I’m really a fall and winter person.
Spring is lovely, and I like it very much, but at the back of my mind, I can’t help but think that spring’s demise will bring scorching heat and the moist, exposed flesh of my neighbors. Summer is relentless, and always overstays it’s welcome, and right when I’m about to overheat, and I fancy myself as done as a roasted turkey, a deliciously cool wind ushers in fall, with winter snow on its heels.
Fall and winter are gorgeous, glorious perfection… and six months punctuated with a rather poignant agony, if I’m honest.
When the weather starts to crisp, and leaves change color, and everything smells like apples and sugared donuts (in my mind, at least… in reality, everything smells like gasoline and unwashed bodies), all I want to do is go for long walks in boots and a great sweater and a leather jacket… holding hands with someone.
A male someone, to be specific.
A male someone who isn’t related to me.
I want to go for a picnic of Wendy’s cheeseburgers in a beautiful cemetery.
I want to watch classic Universal horror films in October with someone who will not whip “Freddy vs. Jason” out of his back pocket… as if those things could EVER rest in the same league…
I want to go to a corn maze and a pumpkin patch and a haunted house.
I want to lie on the hood of a car and watch the leaves fall off the trees as we shift into blustery November.
I want to try (again) to bake an apple pie and have someone laugh at my
inevitable annual failure.
I want the option of awkwardly combining holidays or simply FaceTiming through the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
I want to let someone decorate the Christmas tree… and then smilingly dismantle everything and do it all over again… my way… because I’m like that.
I want to be standing outside, looking up, begloved and bescarved, when the first snow falls.
I want to plan a trip to Kansas City to see the Plaza lights and take in “The Nutcracker”.
I want to avoid all mention of my birthday until someone says the words “Sushi and something action-y.”
I want to bring someone to my Christmas party and get all embarrassed and tongue-tied when everyone starts asking those questions.
I want “Merry Christmas, Darling” and “What are you doing New Year’s Eve” texts.
More than any other time of year, fall and winter tend to put me in a considerably more… shall we say, cuddly frame of mind, and in between the bliss of cooler temps and all the holidays, the horrible movies, the fireplaces, and the fluffy clothes (let’s hear it for fluffy clothes) the baking, the decorating, and the inevitable caroling, there’s that emotional tension of concluding yet another year with no one standing on the horizon, and hearing the unsolicited advice and the usual unhelpful cliches on the subject.
Normally, I just bury my nose in my hot apple cider, take a few bracing gulps of icy wind, and watch Rankin and Bass claymation to ignore things, but this year… I think I want to unpack it and stare at it and dissect it.
I don’t expect that it will go away, and I don’t at all want it to… feelings of such strength are rare for me, and I would hate to cease wanting something simply because it hurts… but perhaps when we’re better acquainted, it won’t come as such a shock to me every year.
Maybe if I deal with it this year, it will become an expected and welcomed bittersweet edge to my favorite seasons by next year.