Summer days, summer nights are gone
Summer days and summer nights are gone - Bob Dylan
Summer days and summer nights are gone - Bob Dylan
What is it about summer coming to an end that sends me into a funk that seemingly lasts until April 21st? Well, living in flippin' Nebraska is one reason. The prospect of spending another winter skirting around in layers of scratchy clothes with sub-zero winds pounding my moral into bits of ice shards nearly makes me cry. The thought of blowing snow off my driveway every other week only adds to the torment. Mix in being cooped up in a house with five other people progressively getting on each other nerves, every-escalating heating bills, shorter days and longer nights, etc., and I'm on the brink of hysterics. Seriously, this dread of winter gets worse every year. 41 years spent with snow, ice, sleet, dirty melting roads, impossibly cold temperatures, frosted windows, cold fingers and toes, and roads unsuitable for driving. Too many. Far too many. For nearly 10 years, I faced this madness with a bald head. Brutal. What the hell am I thinking still living here?
Stay positive. Sledding with my daughter. Discovering new ways to injure ourselves by building ice ramps we shouldn't even consider jumping. Watching my daughter revel in her friends on her birthday. Looking forward to my baby's first birthday. My wife's birthday. Jesus' birthday. New Year's Eve and Day. Valentine's Day. Football. Basketball. Walks in the park with the dogs stuffing their snoots in snow banks, sniffing out some rabbit long since gone. Spying on the deer that live just over the hill and wondering how they're staying alive. Slipping outside at night long enough to witness the stars, knowing this is as close as they'll get all year to my eyesight. Pointing out the Big Dipper to my daughter. Holing up and gaming with my son. It's not all bad. Nothing is.
Still, I was born for the heat. It doesn't intimidate me. It doesn't scare me off. It doesn't send me looking for cooler quarters. I'd sit under a tree in the summertime doing nothing else is able. If I could find a job that paid me enough to work outside, I'd do it in a second. I was meant for being outdoors. Watching the nights shorten themselves depresses me. Feeling the temperatures retreat gives me sadness. Watching my trees slowly regress into skeletons feels tragically wrong. Watching my garden disappear is like watching an old friend slowly drive down the road, knowing it will be a long time before I see him again. Hearing the neighborhood kids raising a din outside less and less is like losing memories. It's still August and I'm already sinking in spirit. Fall, I don't welcome you in the least. I don't welcome you're "pretty" colors and comfortable temperatures. I don't welcome your crispness in the air. You're an enemy, and I will always treat you as such.
Stay positive. Sledding with my daughter. Discovering new ways to injure ourselves by building ice ramps we shouldn't even consider jumping. Watching my daughter revel in her friends on her birthday. Looking forward to my baby's first birthday. My wife's birthday. Jesus' birthday. New Year's Eve and Day. Valentine's Day. Football. Basketball. Walks in the park with the dogs stuffing their snoots in snow banks, sniffing out some rabbit long since gone. Spying on the deer that live just over the hill and wondering how they're staying alive. Slipping outside at night long enough to witness the stars, knowing this is as close as they'll get all year to my eyesight. Pointing out the Big Dipper to my daughter. Holing up and gaming with my son. It's not all bad. Nothing is.
Still, I was born for the heat. It doesn't intimidate me. It doesn't scare me off. It doesn't send me looking for cooler quarters. I'd sit under a tree in the summertime doing nothing else is able. If I could find a job that paid me enough to work outside, I'd do it in a second. I was meant for being outdoors. Watching the nights shorten themselves depresses me. Feeling the temperatures retreat gives me sadness. Watching my trees slowly regress into skeletons feels tragically wrong. Watching my garden disappear is like watching an old friend slowly drive down the road, knowing it will be a long time before I see him again. Hearing the neighborhood kids raising a din outside less and less is like losing memories. It's still August and I'm already sinking in spirit. Fall, I don't welcome you in the least. I don't welcome you're "pretty" colors and comfortable temperatures. I don't welcome your crispness in the air. You're an enemy, and I will always treat you as such.
