Seasons

(Pg. 114 of That’s Outrageous)

For several summers in the early 1980s it became a ritual ritual. Our family of four would fly from Connecticut to California for three weeks of glorious vacation, enthused about the diversity of natural beauty and adventure that awaited us.

Along the way, from the Sierras to the southern coast, and Highway 1 to the north, we met many displaced Midwesterners exalting in their new surroundings and trying to entice us to join them. Although, in private moments, they would lament one enormous loss that was the price of relocation: the loss of the seasons.

They particularly yearned for the vibrant changing colors of autumn. In San Diego, the sun was the only season they knew, and from San Francisco north they endured a constant damp and misty chill, accented by a drizzling rain from November to March. 

…. But having endured the winter, our Midwestern winter if you will, Mathis assures us that Sunny will be reborn, and that “her memories will fade and pretty dreams will rise up, where her other dreams fell through.”