Day 100: What is your favorite season

My Project: 365 Creative Writing Prompts

Day 100: What is your favorite season

Today’s creative writing prompt is … 'What is your favorite season?' Well, let’s see …

While for many people summer is their favorite season, I’m not one of them. I’m fine with a temperature of up to 26 degrees C (78.8 degrees F) but anything more than that makes me extremely uncomfortable. As someone once said, “For winter you can dress warm, but what do you do in summer … there’s only so much you can take off.” All I can say is ... thank goodness for A/C. Whoever invented air-conditioning deserves a medal the size of Texas.

As much as I dislike the heat, I absolutely hate fall. While it’s true that fall displays a magnificent array of colors in foliage, I find it a depressing season. Trees, shrubs, and flowers die, their remains lying on the ground to rot. I do like the rain that the fall brings though. Not surprising since I’m originally from Belgium where it rains nine months out of the year. Why do you think Belgium is known as frog land …

As for winter … while winter is not exactly my favorite season, but it does have its perks. There's nothing like a snow-covered landscape and along with snow and ice comes skiing and skating entertainment. Cold dark cloudy days are perfect for enjoying thick soup, cuddling up by the fireplace with a good book, or watching old movies. Winter is also the time for Christmas when the house gets decorated and we go shopping for presents for loved ones.

So that leaves us with spring. Yes, spring is my favorite season. A time when nature comes alive, when trees sprout delicate green leaves, daffodils bob their bright yellow heads, and when people shed their dark winter clothes and boots in favor of pastel colors and sandals.

Along with spring comes nest building for the birds, which is something a couple of finches are busy with right now on my balcony. I for one will be very happy when their construction work is finished, because their constant twittering at the crack of dawn interferes with my beauty sleep.

The cats on the other hand are delighted with the finches’ presence. Now that the temperature has hit double digits, they’re allowed to go out on the balcony and they never tire of seeing the finches in action. “They’re just to look at,” I told them, “not to eat. If you catch one, you’re grounded for a week.”

Don’t forget to donate to the Toronto Cat Rescue.

Any amount will make a difference.

https://www.canadahelps.org/en/pages/toronto-cat-rescue-bowl-a-thon-9/

Day 65: The Weather - According to my Son

My Project: 365 Creative Writing Prompts

Day 65: The Weather - According to my Son

A few days ago, I had to go out. Even though it was December and presumably cold, before going out I asked my son “Is it cold out there?”

Heaven knows why I asked because I never get an accurate response. Dieter is one of those people who is completely unaffected by the cold. It must be pretty bad before he wears a coat and he never ever wears a hat or a scarf. So really, I don’t know why I bothered checking with him.

When Dieter says it’s nice, that means that I need a light sweater. When he says it’s a little chilly, a warmer sweater is needed. When he says it’s cold, I better bundle up in a coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. And when he says that it’s very cold, that means it’s freezing the balls off a brass monkey.

In summer, his temperature assessment is equally deceiving. When he says that it’s a little chilly, it’s actually quite nice. The kind of day that I can go out in a short-sleeved shirt. When he says it’s warm, that’s my cue to reach for something sleeveless. When he says it’s very warm, that means it’s hot. I can handle the heat up to 28 degrees C (86 degrees F) comfortably, but anything above that is too hot. So, when Dieter says it’s hot, that means outside the birds are falling out of the trees.

I’ll bet now you’re wondering how he describes wind and rain. So, I’ll tell you. When Dieter says, it’s okay, that means there’s a bit of a breeze. When he says there a bit of a breeze, it’s actually quite windy. And when he says it’s windy, there’s a storm going on. Now when he says that it’s very windy ... well, wherever you’re going you’re in danger of being airborne.

As for rain, he certainly can’t be trusted. It’s misty means it’s drizzling. It’s drizzling means it’s raining. It’s raining means it’s pouring. And when he says it’s raining hard there’s practically a hurricane going on.

My weather app on my phone is equally unreliable.

For instance. For today my phone said that it was 12 deg C (54 deg F). I’m sure it was 12/54 degrees somewhere, but it wasn’t in Toronto.

There have been days that the app says that 75% chance of rain is expected and there’s not a drop of water to be seen. Last winter the app predicted 6 cm of snow (a little more than 2 inches) and we got nothing than a light dusting.

