My oldest friend from University was here for dinner last week. Over a few glasses of hard cider the conversation turned to the summer, the weather, and how much he loved the heat this year. He’s a bit of a sun worshiper and found the winters when we lived in the limestone city to challenge his mental health just a little, simply because it was so dark and depressing there during the snowy season. I couldn’t feel more opposite, and found this past summer to be an especially trying one. Simply put, I just don’t enjoy the excessively warm temperatures or the scorching sun, and I spend two solid months feeling my insides wilt not unlike the droopy basil plants in our backyard garden.
I’m convinced I might actually suffer from seasonally affected disorder in the reverse, and after chatting with Jeff last week I did a quick Google search on the subject, and lo and behold about one percent of the population feels the same way I do. Summer scrooges unite! I literally count down the seconds until sweater weather arrives, and as soon as it does I instantly notice an improvement in my mood, manner, and general well-being. I also feel inspired, capable of accomplishment and am excited to cook again, because goodness knows I do lose a little love for standing in front of the stove when the mercury is on the rise.