Hey my people, life in Los Angeles life is bearable again. The thermometer dropped at last after a vicious week of 90º+ temperatures. 90+, you say? Hell, it's 110º in Phoenix.

Well, I bet in Phoenix you have an air conditioner.

Last week in Los Angeles-- land of the jalousie windows, where you can't mount an a.c. no matter how desperate you are-- the dog, the cat and I lay back helplessly dozing through the afternoons with the blinds closed and a platoon of fans zzz-ing. The white noise of a fan is the most soothing sound I know, and in heat like this, it's narcotic. Fans affect me at the cellular level. Their chrysalis of sound is meant to sleep by. That's my Southern heritage. When I was a kid in Louisiana, I would keep the fan going all night even if I had to get up and throw on a blanket.

Now that I think of it, the buzz-tick-whirr of the chemo dispenser lulled me to sleep in exactly the same way. This may be kind of sad in a Pavlovian way, but so what? One of cancer's biggest lessons for me: if a distraction turns up, take it. Besides, maybe that soothing buzz-tick-whirr helped convince my embattled cells that all was well, and we'd wake up and have eggs and grits in the morning.