Pacific Grove's Summer is Here

I was just thinking about summer, how much I miss summer weather living in Pacific Grove.  About one or two days every seven or eight, we get a sunny spell of weather and we all become very happy and come to realize that summer is not just a children's fairy tail like Santa Claus.  There really is a summer; it's just not visible here.

Virtually the one single difference between summer and winter is that there is more daylight in summer.  I wear the exact same clothes now that I did in winter.  It kind of makes you feel like you are existing in a state of suspended animation, ready to be awakened for your real life when the season finally changes for good.

The light outside right now looks just like when it was 7 AM this morning, six hours ago.  I suspect that fog fuzzes out linear time in the Groove, so we can make it any time we want.  So, I say it's 10 AM - a pretty nice time of day as hours go.  I'll stick with that for a while, maybe until September, October, who knows.  I think it has a sort of freeing quality to be unable to know what time it is.

A decision will be made by someone - God? - who will finally say:  Your ankles have been stiff and cold for long enough; you may have warmth for an entire summer once again.  Rise up and live joyfully.
I actually dream of that, sadly enough.

I wonder:  Is this for real?  Or am I in a weird box indoors where a bright light is turned on behind a screen of gray for a certain amount of time every day.  There could be a grumpy old man pulling levers and ropes, faking us all out with the idea that someday, if we are all hopeful enough, if we pray and light candles, supplicate before shrines, we will have a warm languid summer just like the rest of the country does.

Pagrovians give their dogs sweaters to wear in the summer.  They don't barbecue or lounge around on lawn chairs under shade trees drinking beer with their buddies while the kids play on Slip-N-Slides on big green lawns; the kids would freeze outside and die.  There are not porch swings to idle away sultry evenings.  Deer don't shed their winter coats; they steal ours.  Everyone's huddled around fireplaces in the summer, listening to stories about something called The Sun, a legendary bright orb in the sky.

Time for me to go look for my electric blanket and plug it in, wrap up in it.  I'll pretend I'm baking in the summer heat so I can drink a tall cool glass of something good.  It's a comforting thought.