Story 639: Summer Solstice Slump

            “You know what I realized that’s getting me a little down?”

“No, what’s that?”

“I waited so long for summer this year.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, this past winter, swe actually had blizzards and everything for once, and it was so, so cold for so long.”

“Yeah?”

“And it was night for two-thirds of the day for six months.”

“Yeah?”

“And I slept for more hours than I went outside for nine months.”

“Yeah?”

“And did I mention it was so cold for so long?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, so now, it’s here.”

“Yeah?”

“Summer.  At long last.  So much Sun, so much warmth, so much time.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, it’s the same amount of time each day, but it feels like more time, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“And then it hit me.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s going the other way now.”

“Yeah – what?”

“Summer Solstice.  First day of summer.  June 21 in this half of the globe.”

“Yeah?”

“I used to look forward to it every year because it’s the start of summer, the beginning of everything good and fun and awesome and relaxing and wonderful.”

“Yeah?”

“And this year I suddenly realized: it’s not really the beginning of the beginning, it’s actually the beginning of the end.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, if Winter Solstice is that happy moment where we start gaining one minute of sunshine each day, then the horrible opposite must be true.”

“Yeah?”

“With Summer Solstice, with lose one minute of sunshine each day.”

“Yeah?  Oh, yeah.”

“Which means, every day of what I thought was amazing summer actually is getting shorter and shorter and shorter with every passing tilt of the planet on its axis!”

“Yeah?”

“It’s spring that’s the sunshine-gainer!  But it rains for almost the entire time, and then we don’t get the awesome weather and the liberating release from school into fun and vacations and parties until the end of it!”

“You haven’t been to school in decades.”

“Not the point!”

“Yeah?”

“Every moment, summer is slipping away from us, and the cruel irony is that we think we’re deep in the heart of it!  It’s so unfair!”

“Yeah?”

“Why does everything good seem to happen when it’s on its way out the door?”

“That’s life, I suppose.”

“That’s a weak argument for an intolerable situation.”

“Well, what can I tell you: it’s always been this way, and you have practically two whole months of not even noticing the earlier sunsets, so if that isn’t summer, then I don’t know what is.”

“Twenty-four-hour sunlight and constant hot weather.”

“I suggest you move to Venus, then.”

“Oh ha-ha; I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“I just want a whole season’s worth of constant sunshine to tide me over into the deep freeze with weird warm days thrown in there and the long nights of horrible, horrible late-fall, all-of-winter, and half of spring.”

“Well, even though we’re at the beginning of the end, it’s still light out after 9 p.m., so that’s something in the plus column for you.”

“…I’ll take it.”

Story 627: Weather Whiplash

 SATURDAY 

“Morn-ning!”

“Good morning!  I hate to say, but you look awfully dreadful today.”

“Right you are: spent a solid hour digging the old bucket of bolts out from under the ‘bomb cyclone’ or ‘polar vortex’ or ‘thunder snow’ or whatever it is the youth are calling it these days, only to have it all plowed back in by the necessary street clearers immediately afterward and had to start the whole bloomin’ process all over again.”

“Hm.  Blast.”

“Indeed.  You’re just lucky you no longer drive and everyone has to come to you instead, yeah?”

“Well, usually, not being able to drive anymore is quite a hindrance, but I must say on days when there are 15 feet of snow outside and temperatures are in the negative digits, not going anywhere does have its perks.”

“Quite.  Tea?”

“Already had mine, so help yourself.”

“Thanks, but I’ll save it for the return journey; as you can see out the window, those innocent-looking flurries are unceasing in their descent from the heavens, and an additional six feet are predicted by tonight.”

“Oh my.  You’re welcome to stay the night, you know.”

“I packed my bag for just such an occasion.”

“Good thinking.” 

SUNDAY 

“Morn-ning!”

“Good morning!  Ready to do battle once more in rescuing your bucket of bolts from the clutches of the frozen water smothering it?”

“I would be, if it wasn’t all gone.”

“Sorry?”

“Take a look.”

“…I don’t understand; I can see out the window.”

“Exactly.  The frozen water transformed into water-water overnight and washed everything away.”

“But how is that possible?  We were surrounded by literal walls of snow – that all should take weeks to go away, even with the rain!  And yet I can see the lawn again for the first time in a month!”

