Gonna say this once and for all: I hate fall.
The cool thing about saying it here, in this space, is that no one can argue with me. I mean, you can make comments. But I can just delete them, too. Much better than real life, where I have to either politely listen or impolitely argue. And while I love arguing, I find that it makes me unpopular. And I hate being unpopular.
But back to fall. I hate it (did I mention that)? Maybe it’s because I’m a summer baby. Maybe it’s because I have seasonal affective disorder. I’m not sure, but I thnk I hate fall because it’s the time when everything dies. When I lived on the East Coast, where everyone “oohs” and “ahs” over the beautiful changing leaves, all I could see were gray skies, birds deserting, and defoliated trees. Time to dig out the layers and walk around looking like the Michelin man. Time to get ready to start digging my car out of the damned snow every morning before work. In the dark. And then come home in the dark. Ewwwgh.
Does that sound pessimistic? Maybe. I’d like to point out that I’m not the only one who feels this way. I mean, the Mamas and the Papas obviously agreed with me. Otherwise “California Dreamin'” wouldn’t be in such a minor, wistful key.Take a listen if you don’t remember.
As I type this, Andrew is telling me he’s going to go sit outside under his awning in the rain, because that’s something he loves best. He says if you hate something, that means you’re sad. “Hate is a strong word,” he says. “Hmph,” I say. “Let’s get real. That’s what houses were invented for—to get out of the damn rain. So, you’re gonna walk out of your perfectly good house and go sit under a nylon awning in the rain. With your laptop. Which will probably get drips on it. And your hair will get frizzy.” Who looks stupid now? Definitely not me. So, go right ahead, Andrew. Sit under your awning and gloat because you are so well adjusted to the changing seasons. You and I both know the truth.
So, here we are, day before Halloween (which I also hate). Here we go with the damn kids coming to the door (and the dogs viciously barking and trying to kill them). And the rain. The infernal rain. I guess that’s why the holidays were invented—to cheer us up during this season of death. But I’d rather go to some tropical location and bask in the sun.
I much prefer the spring. I can always detect its first stirrings, the changing of the light. Spring smells like hope. And the birds come back. People peel back their layers, and skin meets air. Sun infuses us all with energy. That’s why people move to Florida and Palm Springs and Arizona the minute they retire. Ask an old person if you don’t believe me. I’m on to something here.
I think I’ll make soup today. That’s a good thing to do when it rains in the fall, right? And maybe I’ll look up flights to Hawaii.