Frost Advisory

In the immortal words of Nancy Zieman from PBS's "Sewing with Nancy,"

"Well it's time to wrap up our three-part series on Magical Fabric Yoyos."

Maybe it was the corkscrew cracking in half that finally did it. Maybe it was the Muzak version of "Feliz Navidad" piping through Super One the day I stopped in to counteract frostbite in the middle of a run. Maybe it was the funnel cloud hovering over the Blues Fest where we huddled in our parkas under umbrellas.

Actually it might've been the tent card someone slipped into my jeans cuff excoriating me to "Turn to the Living God or Perish!" as I huddled in said parka on the above-mentioned August night.

That's right, I said August.

Whatever it was, it sure the fuck wasn't summer. Not when you have to turn the furnace on in July, or can count on one hand the number of days the temperature climbs above 55. August 18th being Day Three.

The dog -- who, you may recall, is terrified of anything unusual or out of the ordinary -- refused to go outside one morning, retreating instead to her kennel, ears back, tail between her legs. This was late July. I decided she was afraid of the sun, which hadn't made an appearance since the last week of May.

Think I'm kidding?

Check out this photo my husband took at the cabin:




We had to move the picnic inside. It was July fourth.

Now it's over, whatever the fuck it was, and all we have to show for it is a heating bill and a couple unopened tubes of sunblock. Oh and a new corkscrew. I thought the old one had a lifetime warranty. Not in my universe, jack. No matter, this morning I used what's left of it to chip a skin of ice off the birdbath.

August 31st. Last day of meteorological summer. And not a moment too soon.

(Got the Blues...

...back next week)