Last weekend we are under a thick blanket of early snow, sub-freezing temperatures,
and leaves still falling off the trees and collecting on the snow-crusted ground. Seven days later we are outside in short sleeves and shorts enjoying sunny temperatures in the mid-seventies.
This scenario is why people who live in New England laugh at weenies who claim "drastic temperature changes make (them) sick." Like people who fly from Florida to anywhere in the North and then claim their sudden onset of pneumonia is because of the sixty-degree temperature change in mere hours. Suck it up, Buttercup. We often do this on a daily basis.
That's right. We have mastered the art of blasting the heat in the morning and countering it by blasting the air conditioners in the afternoon. I never take the ac unit out until whatever weekend is closest to Halloween. Not going to lie -- two of the three ac unit are still sitting directly under the windows in which they had been resting since May, and I briefly considered tossing at least one of them right back into the window around noontime today.
The New England weather is its own kind of psychopath. We never know what it's going to be. We can have snow in May and October, and it can be nearly one hundred degrees in early April. It's crazy . . . crazy wonderful. If I had to wake up every day to the same damn weather, be it hot or cold, I'd be out of my bloody mind in no time.
Suffice it to say that the Christmas decorations did not come out today. It seemed too much like Californian weather to put out Santa's sleigh, which is how I know I'll never survive if I am forced to retire somewhere perpetually "pleasant." I'm far, far too ornery for that shit.
Besides, the NE weather, like me, can go from hot to cold and right back again faster than Reagan's head spins in The ExorcistI. Except for the sudden spewing eruption of pea soup, that seems reasonably fitting to me.
