Endings and Beginnings

 I am glutton for spring and summer.  I begin to suffer toward the end of the summer months; frequent attacks of panic and I feel stiffled and confined, as if the depths of winter had me penned in already.

A few years ago, after living in arctic plains outside Chicago for near 35 years, I decided I had to learn to love the cold.  At least learn to tolerate it enough to get fresh, albeit cold, air made sparkly by north winds dancing around 20 mph.  Anyone else know what 20 mph winds do to the temperature even if it is sunny?  Right, it starts to feel colder.

My experiment, of attempting in embrace the cold, was partly fueled by a need to walk two big, hairy dogs multiple times a day.  And neither one of them care in the least if I am cold.  They live for the temperatures belowing freezing, piles of snow, freezing rain, and oh yeah, pulling me down the sidewalks before they have been cleared of ice and snow.

As you can tell, my forced love of winter made me find a few positives about the cold, but I don't think I am going to trade in my swimsuit and flip flops just yet. 

I've been fortunate this year, the summer of 2024 came early and hasn't wanted to leave.  It was still 60 degrees this morning when I woke, even if it was grey and overcast and rainy and it's Nov. 19th.  I am lamenting the long light filled days and gentle breezes.  Okay, so there was some stiffling heat in July and August, too, and a super hoard of locust due to the convergence of the 7 year brood and the 21 year brood coming round again in the same summer.

No joke, there were some locust (cicada) around for the better part of 3 months that sang loudly and perished in piles under every mature tree in the area.  Eventually the piles of corpses had to be disposed of mostly to prevent house pets from eating too many of them.

This summer I sold my townhouse, moved in with my dad, held out hope that the cubs would make it to the playoffs, but alas, even my 2nd round picks during the playoff games were all eliminated.

Even deep into football season, I don't love it.  I am learning, but I don't love it.

Homefront

 A few months ago an incident with my dog propelled me to move into my high school home with my father.  A widower, with a dog and 4 cats inherited from my mother and sister before their untimely passing.  First the cats went from my sister to my mother, and then from my mother to my father. 

I've been at the house for stretches of time over the past few years to dog and cat sit when my dad went out of town, on vacation, or simply had a late meeting.  

However, the dog incident pushed me into a situation -- where I would live in my old room (now a music room), and my dad would be there.

If you have read anything else on this blog you know I most often go along to get along - most things in life are not important enough to screw up relationships over, and at the end of the day ... leave things well with people.  You never know if it's the last time you will see them.

Already, you dear reader, can see the problem.  I will bend and sway to the breeze of my dad's every whim in order to make him happy and comfortable.

And when someone kisses your ass, it's hard to respect them.  So you pick on them, and say things like, "control your dog," at dawn's early light (okay, not quite, but 7:15a) when your LGD has to bark at the landscapers arriving with weed wackers and lawn mowers.