There is no getting around it this time.  The mornings are crisp and chilly.  The light is waning. Summer is indeed half over.  And with all that the next year promises, I will be pleased to welcome fall.

Park City has been lovely this year; so much nicer than I thought it might be.  Yes, it was crazy cold in the winter, but it was still beautiful, and the parties were great fun.  The summer has been the kind of summer you remember from when you were a kid–hot in the afternoons, cool and starry at night, and fresh and dewy every morning.  We bought an air conditioner in May, just in case, and still haven’t taken it out of the box (knock wood).  In short, it has been ideal.

But San Francisco feels like home to me, and I can’t wait to settle in there.  I was there last week, (although my computer in the hotel ate the posts I wrote), and the familiarity was amazing.  I found it in the patterns on the sidewalks, the smell of the air on the piers, in the attitude of the people I met, and in the ever present breeze.  San Francisco has changed some, to be sure.  It is a bit more bustling, a little more casual (I can’t remember seeing anyone in a suit and tie), and EVERYONE is now a Giants fan. Of course, I have changed some too, thank goodness.

It was just a year ago this week that we moved into our home in Park City.  I am so much stronger now, and so much more sure of myself and my relationship–much happier than I have been in a long time. Living here is something I said I would never do, never could do, never wanted to try to do.  And yet it is here that so many things came together for me.

Life is funny that way.

We still have two more months to get moved out, since we have a big wedding here over Labor Day and want to be able to put all our energy towards that.  So I can really enjoy every day that we have left, especially at this, the most beautiful time of year.

Come fall, we will say good bye to this sweet town and head out to the next chapter, in San Francisco.

But I think I may need to come back for the Barbara Party.

I was once part of a dysfunctional team.  It started well enough.  We were all capable, well intentioned and dedicated to the same goal.  And, together, we climbed a mountain or two.

Then the wheels came off.

It is hard, looking back, to see exactly when things started to go wrong.  I think it was when the duplicity began.  It is hard to pull together as a team when the goals keep shifting, or when a team member says one thing, but does something else.  Or maybe it was when individuals began putting their own agendas in front of the team’s. I do clearly remember that there was insecurity, over-inflated and bruised egos, and plenty of good old-fashioned back stabbing to go around.  Oh, it was tons of fun.

I do not have a clue what is going on in Washington right now, or who is right or who is wrong, but I know that it is as dysfunctional as anything I have ever seen.  It makes me crazy that people who earn a living by supposedly looking out for the best interest of American citizens, who, by the way,  are paying their salaries, seem to lose sight of the fact that this budget crisis is not about them, but about the country and the individuals who live here.

Honestly.  Everyone, from the members of congress to the president, seem almost pleased to be in the spotlight, showing up on every talk show on television, spouting their agenda and complaining about how the other guy isn’t playing fair.

Well,  life isn’t fair.  Sometimes people don’t get what they want, or even deserve.  And everyone I know, on a daily basis, makes compromises in their lives in order to get by. Marriage requires some give and take, as does parenthood, as does living on a budget, especially in a tough economy.  We all understand that.  Why aren’t the people we have elected to “lead” us, able to understand it?

And what has happened to honest and open debate?  What has happened to working together to solve problems, not invent and amplify them?

Or have we become so spoiled and lazy and entitled as individuals that we are now that way as a country?  I really don’t think so.  Most people I know work hard for a living, and are careful, but often generous, with their money.  So why are our “leaders” behaving like children, refusing to work together and insisting on having everything their way?  I don’t understand.

We are so blessed to live in a country where our founding fathers, a group of truly gifted, intelligent and visionary men, came together and worked out a plan for a country that has held together pretty well for a couple of hundred years or so.  Few, if any, other societies in the history of the world, can say as much.  But why does there seem to be so many, many confused and self important people in Washington today, earning lots of money, enjoying the benefits of power, pushing for their own petty agendas and getting nothing done?

I don’t get it.

I have been on a team or two that functioned beautifully.  We were honest with each other (sometimes, painfully.)  We respected one another’s point of view, and worked really hard, alone and together, to find solutions that made the work better.  In the end, we were all the better for it, too.

I hope someone in Washington can take a deep breath, put their ego on the back burner and find a way to solve this absurd situation. I hope someone in Washington can find it in themselves to actually “lead.”

What a notion.

That was the message on the bumper sticker I saw this morning on my way to the gym, and it seems to capture the sentiment of many of the rugged, outdoorsy souls who live in this resort town.  On a morning like this one, it’s hard to argue with them.

Where else can you wake up to 48 degrees and blue skies, and watch as big white clouds float by and the desert sun warms the mountains up to 85 degrees?

I think of my friends in New York, where the summer has been so very steamy, and feel for them.  Yes, they have those magical fireflies and balmy evenings and fabulous thunderstorms (not to mention Barney’s and the Met, of course), but a hot summer day where the asphalt squishes beneath your feet and the subway feels like a sauna, can sure make a girl weary.  Those are days best spent drinking a cold beer in an air conditioned bar, as Ray used to say.

Even in California, where the weather is usually pretty perfect, there is a sameness to the days, gentle and lovely, but less dramatic than the summer days in the mountains.

And to top it off, today is Utah’s Pioneer Day.  I have no idea what Pioneer Day commemorates, but the Utahns are pretty excited. There is a parade in Salt Lake City and all the banks are closed, and there will be fireworks tonight all over, although I must say I find they have fireworks at the drop of a hat in Park City.

