I am in mourning today.
No, thankfully I did not lose a loved one.
Well, actually I did. Sort of.
Summer is over.
Today is the first day of fall.
I can almost feel the depression starting descend on my battered psyche.
I like crisp air, pumpkins and cider as much as the next person. Autumn, with its spectacular bursts of color, can be splendid in Pennsylvania.
But it's not summer. And it only portends what is to come.
Winter. Snow. Cold. Ice. Ugh!
When the time comes - and the way this racket is going it might be a lot sooner than I think! - I really only want one thing when I retire.
I never want to be cold again.
Maybe it's just as well. This summer wasn't exactly my cup of tea anyhow. It wasn't nearly hot enough.
My idea of summer is getting home, tossing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and plopping myself on the deck with the radio, listening to the Phillies game as the crickets serenade me.
I know, I must have some kind of serious personality disorder. I actually like humid weather. The thicker the better.
There is almost nothing in this world that compares with walking down a dewy fairway on the first hole, with the sun just barely hovering over the horizons. Maybe that's why they call us folks who like to be the first ones out on the golf course the 'Dewsweepers.' I am alone with my thoughts, far from the cell phonem, laptop and tablet that otherwise run my life.
Mother Nature even decided to double-down this year, providing a fairly chilly first day of fall. The temperature when I climbed behind the wheel this morning to make the driver in was hovering in the mid-40s. It's supposed to struggle to hit 70 today, although there will be lots of sunshine.
Guess I can put away the sunscreen. And the flip-flops. And my Phillies bucket hat, which my wife demands I plop on my head before I grab the paper and head for the deck.
My colleague, columnist Christine Flowers, is my polar opposite. Literally. She has a severe dislike for summer, and celebrates the arrival of snow, and the wish for another long, snowy winter.
Yesterday she could not resist rubbing it in just a tad.
She urged me to take heart, reminding me it was only 275 days until summer.
Thanks, Christine.
Life's a beach? If only that were so.
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