It’s about this time of year that panic blooms in my heart: what? What day is it? It’s SEPTEMBER?! The pools are closed already? I should have gone swimming more! How can it be so late? Why didn’t I drink more iced tea? And sun tea!? I never made sun tea, not once all summer! And we still have green tomatoes! How did this happen???
I felt a hint of panic earlier in the week, when I was forced to turn the page on the calendar. But the panic intensified on Wednesday, when I awoke with a weird feeling in my throat; the rest is history. Apparently, cold season has begun early in our house. Each time I hack and wheeze until my chest is raw and my eyes are weeping, I am cruelly reminded that not only is my favorite season coming to an end soon, but also the horrific sickly season is nearly upon us.
You all can have your crisp autumnal days, your brisk nights, your lovely leaves floating down with every stir of the breeze. I prefer summer. I prefer sandals to boots, and tank tops to electrified sweaters. I want to leave the house with only a cold drink in hand, to pack a windbreaker for my little boy knowing he won’t need it. I want to sip coffee outside in the early morning of another splendid balmy day—no heavy robe needed, no slippers thank you very much, my bare feet are just fine.
I want to travel light. I want to see green. I want uncomplicated errands, meals outside, and dew instead of frost. I want to be warm all the time, not just when I’m wrapped in blankets in front of the heater.
The only good thing about all this? Once I stop coughing, I can start planning what I’ll bake. Cold weather is good for that, at least.