Summertime, and the bitching’s easy
This happens to me every summer.
It may be a cliche to say that summer doesn’t really begin here in the Pacific Northwest until the 5th of July, but it’s also true. Usually. This year, we were blessed with several nice, warm days before June was out. We even had a hot 4th. And so by the time last week’s string of 100-degree+ days was here, I was already tired of the heat. GTB and I would lie in bed, bitching about Portland summers and our lack of AC. We’d try to decide what to do with ourselves on warm days and I’d have to remind him that once the thermometer reads anything above 85 degrees, I’m really only good for two things: sitting in air conditioning somewhere, or sitting in the shade with a beer in my hand. I spent most of last week praying for cooler weather, rain even.
And this week, I got my wish. It’s full on raining today, and it’s only supposed to be 65 degrees. And, just like I do every summer when we get a day or two of something other than perfectly lovely 80 and sunny, I’m mad at myself for wishing the summer away.
The rain is great. I love being able to sleep with real blankets at night rather than fighting with one sheet that is still providing too much warmth. My plants are super happy today. And more thunderstorms, which I love, are predicted for the next couple of days.
But the grey skies and dampness also remind me how fleeting summer is. And I’m not ready for it to be over yet.
The great thing about summer not really starting here until mid July is that it really does last through September. So I know I have several more weeks of whining about the heat to look forward to. But today, I’m nostalgic for flip flops and cold beers.