Fall

The weather changed in a day.

Tuesday I was adjusting the air conditioning. Wednesday I had to turn on the heat.

I'm not sure I could live on the east coast again. There's so much I miss, the intellectual curiosity, the camaraderie, but those gray days...after living in SoCal so long I don't think I could tolerate them.

Once upon a time I knew no better. Unlike today, in the sixties and seventies we didn't board a plane on a whim. Jet-setters were rich and famous, and you didn't fire up your browser to plot your trip, but had to call your travel agent, you barely dreamed about going anywhere. You were stuck where you grew up.

And I grew up in Connecticut. Not far from Long Island Sound. Amidst the greenery and the rolling hills only an hour from the excitement of New York City, back when the metropolis was still scary, when you had to be aware at all times, like in Bogota.

And I'd wake up in the dark and walk down to the bus stop and the weather was always the same, gray.

I went to college in Vermont, where it appeared the sky was made of slate. A blue sky day was like Christmas, everybody jumped for joy.

But the big day at college was the advent of spring. It would be warm and sunny towards the end of April, hovering in the high fifties, maybe squeaking into the sixties, and you'd put on your shorts and go swimming. Jumping into the quarry was like immersing yourself in ice cubes, but not only was it invigorating, but inspiring, you'd made it through another winter, the good weather was coming.

And in Vermont, fall is short. It's warm and then it gets cold and by Halloween it's bitter at night and November is positively miserable, with that rain that could almost be snow that chills you to the bone.

It rarely rains in Southern California. But when it does, it either mists or pours.

Yesterday it did both.

It saw it Monday on the widget, that's where I get my weather, no one turns on the TV to get the prediction anymore. I was shocked, it was positively summer, unlike the east coast September is the hottest month of the year, oftentimes eking into October, when the Santa Ana winds rage and fan the flames of brush fires.

But when I woke up yesterday, it was gray, precipitation was descending, I refused to put on long pants, but I did need a fleece vest.

And later in the day I was forced to turn on the heat in my house. I hadn't had time to clean the vents, the dust swirled in an acrid smell. It always happens sometime in October, but usually when the days are in double digits.

And then I had to remember how to put on the heat in the car. I couldn't have the sunroof open. It was snowing in Mammoth and the distant ski season suddenly seemed imminent.

The downhill slide had begun, from hot to cold, from beach to slope.

And I love the winter. In the old days, we'd play in the snow, come inside for hot chocolate and play board games. Did you know Jimi Hendrix was a whiz at Risk? I don't think they even sell that game in L.A., the weather's never bad enough to finish it. But we'd play it all night in college, I remember those days.

But they're fading in the rearview mirror. Occasionally I go on the alumni site and not only can I no longer put a face to the names, I can't recognize the names either.

As for high school, it's even worse.

So Congress dilly-dallies with the budget and debt ceiling yet nature does not get the memo, it keeps plowing on.

Goodbye to the long days. Hello to depression.

But I'm not gonna stop wearing my shorts for another month, I'm holding on to the warm weather, in my mind if nowhere else.


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