Every season, it’s the same thing. Sure, sure, I enjoy the season we are currently in, but for some reason, I can’t help but look forward to the next season with slightly more excitement and anticipation.
When it’s hot, humid, sticky, sweaty summer, I look forward to the cool, crisp days of autumn that bring football (Sunday, September 10, 2006, 5:15 PST, Manning vs. Manning), tail-gating, bright yellow and fiery orange leaves, pumpkins, and warm spices. When autumn becomes dull, windy, and I’m still eating Halloween candy in December, I can’t wait for the Holidays of winter, sparkling snowy nights that force me inside, sipping Kahlua-spiked hot chocolate in front of a blazing fire, long-cooked stews and sweet, caramelized oven-roasted winter vegetables. When the dry winter air alternating with high and dry space heater blasts turns my skin into itchy, flaky, scaly crocodile leather and I’m as fat as a Christmas goose from all the braisedgravybutterstuffed beef and high-calorie carbohydrates, I can’t wait for the warmth of Spring, sunshine until 8 pm, baby vegetables at the farmers’ markets, and pastels. *eh* Okay, not so much the pastels.
Actually, none of that really applies here in the perpetual Springtime of LA, but you get my point, right? Right. The grass is always greener on the other side of the equinox. Or solstice.
I am a forward-thinker, always excited about progress. I am ever looking ahead to the future, welcoming change, anticipating all that is fresh and new. Movement, action, flow, trendy, hot. Today is soooo yesterday. Tomorrow is the new “now,” baby!
Not really. That’s only one side of the seasonal equation.
At the same time, once the season changes, once March roars in like a lion and frolics into April like a lamb, I long. I miss. I reminisce. I am nostalgic for the last season that just faded into the almanac. I look back and *sigh* with fond memories, tearful at having to say good-bye. This is the real me. I hate saying good-bye. I have trouble letting go.
Spring has long since sprung here in LA. It’s time to put away my “fat clothes” that let me get fat on Holiday feasts. It’s time to pull on a tank top, slip into a kerchief-hemline skirt, slide into flip flops. Thank gawd I can finally eat crisp, healthy salads, cool, light sushi, thin crepes filled with fresh fruit and yogurt.
And yet, I made thick, dense, heavy, hearty-for-winter oatmeal and raisin-filled pancakes, dripping with golden melted butter, swimming in warm maple syrup, and filling the spring time morning with the spicy fragrance of cinnamon and cloves that is so appropriate for...November. I am desperately clinging to the very last vestiges of winter.
One of these days, I’ve got to let go.
And when I do, I’m sure I’ll be waiting for summer pool-side barbecues. :)
** a year ago today, i got eyebrows and then had sushi for lunch at furusato **