Fortunately, even though my son fails to give me an accurate description of the weather and my phone app is frequently wrong, I can always rely on my cats.

When they groom themselves and they wipe a paw behind their ears ... it’s gonna rain. When the wiping involves a triple action, it’s gonna come down in buckets.

On the other hand, if they claw at the furniture or carpets, wind is expected. And believe me, it never fails.

www.connymanero.weebly.com

Kicked out of Capri

As much as I hate winter with its snow and sub-zero temperatures, I’m not a fan of summer either. I can handle the season up to 27 deg C (80.6 deg F), but anything more than that is just a little too much for me.

This is a relatively new condition. In my younger days, the heat didn’t bother me at all.

I remember a time when we traveled to Granada, Spain. One of the hottest regions of the country. It was not unusual for the temperature to reach over 40 deg C (104 deg F) but I wasn’t bothered at all.

While in Granada we visited the Alhambra and Generalife. It was hot as hell, but the heat didn’t have an effect on me. We walked around for hours, enjoying the scenery, taking pictures, and we didn’t care about the heat.

The following year we vacationed in Capri and walked all over the island, including Villa Borghese and its gardens. The sun was beaten down on us, we had little or no protection and no water. Were we bothered … not in the least.

Not only did we walk for miles in Capri, at one time we even ran. That is … I ran.

In one of the gardens of the island, where we enjoyed a delicious ice cream. The scenery was beautiful, trees and flowers everywhere and live size statues of angels and the twelve apostles dotted the grass.

Before leaving the garden, mom wanted a picture of St. Peter, she suggested that I pose with the saint.

In doing so I draped my right arm around the statue’s neck and with my left hand pretended to pull his beard.

My goodness had I made a mistake in doing that. The gardener came charging at me, pitchfork in hand, swearing at the top of his voice. He yelled in Italian, and even though my Italian vocabulary was limited, I understood that my actions had been disrespectful to the saint.

Seeing him waving that pitchfork I wasted no time. I took off as fast as the grass and my flip-flops would allow me. The gardener, even though he was well into his sixties, was in surprisingly good shape.

I can’t remember how long the spring lasted, but I outran him. When me folks caught up with me they told me they had to pay a considerable amount for them to keep the camera and to keep the police out of this matter.

They were also told to leave Capri as soon as possible. So we did, we visited the Blue Grotto and then we headed back to them mainland.

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Hello Phil

 

Yesterday was Groundhog Day.  The day Punxsutawney Phil tells us whether we get a late or early spring.  If we are to believe the little rodent, it will be a late one.  Phil proclaimed …

 

As I look at the crowd on Gobbler’s Knob

Many shadows I do see

So six more weeks of winter it must be

 

Six “more” weeks of winter?

We in Toronto haven’t really had a winter.

It’s been a little chilly, and we had a few flurries of snow, but nothing compared to other years.

I haven’t worn a sweater yet and my winter coat has been more in the closet than out.  In fact, this has been more like a long fall than a winter.

 

In the morning when I open the curtains I see either sunshine and blue skies, or soft rain from grey clouds.  I like them both equally.  While I like sunny days, every now and then a little rain must fall.  While I like rainy days, too much grey can be depressing.

 

Personally I rather like wet days.  The grayer the sky, the heaver the rain, the more creative I get.  In case you’re wondering if I’m a water sign … no, I’m a Gemini.  In the Chinese calendar I’m a rooster, a fire rooster at that.

 

Despite not being related to water I do some of my best work on rainy days and get some of my best ideas when I’m around water.  Showering and doing the dishes are inspiring, but what really gets me going is washing windows.  There’s a certain calm in washing glass, and while going from left to right and up and down, ideas for stories just come flooding in.

 

There are other people who think at their best when surrounded by water.  There was one writer who considered moving to Hawaii for precisely this reason.  His grandmother promptly replied “You want to be surrounded by water?  Take a bath.”

 

 

 

Brrrrr

I wonder about meteorologists.
 

Back when I lived in Belgium we had Herman Pien as a meteorologist.  Where they man got his degree is a mystery to me, as he constantly got it wrong.

When he predicted rain, the sun would shine.  When he predicted sun, clouds would appear and in due time it would rain.

