My three youngest are here tonight, the last "real" Sunday night of this summer for two of them.
They still have one free week left, though. When I was a kid, back in Michigan, summer didn't end until after Labor Day weekend. But a week from tonight, the two younger kids will face going back to school the next morning, and they are not at all pleased about that.
The oldest, given his "gap year," may be free as the breeze next Sunday night, and therefore still here watching his favorite shows. But he also seems close to landing a full-time job, so maybe not.
As for me, the seasons have no real meaning here. They come and they go. Out here on the west coast, there is no real spring, no real summer, no real fall, no real winter.
It's all just gradations, ups and downs that represent little more than regressions to the mean. (Sorry to get mathematical on you.)
At a coffee shop this morning, Aidan and I discussed precisely this topic. What life would be like living where there are actual seasons. In Montana, there are real seasons. He seems more and more oriented to attending the University of Montana next year. His girlfriend, Zaira, says she wants to go there with him.
It was a very nice conversation.
My main message to him was that when it is cold outside, it really feels nice to get home where it is warm inside.
Especially, when you have a girlfreind.
-30-
No comments:
Post a Comment