“I suppose it helps that the temperature shot up by 50°F overnight as well.”

“Ah.  It did feel a bit stuffy in here when I woke this morning.”

“I took the liberty of turning down the thermostat when I got up.”

“Good move.  So, off you go then, I suppose; into the downpour instead of the blizzard.”

“Seems like it.  You might want to call a plumber at some point, though – the sump pump’s been running all night so the crawl space is probably flooded.”

“I’m sure I won’t be the only one calling.” 

MONDAY 

            “Morn-ning!”

“Oh, good morning!  So nice of you to call, but aren’t you stopping by later?”

“Actually, I’m calling to let you know that I have to cancel for today, sorry.”

“Oh, that’s all right, I can manage – is everything OK?”

“Yes, everything’s fine: the thing is… I decided to spend the day at the beach.”

“Oh.  As in, the beach?”

“Yes, well, we only have the one in this area, and I’m at it.”

“My, that sounds lovely, but I do have to ask: why?”

“Oh, you know, really, why not?”

“I mean, everyone’s free to do as they please if they’re not hurting anyone or themselves, but I can’t help but notice that we’re physically located in the upper region of the northern hemisphere, and we’re temporally located in the middle of March.”

“Yes?”

“Not exactly beach weather, I should think.”

“Have you stuck your head out the window yet today, or checked the news at all?”

“No, sadly: still trying to wrangle an available plumber and it’s been quite draining.”

“Ah, well, then you may not have noticed that summer arrived while you weren’t looking.”

“Sorry?”

“Temperature rocketed to 90°F today.”

“You’re having a laugh.”

“Take a look outside if you don’t believe me.”

“I certainly will…. Oh dear.”

“What is it?”

“The window sill is melting somewhat.”

“That’s rough – you might need a home repair service when all this is done, too.”

“Well, that’s dashed inconvenient – I’m sweating already, and I can only imagine the entire house is warping as we speak.”

“Rotten luck, that [Slurp].”

“Is that a frozen lemonade I hear you slurping out there?”

“You know me too well.  I’d’ve invited you to come along, you know, but I remembered you can’t stand the beach.”

“Gracious no, once you get anywhere near it, that sand is with you forever.  Oh, perfect timing, the ice cream truck is here – yoo-hoo!  Driver!  One small cone with strawberry, please!”

“I’ll leave you to it and come by tomorrow, yeah?”

“Cheers – enjoy the boiling waves!” 

TUESDAY 

“Morn-ning!  Not at the beach today, so I should get there at my usual time!”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling – you perhaps want to skip again today.”

“That’s all right: the sunburn’s minimal, I’ll be fine!”

“Lovely, but it’s probably not a good idea for anyone to be out on the roads around here today.”

“Oh?  Why not?”

“Well, I did stick my head out the window this morning, and I did check the news, and it seems that this neighborhood is under a tornado warning.”

“Oh dear, really?  And just your neighborhood, is it?”

“Apparently the conditions here and nowhere else are ‘just right’, they said.”

“My word.  Is that why I’m hearing an emergency siren in the distance over the phone?”

“Yes, and seeing how the winds ae blowing everything around and I can see a funnel touching down about five houses away, it’s probably best that I nip down to the crawl space for half a tick.”

“Quite right.”

WEDNESDAY 

“Morn-ning!  You and the neighborhood still in one piece after the twister?”

“Oh good morning; quite all right, thank you – the mailbox was a little stirred up, but fortunately the cyclone continued down the middle of the street and disintegrated after making its point, so all’s well that ends well, and all that.”’

“Jolly good.  So, I’ll come over this morning as per usual then, shall I?”

“If you like, but I don’t mind if you’d prefer dashing off to the beach again.”

“Thanks, but not likely, seeing as it’s 28°F out.”

“Yes, but you’ve gotten me into checking the weather all the time now, and the reliably accurate prediction is that it’ll hit 100°F by noon.”

“Oh.  Today?”

“Indeed.  Why, in the single minute we’ve been talking, the thermometer has jumped to 45°F.”

“…So it has.  Well, I’m still coming over – maybe pass on the tea, though.”

“I fail to grasp the connection.” 

THURSDAY 

“Morn-ning!”

“Good morning!  After you’re all settled, I’ll need your help on a project today.”

