ALMOST TIME TO TURN ON THE HEAT

Well, well, well. It's almost time to turn on the heat. 

We have already hit that part of the year when we have the heat on in the car in the morning, and the air conditioning comes on in the afternoon. The gas fireplace has been on more than once. Extra blankets are on . . . and off . . . and back on . . . all night long.

It has already started snowing on Mount Washington. Parts of northern New York have seen snow flurries. And the trees, those usually-glorious autumn trees, are taking their sweet time changing colors, most of them going directly from green to brown due to a summer of drought. Windy days send chills straight through from our ribs to our spines.

Fall is here; winter is coming.

So far, the heat inside the apartment has stayed off, a clear advantage to my current living situation. In my old townhouses, which were my last two respective places of living, the heat would've already been blasting uselessly through the ancient, drafty walls and windows. One of my former places boasted a front room with rushes of frigid air coming in through electrical outlets - a wind tunnel of wasted resources.

I'll fight it as long as I can, though. I'll continue to wear flip-flops even while I have on my jeans and sweater and possibly top it with a down vest. I have a few more days of kayaking left in me, too. I'm ready, for sure, but I am by no means happy about it. 

PIRATING STORY LAND

I recently have a chance to go to Story Land.

For those unfamiliar with this weirdly themed fun park, it basically provides kiddie-sized rides loosely based on children's tales, such as Cinderella and Mother Goose. It has the Polar Coaster, Wooden Shoe ride, an antique car track, and things like turtle-themed tilt-a-whirl and flowery tea cups that spin.

They've also added an old-fashioned wooden roller coaster for the older "kids" (aka "adults") that can cause one's Small World mac 'n' cheese to hurl up and over anyone nearby as the puke flies past at seventy-plus miles per hour. This coaster is not for the feint of heart. If you prefer to stay within a decent landing distance should something go wrong, stick to the Polar Coaster, as I do.

For the first time ever in all the times that I have been there, Cinderella's castle is open and her pumpkin coach is running. My grandnieces are thrilled with that, while I am content to sit in the shade of a big tree outside of the castle since it is roughly 90 degrees outside in the sun. 

Of course we must go on the water rides: Dr. Geyser, where I take a good round of direct water hits, and a few passes on the Bamboo Chute, where my sister, who knows I hate heights, decides to duck in time for me to catch the brunt of the incoming wave at the bottom of the free-fall. Yes, we bought the photo of our descent and I managed to look like I am not about to crap my drawers despite feeling that I very well might be.

My grandnieces, who are almost three, peter out after a long day, and the theme park, open for two more hours, becomes my sister's and my playground. We get into the Swan Boats and are warned by the attendant that we may NOT play bumper boats while we are out there. "I know your kind," he says, "and I'll have my eye on you two." Instead, I lead us in several very slow water donuts since I'm not allowed violence even at two miles per hour.

We know darn well that we need to hit our favorite ride: The Pirate Ship. We wait in line and finally make our way on. There are several places that we could sit with make-believe rowing stations, but my sister and I decide to leave those to the kiddos who are on with their families.

"Is it okay if we sit here on this back bench?" we oh-so-innocently ask the young pirate ship captain. 

"Oh, sure. No problem," he smoothly smiles back at us. "What are your names?" he asks us, and we ignorantly oblige.

We take our seats, completely unaware that we are about to become the captain's straight men. About ten seconds in, the kid starts making fun of me, comparing me to Captain Hook and claiming my evil twin is the captive pirate dummy on the nearby shoreline. He also convinces my sister to play-act being hit by a cannonball.

At the end of the ride, he tells his crew of young families that if they have had a good ride on the ship, they can thank Captain Addison (himself), but if they had a bad time, they can thank Captain Heliand. We joke around some more with him on the way out, holding up the last ship ride of the day as the line snakes into dusk.

My sister and I head for one more ride on the carousel before we leave. The nice woman manning the horses smiles at us and says, "Back again?" Yes, indeed we are.

I know, I know. Story Land is for kids, right? I never claimed maturity as one of my strengths, though. The funny thing is -- I hope someone in my family wants to go again next summer because I'm all-in and will gladly give up my pride just to yell out one more "Arrrrr, arrrrr, arrrrr" because, shiver me timbers, I had a helluva good time.

CHILLING BY THE FIRE

It's that time of year again here in New England when it's as cold as death in the mornings and then boiling hot like Satan's doorway by the afternoon. We start our morning commutes with the heat in the car on full blast and end our afternoon commutes with the air conditioning in the car on full blast.  

Normally, this behavior doesn't bother us except that this means summer is truly coming to an end. It also means that even if the pools stay open, we really can't swim in them anymore because the overnight temps are enough to cool the water to unbearable levels. It doesn't matter if it's ninety degrees out (like it will be this weekend) if the pool is at seventy-three. No one really wants to go to the local ER for water-borne hypothermia.

Friday night I find myself coming home from the first week back in school and surprisingly not as exhausted as I expected for a Friday -- except that the exhaustion hit Thursday, instead. So, Friday night I come home, open a can of something illegal to anyone who isn't twenty-one, and sit on the porch. Once the mosquitoes start attacking, I move inside to the living room. I feel a little chill as the thermometer drops twenty-plus degrees in a matter of two hours, but I am also enjoying the fresh air.

What to do, what to do?

I decide to pretend I am outside camping. I set up one of my beach chairs and turn on the gas fireplace. Yes, the windows are still wide open, and yes, I know it's not quite indoor fire weather, but it is now sixty-three degrees outside. That's darn cool enough.

For those of us who drive our cars with the windows open while blasting either the heat or the air conditioner, this behavior is not unusual. I'm a little ashamed, though, that it took me so long to figure this out, and I'm totally grooving to this summer fire concept. After all, if I were outside, I'd be having a firepit. 

This is just the inside, smaller-scale version.

STEALING THE VEGGIES

If you have a garden, 

be on the lookout: 

I am coming to steal your veggies.
My friends down the street and 

around the corner 

have been supplying my 

garden vegetable fix, 

and so far I've made salads, 

enjoyed veggies and dip, 

baked some pretty darn good 

zucchini bread, 

and have roasted eggplant to 

haute cuisine (twice). 

Today I added fresh tomatoes to 

my sandwich and 

it totally rocked.

I am just going to prewarn you -- 

If I cannot find a decent farm stand, 

and if you have a garden, 

I just might invite myself over and start 

rummaging through like a 

human groundhog.