So Long, September Summer

On the far, far horizon here in South Mississippi is a day in which my sweat glands will rest and cooler temperatures will trigger my desire to work outside. An inviting autumn breeze will draw me from indoor seclusion to savor the seasonal shift. Dogs will romp, cats will give chase to swirling leaves and I will feel human again.

But not today.

Today is a miserable, skanky hot bitch who hails from the tropics.

I’m lighting candles in honor of air conditioner inventor, Saint Willis Carrier—or perhaps—in defiance of the devil who surely enjoys overtime in this sticky, steamy summer. I’m drinking iced tea and threatening to push buttons on the thermostat until body parts ice and teeth chatter.

I’ve lived my entire 55 years in South Mississippi. I hate hot weather. I also despise the whine of transplants from places that stock snow shovels next to the bourbon and antifreeze who admonish me with “You don’t know what cold is!”

I beg to differ. I’ve walked several city blocks in Minneapolis in December. I have visited snow-capped peaks in Estes Park. I married a man from Nebraska! I have waited for hours in meat locker hospitals and clinics where workers wear fleece jackets year round. In my most sincere Forrest Gump voice, I declare “I may not be smart, but I know what cold is, Jen-Nay!”

Look, I share a DNA profile with people from Sweden, Norway, Wales and Ireland. If my fair skin and freckles could talk, they’d squeal “Holy hell, why is it so HOT up in here?!” I am clearly out of my natural habitat. It’s coded in my very person that I should wear mukluks and trader caps, thrive on hearty stews and actually USE a fireplace instead of filling it with fake logs.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE my Gulf Coast home—the people, the culture, the food. It’s one of the most beautiful places in America, and from November until March, you will see me happy, relatively dry and far less obsessive of the thermostat. But even my birthday is a hot mess of a joke. August 19th? I’d have been dead decades ago if it hadn’t been for artificially cooled air.

While writing this, I watched the sky turn from a glowing gold to a soft winter’s gray. The wind blew hard and oak leaves stirred. Magnolia limbs reached out to me, tendering promises of lighter, airier fare out there. Squirrels dug for winter stores and cardinals pecked at empty feeders. It looked suspiciously and suddenly COOL.

One day soon, scarlet spider lilies will appear, the sentinels of fall and the biggest liars of all. This gal didn’t fall off the pumpkin truck just yesterday. I know it’s still hot as a crotch outside, and it will be until November.

Now it’s raining while the sun is shining. As the old saying goes, the devil must be beating his wife. The raindrops are her tears. Maybe, like me, she’s weary of summertime. Or maybe she’s sweating? Either way, I’m staying inside. This Swiss sister has a hankering for hot chocolate and the early demise of September summer.