Huh.
Please give a beach girl a thought at this unfortunate and completely unexpected change of events.
The other day the heavens seemed to be making a point of telling me that summer is really done like dinner. A trip to the grocery store was a series of reminders of what the next bunch of months will be full of.
The spot on the highway where the car is suddenly exposed to big winter winds, and the little trees there bend over double.
Having to hold onto my car door as I open it in the parking lot to make sure it doesn’t get caught in the wind and bang the door next to me. Did that once. Sigh.
That annoying puddle that forms just outside the grocery store where, after paying and venturing back out into the wet, and watching for cars as I try to remember where mine is, splash … there it is … wet toes. Every year.
Even the things I was buying were different. Ingredients for meat sauces and baked macaroni and cheese, enough to make big batches and freeze for busy nights ahead.
But OK, that macaroni and cheese was delicious and comforting. And doesn’t it feel good when the room is cool enough that you have to pull a thick comforter up around your ears at night? When the cat has to lean against my legs because she’s cold.
Sort of?
And yes I had to turn the heat on in my office yesterday and have switched to making sure the door stays closed where it seems just hours ago that I was making sure it was open to let the hot stuffy air out. But now how about I go drag out my old ratty sweater that I knit myself about 20 years ago. The cuff is ratty and there are bits of paint on the front.
(Wait! Is she describing the sweater or herself?)
I’m trying.