A Complaint

Dear Reader,

I am sorry to do this to you. I’ve tried desperately to stay away from writing anything like this in the past but I cannot control the urge to do so any longer. This week has been more stressful than usual and I need to vent. For the first (and hopefully last time ever), I am going to complain about the weather.

Those of you who know me well will know that I am not a fan of the Boston Winter. This is a frequent topic of my banter, as I curse under my breath while putting on my jacket, hat, gloves, neck warmers, ear warmers, extra pants, three pairs of socks, and a portable electric blanket to prepare for crossing the street from my house to the supermarket. Needless to say, the temperatures are not exactly temperate and the winds are not exactly kind.

Routine daily tasks become dangerous trials of survival. It is an onerous challenge to walk on the snowy and icy build-up on the sides of the roads without falling. Add to that vehicles sliding down the streets, splashing freezing slush in your direction makes crossing the street an obstacle course worthy of a Marine recruit.

Frequently, it has been raised to me, that I am merely a warm-blooded Californian who does not understand the joys of living through each of the seasons. That’s balderdash. What most people do not understand is that in California, we do have seasons. To prove it, here are three photos, one of summer, one of spring and one of winter:


Photo taken at Carmel Beach with the sun setting behind the silhouetted rocks of Point Lobos.


Monarch Butterflies drying their wings in the rays of suns. Taken in Pacific Grove, where the monarchs come to live out the winters before their long migration to the borders of Canada.


A photo of the snow while driving by Lake Tahoe.

In most places, one has to wait many months for the seasons to change before it is possible to take these images. But in California, this was all done in a weekend.

You see, the secret to seasons in California is that they do not come to you; rather, you go to them. Carmel, Pacific Grove, and Lake Tahoe each have their own climates and temperatures. Yet they are separated by about 6 hours of driving on the interstate. Thus, you can go visit three seasons, have lunch, and still arrive at your destination for a mid-afternoon nap. That is the way one should enjoy their seasons!

So next time you hear me complain about the weather, you now understand why. In Boston, the seasons are separated by months. In California, they are separated by miles.