Hallefreakinluia. It’s finally Labor Day weekend.
Here on the divine shores of Cape Cod, the leaves are already beginning to show signs of turning, and enough vegetation has already shrunken from its July prime that I can see glimmers of my seasonal waterfront view. This fills me with tidings of great joy.
Sure, there’s a million-point-five people clogging our streets and beaches this weekend, and the bikepath will probably be under martial law by noon, but ladies and gents, The End is in Sight.
I realize that not everyone shares my glee and profound sense of relief at the heralding of the end of summer. Not everyone is ready to trumpet the news from the rooftops. The vast majority of people seem to have been brainwashed by all those commercials for Florida back in the 70s that HEAT and HOT WEATHER are things we humans naturally desire.
What is delightful about heat? What is charming about sweat, unless it is the result of mutual exertion after a common, sexy goal? Truly, truly, the only times I find it acceptable to register a marked increase in my basal body temperature is when I am engaged in what my first boyfriend so charmingly called scrumping. To scrump is to sweat, and I embrace that truth with all my heart.
But passive, non-sexy heat is heinous to me. I cast it out. I turn my back on it. I occasionally consider moving to Montreal.
Here are some of the things I love about fall and winter:
- fingerless gloves
- silly woolen hats
- increased incidence of cat cuddles
- increased incidence of scr- er, romantic human interaction
- orange and red leaves on trees (for looking at, and rustling)
- orange and red leaves on the ground (for striding though, and rustling)
- bare ass November trees
- bleak winter landscapes
- the resurgence of plaid miniskirts and high socks
- preferably with black Mary Janes
- the first snow
- lighting candles so the power won’t go out
- reading by candle light when the power goes out anyway
- displaying my ninja skill at driving in snow
- hot tea
- hot cocoa
- hot cider
- blankets over laps
- busy hands under them blankets
- dark heavy blue skies
- Mountain Day
- playoff baseball
- fireplaces with real fires in them
- empty streets in Harwichport
- January sales in Provincetown (60-90% off!)
- winter beach walks
- sitting at the top of Fort Hill in my car with hot coffee from the Sparrow
Truly, I could go on.
So while today marks an End of Days for many people, for me it is cause for great joy and celebration. It is my national holiday of graititude for being able to pack away the shorts and t-shirts and air out the flannel (oh! that should be on the list!) sheets and wool sweaters that hang at just the right spot on the hip and the deep red flush in a man’s cheek when he comes in from the cold outside and starts to take off