While it is scary hot in Georgia, a friend of mine from the Pacific Northwest writes that today her local weather is described as a 'heavy marine layer'.

I want some of those.

When it came time to make a move from our New England home, I had a stipulation. "Bill, " I said, "I will follow you anywhere. But wherever we go must be to a state with a coastline." At the time we lived 2-3 hours from the ocean. Because I grew up a half hour from the beach, I missed the awareness of tides, the smell of the salt, the access to waves and being buoyant on hot days, dog paddling along the shoreline, blind but happy.

The coastline of Maine in winter is muted gray blue. Water slams against rocks and wears them down. On sunny freezing days around the New Year, we would drive up and walk on the beach in huge parkas. Noses frozen, but warm in heart.

We moved to Georgia. Do you know how far Atanta is from the beach? Georgia is some big state. When you live in Massachusetts or Rhode Island, it would be the equivalent of saying, "OK...Pittsburg is close enough. Let's go there."

Five hours to Savannah...which is really on a river. Six to Tybee Island or Hilton Head or St. Simons.

When I picture a heavy marine layer, I picture a cotton turtleneck sweater and a fresh salty breeze pushing my hair back. I picture it cool enough not to be sticking to the outdoor furniture.

My friend who lives in the Pacific Northwest thinks it should be warmer, if it's going to call itself July where she lives. But she can see the sea anytime she wants to, without turning on the Discovery Channel; the Discovery Channel doesn't smell like anything.

I'm thinking that next July, I just might head to the Northwest, and knock on her door. When she answers the doorbell I will hold out a cup and ask, "Could I borrow a heavy marine layer? Just for a week?"