Friday, May 20, 2005


Time goes by so much faster as we age that it makes the seasons much more temporal. When I was young, winter and summer seemed experientially more or less permanent fixtures. So there was no need to gather up and treasure a warm day in May, for there were plenty more where that came from, nor any need to cling to a warm October day. It’s odd how the concept of the seasons changes over the years in that way.

I read somewhere that one of the reasons this person moved south was they were tired of having to go through the whole preparation, mental and otherwise, of winter every year. And winter becomes more rigorous as I age, which is as inexplicable as food becoming more important (when I was a kid, the thought of sitting down to dinner at a restaurant when you could play tag or basketball seemed as foreign as copulation).

So now I can’t hear the dulcet tones of “Roll Out the Barrell” without thinking of the cherished Oktoberfests, there in the crisp late Sept air, when we bravely face the winter and try to pretend its not going to happen with the help of happy music and German beer. Oktoberfests have become so seasonally-defined that even hearing the music in the spring seems wrong, like giving a funeral sermon at a wedding.

I'm wary about the experience of my elders. Since I enjoy eating at restaurants now, I'm hip to the fact that it's likely their experiences and reactions to life will become mine. So I'm not pleased that they almost uniformly loathe winter more as they age. That lucky Billy Luse.

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