Growing up two blocks from the ocean meant hitting the beach the moment the temperature hit 70°.
Into the freezing cold ocean on those rare 80° days - and always a painful sunburn with peeling skin, after. (I'm paying for that recklessness with biannual visits to the Dermatologist - next one this coming Tuesday where he hill undoubtedly find more basal cells to remove.)
And the front and rear windows open to catch that magnificent ocean breeze - no one ever had A/C - and the dreaded hot and totally still days we called "Earthquake Weather" although I don't recall ever having one during one of those days.
After our fog-filled summer, it seemed one of the hottest days of the year was always the first day of school and the sunny weather could last into early November in a good year.
And dinner for the scorcher days was usually something like the tuna salad my mom would make - pretty much a basic tuna salad but then mixed into chopped iceberg lettuce and whatever other vegetables might be in the 'fridge to make it a substantial meal - and Larraburu sourdough with Lady Lee margarine. I don't think my parents ever bought actual butter in their lives.
Sleeping with windows open and listening to the lions roar from the zoo two blocks away.