After an unexpectedly hot week in which Boston jumped up into the 80s, today is looking to be a a more traditional New England autumn day, with rain in the forecast and cooler temperatures already here. Which is nice. In my book, every season tends to wear out its welcome (other than spring), so while I’m no fan of being cold, I’m happy to see summer hang up its neon green tank top.
It’s an odd sensation to be anticipating the winter and the freezing weather that will accompany it, but after three straight years in cities that don’t have real winters (Nashville, Seattle and New Orleans, naturally), there’s an almost nostalgic – dare I say, romantic – aura around the idea of a snowstorm (and I fucking hate snow).
The first now is always kind of fun. The problem is when it sticks around for four more months.
I’ve already met a number of people here who are either new to this city from southern states and are dreading and anticipating (dreaticipating?) the winter, or they’re like me and know that their mental state is adversely affected by the lack of sun and warmth. In both cases, I feel like I’m surrounded by a group of people who are bracing for the cold, like we’re all in a rollercoaster and we’re gradually climbing to the top of the first big drop.
If another storm like Sandy comes bearing down on us this year, I’ll just invite everyone over to my place, stock up on Jameson and have a week-long marathon gaming session of Cards Against Humanity and Mille Bornes.
We’re gonna get through this, people.
Until then, it’s time to pull out my warmest jacket and drink the Freedom Trail. ¡Salud!