We Blinked So of Course, We Missed It

Missed what, you ask? The perfect sunrise? The Sasquatch? The "Biggest Ever" sale at JC Penney? (Silly, those happen every Saturday!) No,

WE MISSED SUMMER!

You'll recall about a week ago I was singing the praises of spring in Northern Maine and rejoicing in the 20C+ weather (I guess I should've sung those praises a little louder over the internets because I can't even find a post where I say enough to warrant putting a link right here, but trust me, it was PERFECT and WARM). We were all excited about walking down to the Dairy Bar for ice cream on a 'hot' summer night, sitting on the porch in our lawn chairs swatting at mosquitoes the size of grapefruits. Alas, it came and went. It's all over. The trees will be dormant by week's end, no doubt, because this morning, there was this:

That's right. Snow (please note today's date on your nearest calendar). So you see here all you Global-Warming Proselytizing Jerks! That's right! David Suzuki, you get your ass over here! And bring your friends: Al Gore, Peter Mansbridge, Wendy Mesley (Dianna Swain and Ian Hannomansing - you're safe! We like the cut of your jib), and your countless other expert and professional friends! Get 'em over here and line 'em up because I'm lacing up my football cleats.

That's right, just like that. I'm not even going to use a blindfold on any of you. Just line up, because my pregnant self is going to go all Bruce Lee on your shins! And then you turn around very slowly (this ain't no Hokey-Pokey, Al, so quit giggling like a school girl), and I'll kick 'em from behind! What's that Mansy? You're too old for this? Well, if you'd been following David's diet plan and "Health Regimen for Life in This Global Warming-Forsaken Country" (TM), you'd be healthy as a horse, no doubt, so too little too late. Turn around, Mister!

Indeed, instead of picnics and barbeques, our thoughts now turn to Thanksgiving turkeys and Christmas lists. At the top of mine:

1) A really warm bathrobe. And not one of those kind that barely covers your ass. We're talking Dumbledore-style here: floor-grazing, fur-lined, we'll skip the fancy hat.

2) A supply of heating oil like manna from heaven. Said supply should require about as much effort on my part as actual manna, so in fact, all I should have to do is wait quietly at the door so I can collect the bill when the oil delivery guy brings it over. The bill that says "Paid, by God." And then the delivery guy would say, "Oh, and we sampled some of the manna on your lawn. Good stuff!"
"No, Sir," I would reply, "that's snow."