“Ooh, sounds fun, what is it?”

“Taping all the windows before the hurricane hits.”

“So it’s definite that it’s going to hit this area?”

“As of this moment; since you insisted on still coming over today, I hope you brought your overnight bag again, seeing as the storm drains are expected to flood and the winds are expected to knock down everything.”

“I didn’t, but I suppose I can always row home, right?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” 

FRIDAY 

“Morn-ning!”

“Good morning!  All safe and snug at home, then?”

“Indeed I am!  Thank goodness the hurricane turned out to be only a mild torrential downpour instead – that, I can handle.”

“Yes, we’re all grateful, and I hope you’re not planning to come over today, either.”

“Well, just have to dig out the old bucket of bolts from the eight feet of snow we got overnight, so it might take me a bit longer than usual but other than that, I’ll be there.”

“Please don’t: I heard that the roads are a giant wall of mush right now, and if you wait it’ll all have melted away again when it hits 105°F tomorrow.”

“Right you are then, thanks.  Funny way to observe the first day of spring, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

Story 600: Where Does Time Go?

            (On a sunny summer afternoon, Friend 1 and Friend 2 lounge in patio chairs in Friend 2’s backyard, facing the lawn and staring through sunglasses at nothing in particular)

Friend 1: (To Friend 2 as both still face forward) You know, sometimes I miss having a backyard.

Friend 2: Yeah?

Friend 1: I mean, I grew up with one at my parents’ house, and I love my apartment now, but sometimes I miss having a bit of outdoor space to do nothing in, without having to walk or drive somewhere else and share it with strangers.  I never realized at the time what it luxury it was; it was always just… there.

Friend 2: Yeah…. Can be a pain in the neck to mow, though.

Friend 1: Oh, definitely – you can keep it.  (A cell phone alert goes off; Friend 1 takes the phone out of a pants pocket and navigates to the alert)

Friend 2: Everything OK?

Friend 1: (Still tapping buttons) Oh yeah, it’s just one of those “On this day, such-and-such years ago” – wonder what it is this time?

Friend 2: Eh, probably a photo you’ll immediately want to delete.

Friend 1: No such photo exists: I live a blameless online life.  (Stares at the screen for a few moments) Hmmmmmm….

Friend 2: So, what is it?

Friend 1: (With brows furrowed in puzzlement) A picture from senior year in high school, twentyyyyyyy… (Lifts up sunglasses briefly to squint at the screen) five years ago.

Friend 2: Heh-heh, yeah, I suppose it would be that long ago.  Mildly depressing, but I can’t really bring myself to care right now.  (Sips some lemonade)

Friend 1: (Still looking confused, holds the phone up to Friend 2) Do you remember this?

Friend 2: (Also briefly lifts up sunglasses to squint at the screen) I remember some of the people in it; is that a diner?  We always went to one after games and rehearsals and whatever.

Friend 1: (Brings the phone back to stare at the photo again) I didn’t always go – I only went a few times.

Friend 2: Oh.  Sorry.  You were always around back then so I figured you were always at those things too, but now I remember you weren’t.  Different crowds, I guess.

Friend 1: It’s OK, it’s just… why don’t I remember this?

Friend 2: I dunno – old age?

Friend 1: But any other photo, I remember something about what was happening – I don’t remember this at all.  It’s almost like I’m looking at a stranger.

Friend 2: Sure it’s you, then?  Sometimes these sites tag the wrong people and start up a whole world of trouble.

Friend 1: Oh no, it’s me all right, and those’re people I hung around with, and you’re there too, but the actual event is blank.

Friend 2: Well, get used to it: I’m sure it’ll happen more and more often as we travel onward through the fourth dimension that is time, losing all ou irreplaceable brain cells on the way.  Can’t be helped.

Friend 1: (Turns off the phone’s display, slips the phone back into the pocket, and leans back in the chair) I guess.  I would say I’m too young for that to happen yet, but that’s a lie.  In less than 10 years, we’ll be half a century old, can you believe it?

Friend 2: (Mildly, with a smile) Hush your mouth.

Friend 1: Half a century.  I might’ve lived more than half my life already, and I won’t even know for certain until right before it’s over.  Every second that goes by, we’re inching ever closer to our doom.

