Sunnyvale, the weather was sunny again.

My return trip was similar, only by the time I reached Santa Rosa (about 10 PM; after meeting with my client, I had a wonderful dinner with an old friend, meeting him in Mountain View at Don Giovanni's, a great restaurant with impeccable service), the weather was heavy fog that was turning into sort of precipitation. Not exactly rain; just fog so heavy it couldn't stay in the air. The road was steaming, even that late at night, and when I got home and was greeted outside by several of the cats, their fur was heavy with damp. Not that they seemed to mind; they never do. Healthy, happy cats don't, or so I was told once, and I think I believe it.

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