Somehow this summer got away from me. I suspect I am not alone.
There were plans. Some were physical goals. Others were recreational. Others still were organizational. Yet no matter what I plotted to accomplish, it seemed that great, unpredictable force in the sky – and by this, I mean the weather – had something to say about it.
You would think that living in Chicagoland, with its famously gray winters, would somehow inoculate us to the woes of a temperature swing in the opposite direction. If it were a dry heat, the answer could be yes. But this year, with my mildewed siding and a patio slick with slime as evidence, going outdoors was an unanticipated challenge. Even the family pooch was affected.
A tired dog is a happy dog. Overheated Sophie the Wonder Dog was slightly depressed. At first I thought she was getting stubborn in her advanced years. Usually a lover of walks, she would look at me dolefully and stand stock-still until I got the message. We trudged back home, me without miles and she without getting her heebie-jeebies out. We were frustrated, but we toughed it out together. Indeed, she had a point.
Tennis met the same fate. Between the heat and rain, my attendance was erratic. I tried to work on my golf game, too, but I was not made for that type of sweltering punishment. Taking a cart provided some relief; yet when sand traps became water hazards, carts were pulled from service. My dream of an outstanding season went out the window, too.
My garden, however was in overdrive! I have never seen ferns grow to such prehistoric proportions nor stay on so long.
Though this topsy-turvy summer tested our patience, like every other season, it has come to a close. What is new is not feeling wistful for its warmth.
Crisp strolls, cooking and fires are ahead. The dog is perking up.
I am, too. (c)