Friend 2: (Contentedly leaning back in the chair) Ahhhh, drama.

Friend 1: And it’s not only me, or you, or everyone else: our entire planet has an expiration date, did you know that?

Friend 2: More so every day.

Friend 1: And I’m not even talking about end-times weather and all that; I’m talking about our own Sun, our one and only star and source of our very existence, swallowing us up as it turns into a red giant and then one moment it, too, is no more.

Friend 2: Thankfully, we’ll be long gone before that even begins to happen.

Friend 1: Sure, we think everything out there’ll last forever, but nothing does.  Nothing.  One by one, everything ends, even the longest-existing piece of matter out there, from the beginning of the Big Bang or whatever or whoever it was started this whole mess.  One far off, distant increment of time, it will all cease to be, breaking the First Law of Thermodynamics with impunity and no one around anymore to notice; even time will run down and sputter off into the nothing from which it came.

Friend 2: I think that’s called a paradox.

Friend 1: Not if time is just another thing in the universe that has a beginning and an inevitable, painful end.

Friend 2: But I thought time was more our perception of existence rather than a thing in and of itself?

Friend 1: Ha!  That’s what they want you to think.

Friend 2: “They?”

Friend 1: Why else would the past 25 years have gone by with us barely noticing, but the first 10 years of our lives were as slow as anything and were so much better?

Friend 2: I think you’re missing a few years in there.

Friend 1: No one care about those.  No, time is a hooligan: a sick, twisted scoundrel who plays with our hearts and fools around with our minds before greedily consuming them both.

Friend 2: (Sighs) Oh dear.

Friend 1: (Gestures at the early evening sky) I mean, take this for example.

Friend 2: (Stares at the sky for several moments) Mostly sunny, partly cloudy?

Friend 1: Well, that, but no: we’ve been sitting out here all afternoon, enjoying the summer day, but already evening is coming on, a minute earlier every rotation, and you can say it’s the Earth tilting on its axis away from the Sun for us here in the Up Over, while those lucky Down Under get an extra minute of daylight every winter day in exchange, but it’s really time, reminding us that the end of the year is nigh, and growth and light and life will soon be gone until the Earth remembers to tilt back again, ages from now.

Friend 2: It’s only the beginning of August.

Friend 1: And yet, night falls half an hour earlier than it did in June.  The cycle continues, bringing us that much closer to our own, customized, THE END.

Friend 2: So: we have the luxury of sitting in private green space, enjoying the fresh air, enjoying the summer day – (Pointedly) enjoying each other’s company – and ignoring the ticking clock that’s been with us since birth and will be with us until… whenever.

Friend 1: (Sips some lemonade) I reckon that’s one way to look at it.

Friend 2: That’s the only way to look at it – your way drives us collectively bonkers.

Friend 1: …Yeah, I guess that’s not really time well spent.

Friend 2: (Turns to Friend 1) You know, you’re remarkably calm about one of your many existential crises, for a change.

Friend 1: (Turns to Friend 2) Well, sometimes, I exhaust even myself.

Story 510: And the Rains Came

“I love autumn!”

“You do?”

“Oh yes: the colorful leaves, the crisp cool weather, the mums and pumpkins all out on cheerful display – ”

“HA!”

“…I fail to perceive the cause for that outburst.”

“Where have you been the past 20 years?!  We don’t get autumn anymore!”

“We don’t?”

“No!  We get Summer 2.0 and then the Rainy Season, often interchangeably, up to and including winter.”

“But we still get all the stuff I mentioned.”

“Barely!  The leaves don’t noticeably change until November; the weather skips crisp-cool and instead does blazing-freezing; we’re lucky the mums make it to September and the actual start of autumn before they burn up; and the pumpkins are regularly imported due to the rot from the constant rain, rain, rain!”

“Rain’s not all that bad; it’s not as if we have to deal with monsoons every year like some places.”

“You’re right, it isn’t all that bad: the times when it stops once a week and you don’t have to swim to get out of the house, it’s just fine!”

“Well, we’re lucky our area didn’t get hit with the hurricanes this year.”

“That we are; not so lucky are all the other places that did get hit, multiple times.”

“What about the areas suffering from drought and wildfires?”

“All the more reason that it’s so awful we get excess when those places are the ones that need at least their share!”

