It’s snowing today in New Jersey. Just as it was snowing last week. And the week before. And the week before that. In fact it’s been snowing every week for the whole month. Sometimes twice. Here’s my picnic table, covered with plastic on my deck, still uncovered for the season because I don’t remember the last time I saw sun. On the East Coast, we’ve had four Nor’easters, three in the last two weeks. Yesterday was the first day of spring, and two days ago, my husband absconded with these daffodils from the neighbor’s backyard. (So lovely, aren’t they? Everything illicit always is! )The yard should be full of them by now, but Spring seems to be on hiatus until nature gets done with it tantrum. Maybe its just getting back at us for ignoring its maintenance so long. Like cleaning up after ourselves when we take a dump on it, for not respecting it, for not putting our money where our drain pipe is. Makes me wonder what it looks like in Paris this spring, where the rest of the world seems so much more in accord.
One of the nicest things about living in the Northeast is the stunning weather we enjoy each fall. Sunny, crisp days, cool, sleepable nights, it’s a welcome respite after the hot, sweaty summers. We get to wear our new sweaters and boots, festoon our homes with bright mums and pumpkins, go apple picking and lose ourselves (and occasionally our kids) in corn mazes, grab a mug of hot and liberally-spiked cider, ooh and aah over the changing leaves, while the scent of wood-smoke settles like incense over our towns. But guess what? Here it is, nearly the middle of September, and I’m still wearing sandals, the cicadas are still chirping and I’m still running the air conditioner. What is this–Miami? Christ- this is New Jersey! What in the wide, wide world of sports is going on?
Look, I totally believe in global warming–not that it’s a belief system as some deniers swear it is–and I’m almost convinced carbon dioxide is the New Oxygen. But I want Autumn. I want Autumn so bad, I’m willing to give up my $65 pedicures until next spring so I can bring out my boots. I’m willing to stand atop a mountain and screech Al Gore invented the Internet! if it’ll bring it any sooner. I’ll bury my swimsuit in the back yard and break my beach umbrella over my knee if the temperature will drop twenty degrees. I want to make pot roast and chicken soup and hot cider because I can’t stomach any more Caesar salad and iced tea. But most of all, I’m sick to death of bugs, moths, spiders, and mosquitoes, and the fact their very existence keeps me from entering through my front door when I’m out after ten PM because they’re flash-mobbing around my porch light. There used to be a bat hanging from my awning taking care of those bastards, but I haven’t seen them in a month. They’re probably so sick of summer too, they’ve already gone into hibernation.
Damn, I’d be happy if I could just blow-dry my hair again.
I know why this is happening. I know why Summer can’t make peace with Fall and give up the whole thing already. I’m fairly certain one or the other has dug in on the opposite side of the aisle and is refusing to budge. Apparently, yielding to Fall will look like they’re “cooperating,” and we just can’t have that, no way, no how. So don’t expect Christmas or Hanukkah this year, either. Unless, of course, it comes with sunscreen.