Our street in mid-November

The temperature swing in early February from a chilly 20-something to a bold 60 degree day leaves nothing on the table.

What do you call that? Insane? Global warming? A mysterious mood swing of God?

I don’t know and I don’t question it. I just know that it causes me some profound confusion when trying to organize my closet. Furry boots keep out in front, right next to my lavender flip flops in case I need to run errands.

My oldest brother Victor lives out in Los Angeles. It doesn’t surprise me that he lives out west. He is a natural outdoorsy kind of guy. Not like granola tree-hugger kind of man, but on any given day, Victor will be out hiking, thinking about how great the weather is while contemplating which bike path is best for his afternoon exercise.

I try and lie to myself that I’m not jealous, but let’s get real here, people. I am jealous. I am sordidly jealous! The jealous is so acidic, I swear, it tastes like an orange right after you rinsed with Listerine.

But I’m learning to get over it. After all, what’s not to love about my spring allergies? The humidity? The snowblower mandates? Yep – that’s Ohio alright.

It’s taken me quite a while to swallow my warm weather veins and accept the four seasons. It does, after all, make one quite appreciative of those near perfect days where the sun refuses to set, the green of the trees ruffles in peace, and the spring mornings smell as fresh as the country air in Russia.

So, I am glad that Ohio has the four faces of weather. While the LA sun is year round and the constant outdoor activity makes me chartreuse with envy, there’s nothing to compare to the smell of cool autumn days after a dog summer or the long winter walks Nick and I take in the snow and being enveloped in the quiet of our neighborhood.