As much as I appreciate the comforting embrace of heavy quilts when I climb into bed or a thick sweater and an Irish scarf when I sit in the quiet of the morning at my desk, I am more than ready for the warmer summer months. I’m ready for shorts and sandals weather – of no longer having a chilly nose or Popsicle toes. I’m looking forward to closing my eyes and looking upwards to the blue skies as the sun’s rays warm my eyelids when I stretch out like a delicate mountain flower. I assume I am not alone in this.
When I walked through town the other day, I heard one man talking to his friend. “I don’t understand,” the man said. “I suddenly feel energetic and optimistic and even sociable. But I haven’t done anything differently. I’m not exercising. I’m not eating quinoa or drinking goat’s milk or anything like that.”
“Don’t worry,” said his friend. “It’s just the sun. That’s all.”
“Maybe you’re right,” the man said. “I just forgot how it feels.”
While waking up to the sound of construction or lawnmowers early in the morning is not my favourite, I appreciate that I can now get dressed without bumping into things in the dark. I can now take out the garbage without digging a path through two feet of snow. I can now walk to the post office without the bitter back-alley wind freezing my lungs.
The smell of barbeque will soon fill the neighbourhoods of Creston and the cats will be rolling in the dust before chasing butterflies. Older men will sit on the bench outside The Source and watch the world go by. Young children will flock to the water park, and my wife will systematically disappear to Morris Flowers and then return with whatever strange plants are on special that week. I won’t have to play the sock matching game after three loads of laundry.
Running is a bit like camping; you think you’re enjoying yourself while you’re out there, only to realize the best part is returning home. Surely one of the finer things in life is lying in bed and watching Netflix in a sunbeam with a cup of tea and a curious cat after a long run.
Soon the season of reading on the beach will be upon us, and I will begin to choose books based on weight. I don’t want something too heavy when I hold it in front of me as I lie on my back. I want a book that I can hold up for more than five or ten minutes at a time without my arms straining under the weight (sorry Tolstoy – you’re out).
Hipsters will start shaving (or at least seriously trim) their beards so they look less homeless. Seasonal fruit pickers will return and bring their unique brand of energy to town. Everyone will be looking for Adirondack chairs (even though half of us can’t spell or pronounce the word).
Soon it will be the season for frozen desserts. I’ll drive my old Volkswagen out of town and sit under a sun umbrella while eating a scoop of rum-and-raisin at Stone Cold Ice Cream. Teenagers – taciturn as they are – will be sucking down canoe-sized slush drinks during their lunch break and talk of weekends at the river. Patrons of Buffalo Trails will be able to sit outside and no longer pretend it’s warm as they huddle around their flavoured lattes. Late afternoons will soon be spent sitting on molded plastic benches outside Dairy Queen. In the evening, patrons of the Tivoli Theatre will find relief from the heat with a summer blockbuster and popcorn and air conditioning after dinner of lamb vindaloo and garlic naan at Memories of Indian Cuisine.
It’s going to be great. And the first person that complains about the heat will get a kick in the shin.