Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Indian Summer

This weather is creeping me out. It’s October, I shouldn’t be sticking to the pleather seats inside cabs and re-applying deodorant as often as lip gloss; this is unnatural.

Not only is the weather uncomfortable, it leaves me with a false sense of timing as if my internal calendar is stuck on August 19th. I cannot get my head around that it’s nearly mid-October. Air-conditioners continue to spit, drops of perspiration falling to the city streets floors below; diners who would be enjoying the last al fresco dining opportunities of the season are opting for indoor tables because it is just too hot to sit outside. Fall fashion purchases have yet to make their debut on Madison Avenue as flip-flops reign supreme over buttery soft chocolate brown leather boots. The other night, with the air conditioner on full blast, we returned sweaty and sticky from a late night workout at the gym. “Crank that up,” M said slugging back a glass of ice water and wiping sweat from his brow. No sooner did I turn the knob to the highest setting did a fuse blow in the apartment leaving us in pitch-black darkness. “This sucks,” I said fumbling to the kitchen to search out a flashlight. “I hate Indian Summer.”

My thoughts have been echoed by all of my friends. “I can’t take this,” Stacy said. “I want to go for a run outside. I mean, it’s October, I haven’t even worn jeans yet. My Con-Ed bill is going to be higher than the purchase price of my new cashmere sweater.” Beyond the fashion-despair, the weather has a psychological effect on people as well. “Forget the Halloween decorations at Duane Reade, I just saw an ad for Christmas gifts in my magazine. I’m sitting here in a tank top, dripping sweat from the subway and I’m looking at red and green ho-ho jolly shit. This must be what it’s like to live in Florida and see Santa in shorts driving a convertible,” Jen said.

My wedding is now a few short weeks away and I am at the stage where everyday is packed with a 1000 small details, yet with the soaring temperatures outside I am having a hard time ‘feeling it’. I pictured it differently, the final stretch before my walk down the aisle, strangely I was excited for the stress which came along with the last few weeks of running around with my mother, stuffing gift bags and making lists for my lists for other lists. This type of stress is a high for me; the kind where you can see progress, where checklists get smaller and projects are completed giving you a sense of real accomplishment. However this summer-like weather is throwing me and I keep hoping the mercury will drop, fall will arrive and so with it, the feeling I crave.

Yesterday, as I dashed around the city furiously trying to make a dent in my to-do list, my tank-top putrid and wet, I went to pick up all of shoes which were being re-heeled, summer shoes which I mistakenly believed I wouldn’t need until our honeymoon. I handed the woman behind the counter my claim check. “It will be a moment, he has to get them from downstairs,” she said. The store was hot, the air-conditioner most likely shutoff automatically for the season, two fans twisted furiously in an attempt to cool down the store. The woman behind the counter looked unfazed about the acrid temperature in the store, her hair pulled back gently and swept into an impromptu bun, her make-up as flawless as when she left her house that morning. She fanned herself with a stack of papers she was filing under the counter. “Don’t you hate this weather,” I asked her, believing my question to be rhetorical. “No,” she said, a look of surprise on her face. “It’s marvelous. It’s October and in the 80s. Come December when it is freezing and there is snow on the ground that is when I am miserable. This is a treat, we get a whole other month of summer.” She handed me the bag with my shoes inside, smiled and gave me my change. “It’s all about the alternative. Indian Summer is a gift, a second chance to do all those things which you didn’t get to do over the summer. It’s another day at the beach, another iced coffee. Trust me, in December, you will miss these days.”

She may be right.

1 comment:

moscerina said...

hi carrie,
nice to read your blog. My mom ran into you in Philadelphia a while back, and i thought i would look out for your writing.