I suspect, had I grown up in Park City, Pioneer Day would signal to me that summer is half over.  But that is another blog entirely.

The attitude that life is meant to be an adventure, grabbed by the longhorns and embraced and consumed whole heartedly, is pervasive here.  The long, freezing winters are a fantastic opportunity for winter sports, snowshoeing, crackling fires and parties at neighbors’ homes with lots of food and stiff drinks.  The hot, dry summer days are opportunities for hiking, mountain biking and neighborhood barbecues with lots of food and stiff drinks.

Everyone gets in on it.  Little kids spend the summer outside, of course, but there are just as many 70 year olds, with khaki shorts and tanned, muscly legs, out on the trails from dawn until dusk.  It is pretty inspiring.

The status store is REI, the status brands Arcteryx and Marmot.  I put on running shorts and t-shirts every morning and rarely feel compelled to dress up further.  Today, on the Salt Lake NBC affiliate, the weather man gave his report wearing flip flops (to be fair, however, it was Pioneer Day).

There are no fat people here.  I once saw a fat person working in the local grocery store, but it turned out she was from another county.  My friends here are supportive and encouraging of my diet, but I will never look like them-sinewy, lean, super fit and tan.  I have finally quit looking for the taxis and the elevators, and am no longer reminded that I live at 7,000 feet whenever I walk up a flight of stairs, but I will never be in shape like them.  They all look like Olympic athletes, and more than a few of them are.

So, whatever Pioneer Day is, and whatever Pioneer Day food we will eat or Pioneer Day songs we may sing, I celebrate the pioneer spirit that is Park City.

It is a great town, filled with really good people.

This morning, I read a great post on realage.com about how counting calories can help you lose weight in a way they hadn’t known about before.  You need to count your daily calorie intake, which makes sense, but the kicker is…if you cheat a little, it helps!

My diet, all based on daily calories, is actually working.  It is not fancy, or glamorous, and with my pokey metabolism, not very fast, but it is working.  I am down 8 pounds, and I continue to drop a pound every week or so, which for me is about as good as I could ever realistically hope for.

Of course, I do cheat on it a little. You know, “one bite of brie cheese= 40 calories”–when it is probably closer to 100, or “one half banana” when it is probably 3/4 of a banana?? But, I learned this morning, I am cheating in the wrong direction.  Like most people, I often underestimate how many calories I consume in a day.

According to this post, there was a recent study with college students where they gave two groups the same 350 calorie milk shake.  One group was told it was a sensible 140 calorie snack, the other was told it was an indulgent 650 calorie treat. Turns out, those who thought they were eating the high calorie shake, produced much less of the hunger-inducing hormone, grehlin, so they felt more satisfied for longer.  This means, if you tell yourself you are eating more calories than you really are, you will be more satisfied than if you tell yourself the calories are lower.

I think I might try it.  If I can fool myself into thinking chocolate yogurt is a healthy, low calorie snack, why not try and convince myself it is rich and decadent??  We both know I am going to eat it anyway.

Of course, the real trick is in simply recording everything you eat.  Lots of weight programs endorse doing this.  Not only do you then know what you are eating, or overeating, the very act of having to fess up to it at the end of the day, makes you eat less. You’d really have to want that Double Whopper with Cheese to admit to the 1061 calories that go with it, which, by the way would leave me room for less than half an order of fries before I hit my day’s allotment of calories.  I can’t even imagine.

Recording my day’s calories can be kind of a game.  There is nothing like realizing at 4 pm that you have 392 calories left for dinner, drinks and dessert.  Thank heavens for grilled shrimp!!

I am still not ready to post a photo of me, although my jeans are finally a little looser these days.  I am still a pound and a half a way from being what my BMI tells me is in the “ideal” range.  But with summer fruits and barbecue weather on my side, I am optimistic about hitting my goal in time for my birthday.

Maybe.  Just, maybe, a picture then.

I always think of the middle of July as the middle of summer.  It is not, of course.  We are actually still only in the first month of summer, but it somehow feels like we have made it to the top of the hill and are on the downhill slide.  And I am good with that.

We are getting the most beautiful sunsets here now, late ones, as it is nearly nine before the sun sets. Tonight is the neighborhood block party, if the thunderstorms cooperate and stay away until after dark. And on Saturday night we will picnic “al fresco,” listening to Chris Botti and the Utah Symphony play at the Deer Valley amphitheater.

Yes, summer in Park City is sweet.

Preparing for the move to San Francisco, from here, and Santa Barbara, has been rather hectic, with all the logistics and comings and goings.  It will be great to finally settle in to our new place.  But as all of that won’t take place until the middle of September, I will enjoy every summer day and summer night, every barbecue, every concert, every Italian class and early morning walk in this lovely town.

And I will especially cherish the thunderstorms.  Thunderstorms here are magnificent. There is something so primal about the change in the smell of the air, the crackling lightening, the rumbling thunder and the pounding rain on the roof.  I remember the dramatic thunderstorms in New York, so unlike anything I had grown up with in California, almost violent and a little scary.  The thunderstorms here are even more exhilarating as they create such a sea change from the hot, dry days that precede them.  I love to watch the gathering clouds pile up behind the mountains, and feel the cooling winds blow down on us, bringing the delicious rain.

There will be none of that in San Francisco.

We will trade thunderstorms for morning fogs, crisp mountain air for the soothing maritime breezes. And I am good with that, too.

A Jesuit philosopher once wrote, “to live is to change.”

These days, I feel very much alive.