“I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,” is a lyric Paul Simon wrote for the Simon & Garfunkel song, The Boxer. I know what he means. This morning, I pulled out the big plastic bin of my own winter clothes and shuddered at the thought of four or five months of cold weather ahead.
It’s always a sad moment when I have to replace my spring and summer clothes with sweaters, flannels and long-sleeved shirts. If last winter (which ran from December into May in Kansas City) is any indication, it’s going to a very long while before I break out that yellow party shirt with all the boat drinks on it.
Oh, we also had the time change today, which led to our three-year-old waking us at 5:30 in the morning, just like old times. Outside, 30-mile-per-hour winds are blowing orange and yellow leaves into the yard, and the birds have abandoned our feeders for their winter time-shares. The Chiefs won again, but mustered only three field goals with an one-dimensional offense that has “first round playoff loss” written all over it.
It’s now 5:30 p.m. and almost completely dark. I’m exhausted. I think I’m going to go to bed.