January 12, 2021. Playa Royale, Mexico. Cold.

The coldest day I ever spent was when we were in San Francisco. Ken and I had worked at a summer camp outside Tucson the summer of 1961. To get home by Labor Day, we decided to drive to the west coast to visit my aunt Lil and cousin Joyce who lived in Oakland, then drive up the coast to Vancouver, then right across Canada and home to Toronto. We wee driving our 1953 VW bug with no airconditioning. And we were camping. After a visit with relatives, our plan was to spend the day in San Francisco, then drive north to find a camp spot. We parked the car in the city, and used trolley cars and public transportation throughout the day. Our last stop was Golden Gate park. That place is windy. We were wearing light clothes and after hiking around and taking tea, we were really cold. In fact we were both shivering. We got ourselves back to the car and immediately headed north, keeping our heater to get us warm. We had jackets in the car and we figured that as Canadians, we could tough it out. And we did. But I still recall that day we spent in San Francisco. I don't think I have ever been colder. Of course, we were stupid. Everyone knows that San Francisco was cold, even in August. Also I was wearing a cotton, sleeveless dress and sandals. And we left our jackets in the car when we headed out for the day. But we knew nothing and we paid the price. But we had a wonderful memory.