New England is a wonderful
place to live.
Several of my pals
admitted to turning the heat on recently because we had a cold patch. We’re making stews and soups and all kinds of
fall-type foods. I didn’t turn on my heat
officially, but I did turn on the two electric fireplaces I finally broke down
and purchased after my furnace kept shutting down for no reason year after
year.
Then, today happens.
This isn’t the first time
it has been this hot this late in September.
Today is the kind of day that makes me glad my air conditioners stay in
until about Halloween. Well, except last
year when we had the two weddings and the photographers were coming to the
house, so I took the AC units out early, and it was bloody hot as hell in late
October the day my daughter got married, and we all melted.
After sitting outside today enjoying the
on-again off-again sunshine, I have myself a barbecue. I cook up some cheese and garlic sausages,
and I notice that it’s reasonably humid outside. After starting two loads of laundry, I
realize that the humidity level inside has risen, as well.
Mere hours after heating
the house up with the electric fireplaces to take the chill out, I am turning
on fans, closing windows, and cranking up the air conditioners. I’m going to run at least one of those
suckers all night because the temperature outside is only supposed to get to
66. That’s hardly sleeping weather
around here.
New England is now in the
season unofficially known as the Nature’s Menopause: Not really summer anymore and not yet fall,
when the air can chill as quickly and easily as it can roast you right out of
your clothing. Leaves are turning, but
it’s toasty enough to sit at the beach.
Frost licks at the ground at dawn, and steamy dusk makes us wonder how
we ever survived stew and soup-making just a week ago.
I’ll be crawling along the
ledges of the sills at school to yank open the windows tomorrow, begging for
some air to seep into the building as the mercury shoots upwards of the
mid-seventies yet again.
This is what makes us love
winter. Just as we are begging summer to
become endless, we sweat right out of our skin and beg for the first snowfall,
and when it does happen, those giant puff-ball snowflakes floating down for the
first time each autumn, it will be wonderful.
New England wonderful.
As I sit in front of the
fan that is in front of the air conditioner, waiting for nature’s latest hot
flash to pass, I know it doesn’t get much better than this.