The man got so frustrated that eventually he would bet on all horses.  He would predict some sun, some clouds and some rain.  He was bound to hit one out of three.

When I lived in South Africa the meteorologists’ job was as easy and boring as could be.  Between September and May our region (Johannesburg) got sun, sun and more sun.  Occasionally there would be some surprise clouds and rain, but the folks would be so happy with water from the heavens, any mistake made on the meteorologists’ part was quickly forgiven.

You would assume that the meteorologists’ job in Canada is equally easy.  You would think that in winter they only have to mention how cold it’s going to be, but that’s not enough for our weather specialists.  They like to have a little fun.

Take last night for instance … 

The weather channel predicted a maximum for Toronto of -10 C (14 degrees F).  When I looked this morning it was -25 deg C (-13 deg F) with the wind chill.

Yes, rather chilly, but not worthy of the “extreme cold” they were talking about or the cold weather alert that was issued.

Had I taken their word for it, I would have called a cab to take me to my morning destination, but I preferred to feel the temperature for myself.  As mentioned before, it was cold, but not nearly cold enough to issue an alert.

Perhaps I should take up a career in meteorology.  I would simply say “Folks, it’s going to be a cold one tomorrow.  Then again, it is January, this is Canada so … deal with it.”

End of summer lament

I select a turtleneck instead of a shirt, pull on a jacket and wrap a scarf around my neck. Outside it's chilly. Not really cold, but there is a definite nip in the air. The wind makes me turn up the collar of my jacket.

When I look up I see a gray sky packed with low hanging, fast moving clouds. I feel like turning around, going back inside and crawling into bed. I feel like joining the bear and the squirrels that hibernate until March or even April.

As I leave the subway station and climb the stairs to street level, I zip up my jacket and walk facedown, looking at the pavement. Instead of a flimsy skirt, I now wear slacks. Sandals have been replaced with shoes. Soon shoes will have to make way for warm boots.

On my way to work, I see plenty of people who are dressed like me. They wear sweaters, jackets and scarves. They no longer sashay, but stride with a sense of purpose and urgency. They no longer look around, checking if they are seen. Now they, too, walk with bended heads.

Looking up, I don't like what I see. Some trees are still green, but they are thinning. Others are turning yellow. Were they yellow yesterday, or has this happened overnight? Leaves in various shades of gold and brown rush along the pavement and swirl around my feet. When I step on them they make a crunchy sound and turn to bits.

The lilies in the flowerbeds are hanging their heads. They look sad, like they know their days are numbered. The geraniums are still there, but they don't look as radiant anymore as they once did. They have not seen the sun in a few days and they seem to suffer from a lack of warmth.

I suffer from lack of warmth too. It is bad enough that fall has arrived; but, that we have not had a proper summer makes it all the worse. We had a few warm days, but those days felt more like spring than summer.

Where are the days when it was already warm early in the morning and one could just feel that it was going to be scorching hot later on? Where are the days that people were sitting in the shade, huffing and puffing, fanning themselves against the heat? There has been no heat this summer.

Although I am not a big fan of the scorching heat, and I moan and groan at the sun like everybody else when it is really hot, the notion of heat when one is desperate with ice cold hands and feet is a nice prospect. It's something to get one through the moment, through the day and through the long winter. But somehow we have been cheated. Summer has passed us by.

As I stand in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, I look out the window. It has suddenly gone very dark, it is raining and drops of water are steadily trailing down the glass. It is like Mother Nature is crying. Down below the red and white lights of traffic contrast against the wet, black street. The reflected colors remind me of a lit-up Christmas tree.

During lunchtime I go outside to clear my head. There is some blue in the sky now, but still far too many gray clouds. A few intrepid souls are braving it and are going for a walk. I have no such intentions. I would rather stay inside and go in search of a hot bowl of soup.

The park, usually packed with lunchtime office workers and tourists, is now almost empty. There is nobody strolling along the gravel paths; nobody squatting on the grass; nobody sitting under a tree on a shaded bench. Now there are only pigeons and seagulls pecking at whatever they can find. A few people are standing around in a watery sun, bundled up with coats and scarves.

Just before I go back inside I look up and see a flock of Canadian geese. Are they heading south already? I wish I could grow wings and join them.