Per a sweet request from Anne Mulkern, I'm posting this very oldie (but hopefully goodie). Enjoy:
I'm back from New York, back from inhaling that telltale scent of pending rain. From gazing across undulating acres of red and gold leaves that turn common prairie into extravagant spectacle. I'm back from the crisp autumn air that pulls vapor ghosts out of your mouth. From a land where buildings are so old, there might be real ghosts inside. I'm back from a place with ``real seasons,'' and I have to say: I'm not impressed.
Yeah, nature's pretty and all. But it's also cold. And cold sucks. I don't know or care how many sparkly lights you put on your roof to illuminate the darkened sky, or how many Oreos you use to decorate your snowman: If it's cold, you're miserable. And if you're not miserable, you're faking it.
I've lived in Chicago, Virginia and Kentucky. I've traveled around the country, braving snowstorms on dinky highways. I know from seasons. And I know that there is a reason I live here now.
I'm originally from here, from a land where people play tennis in shorts. At night. In December. When I was a kid, we'd take day trips to ``visit the snow'' in Lake Tahoe. I thought it glorious. I thought it magical. I thought it vastly unfortunate that I didn't live in a place with ``real seasons.''
But I have come to realize two things about Southern California: 1. It is filled with Midwest and East Coast transplants who bemoan the lack of snow while slapping on sunscreen; and 2. It does have seasons.
Continue reading "Season's Greetings from the Land of Subtle Seasons" »
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