“I guess.  Still, I like all the decorations that are out for Halloween and autumn in general, those are always fun.”

“When they’re not being swept away down the rising river that used to be the street, sure.”

“All right, so the autumn I’m visualizing is more of the autumn we used to get before the Earth started taking revenge on us; I’ll still enjoy what’s out there, in-between the raindrops.”

“That’s a great attitude, considering the heavens just opened up again for Round 300 and last I heard this downpour won’t end until later in the month at the earliest.”

“Well, it could always be worse.”

“How so?”

“Could be snow.”

Story 486: Easter Blizzard

Relative 1: (On the phone) You know it’s supposed to snow on Easter Sunday, right?  Really badly.

Host: (On the phone) I did hear that vile rumor, and I refuse to lend it any credence: unlike the rest of the world, including the Equator, our area’s had zippo snow this winter, and I absolutely reject buying into the circulating gossip that our one and only blizzard this go-round will arrive post-post-season in the middle of April!

Relative 1: Well, believe it or not; either way, nobody’s showing up at your house for dinner that day.

Host: I’ve got 15 pounds of ham here!  And all that charcuterie!

Relative 1: Maybe save it for Mother’s Day?

Host: You’re no help.

 EASTER SUNDAY

(Host wakes up suddenly, jumps out of bed, runs to the window, throws back the curtains, and takes in the winter wonderland continuously buried by sideways snowfall)

Host: Holy heavens – how is he supposed to rise in this?!

(Some time later, Host is awkwardly shoveling the driveway in a losing battle when the cell phone rings.  Flinging the shovel away and using teeth to tear off a glove, Host unzips several layers of coats to take the phone out of an inner pocket)

Host: (Screaming against the ice-ridden wind) HELLO?!

Relative 1: (Relaxing on an armchair with feet propped up on a cushioned stool in front of a roaring fire, and sipping hot tea) Don’t tell me you’re actually shoveling out your driveway for nonexistent guests.

Host: NOT EVERYONE CANCELLED!

Relative 1: Yeah, bet they’re the same ones who didn’t bother to tell you they were coming in the first place, either.

Host: …IT WAS ASSUMED THEY WERE!

Relative 1: Wait until the snow’s over to shovel it all out; just go back inside and enjoy your ham, `cause I know you cooked it anyway.

Host: IT WAS ALREADY DEFROSTING!

Relative 1: I hear ya.  Whelp, Happy Easter to you – don’t throw out your back.

Host: HAPPY EASTER TO YOU – (The wind almost blows the phone away; Host scrambles to get it back) TOOOOOO!!!!!

Relative 1: (As both end the call) Poor sap.  (Takes a nap)

(After finally realizing that the snow being shoveled is replaced immediately, Host re-enters the house, throws the coats, boots, gloves, and hats into the laundry room, slams the door, and enters the kitchen to check on the ham)

Host: (Opens the oven door) Roast, my lovely, roast.  (Hears the cell phone ringing inside the laundry room) Shoot.  (Slams shut the oven door and flings open the laundry room door to paw through the coats until the phone is found and answered) Hello?

Relative 2: Hey, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the fam and I aren’t going to make it there today.

Host: I figured.

Relative 2: Yeah, just can’t get going today for some reason.  Sorry also for calling so last-minute – everybody else is already there by now, I bet.

Host: (As the house shudders with a giant blast of wind) No, not really.

Relative 2: Ah, well, you always get a few cancellations at these get-togethers, that’s how it goes.  Happy Easter anyway, and Happy Spring!  (Ends the call)

Host: (Stares at the silent phone) Was that one calling from the Sun?!

(Later that afternoon, after ham dinner-for-one, Host lies on the couch while watching the wintry outdoors; the snowdrifts are now climbing up the windows)

Host: (Unwraps a chocolate bunny and bites off the head) My poor pansies.  (CHOMP) Poor birds.  (CHOMP)  Poor trees, poor grass, poor flowers, poor spring babies.  (CHOMP)  Poor ham, poor appetizers, poor desserts.  (Finishes the bunny and smacks lips in satisfaction) Ahhhh… at least one thing went right today.  (Looks again out the window, which is nearly a wall of white) Well, guess we’ll just have to look forward to a summer of 100°F for months on end to make up for this.