Who can believe this weather? What is it today, 50 degrees or something? I'll tell you how cold it is. I am roasting a turkey. Well, it is roasted now but I am waiting for Howard to get back from Big Blue.
Are those TV weather-heads talking about this weird weather at all? Because they sure should be. I do not remember any summer at all the way this one has been for the last month. Brilliant sun one minute, dark clouds the next. This morning I came out of Mass and it was raining. I got to my car and the sun was shining. I could not get over that.
The other day this friend of Leonard Pennario's who called me from out of town asked me what the weather was like here. I think everyone across the country is talking about weather. He was from Idaho. Anyway, I told him how it was storm clouds one minute, sun the next. Then I said, "But I don't mind. Cause that's the way I've been feeling." Which, I felt silly for saying that, but it is true. I have been so up and down working on this book.
I'll tell you, though: I have had enough of summer. I have been very happy today, thank you very much.
I know, it's blasphemous to say that. But you wouldn't believe our street on a hot summer day. The noise. Everyone has his windows open. I feel as if I'm in Hell's Kitchen, living in a tenement, circa 1880. Is that how you spell "tenement"? It looks funny. And I realize I have never had occasion to use that word, until now.
Every day boom cars line up in front of my house. It happens from about 7 a.m. till about 10 p.m. I feel as if I'm under attack. This one set of neighbors has a pool and if it's hot, you hear "Marco!" "Polo!" "Marco!" "Polo!" "Marco!" "Polo!" until midnight.
Forget summer! Forget it!
Bring on the fall! I want to roast beets and sweet potatoes and drink that serious heavy red wine that I love. I want everyone's windows shut and when I practice the slow movement of Beethoven's "Appassionata" I want to be able to hear myself. I also want to go cross-country skiing in the park with no cars blaring their stereos, no people swearing, no rugby, no slugs, nothing. Just me, and the soft scrape of my skis. I love that. Plus, I lose weight.
With luck, my book will be done by then.
I want to be able to enjoy the pleasures of the season.