My schedule’s disappeared, the seasons have stopped changing.
I quit my au pair job two weeks back, and since then have enjoyed a stay-cation on the kibbutz, interspersing books with lap swims and waves.
Now, even as October stretches on, I feel suspended in June – the last time I lived on the kibbutz, before moving away for the aupair job.
And the weather is stuck in summer, too. Strong sun, humid, light breezes. Ocean, pool, hot asphalt. No shoes, no shirt, swim suit.
Where’s my cold?!
I crave the Pacific Northwest: mountains, and short days, and grey skies, and the wet cold that crawls into your bones and stays there until March.
I want to wear my sweater! Knitted hats! I itch to peel off my wet clothing in the evening and sit by the space heater with a cup of tea.
I want to hear the roof tap with a downpour, a drizzle. I’d even take hail, for what it’s worth. I miss snow.
Scotland’s been in my mind, due to its recent vote on independence. And then come memories of studying Greek and Latin at St. Andrews. Braving the 40-minute walk to class, my red nose slicing through the sharp, frigid wind blowing off the North Sea. Pea coats and sturdy stone towers and, at the end of the day, a pint in a cozy pub to warm up. I’d love to prefer a hot whisky to cold water.
Sometimes I shutter the view of the palm trees and turn on the AC, just so I can pull on my socks.