Um, Vancouver? Can I come live with you?

This morning gave you no hint that it had arrived. Well, here in NYC. I'm sure there was a sunrise at the usual time, but since there wasn't any quantitative difference in the amount of light between the pre-dawn and post-dawn hours, I had to take it on faith that there had been a dawn at all. Dark, dark, dark. And wet. Ish.

Which was fine by me. Of all the complaints I have on a daily basis, the millions of them, I rarely if ever complain about the weather. I like it all--rain, snow, sun, cold, wind, sunny rain, snowy cold, rainy wind, even sleet, even fog--with one exception: hot and humid. I don't do hot and humid, I don't go places where it's hot and humid, and unless it's a dire emergency, I don't go outside when it's hot and humid here. In my opinion the only thing keeping the Northeast from being paradise on earth is August; the month I spend planning my emigration to Canada.

So the dark wet-ish morning didn't flap me. It's all in finding the joy, or even anti-joy, in the kind of day you are dealt. When I woke to this totally miserable, perfectly dreary, soul crushing excuse for a morning, I thought, "What a perfect day to make a big pot of soup." No, I did, really. First thought. No wait, that's a lie. It went like: "What a totally miserable, perfectly dreary, soul crushing excuse for a morning. Cool! I'll make a big pot of soup." Because see, it's all about having the right attitude, and then romancing the hell out of it, as I am want to do.

Which is what I had done, by nine or so. I had romanced the bejesus out of the prospect of an entire day of soup-making. The padding around in the sock feet, the soft music, the chopping of fresh vegetables, the scritching of the pup's ears when she comes begging for scraps, the tick, tick, tick, hissssssss of the radiator in the background. The afternoon, and a glass of wine and the couch, and drifting off for a nap in a home filled with the scent of simmering goodness.

However--and I know I started this whole thing bragging about how I never complain about the weather--when I had dressed to head out for the ingredients for my day of soup and domesticity...the fucking sun came out. Brilliant sun. Blinding sun. The temperature rose 10 degrees. The kind of totally genius fall day you spend outdoors, at a park, riding a bike, traipsing through the leaves. And I gotta say, I'm thrown. I don't have a fantasy worked up for a crisp, sunny fall day. It took me hours to get the soup thing all worked out, and I had! Down to the sock feet and Corey Flintoff! This sun crap is really pissing me off.

Posted by Antigeist at November 10, 2005 12:03 PM