The weather is great. Meteorologists call it “fake fall,” when summer weather, for whatever reason, undergoes what the local weatherman called an “identity crisis.”
Perhaps this means summer starts looking into buying a sports car, getting a facelift, or begins shopping at Lululemon. I don’t know.
Either way, this glorious weather doesn’t last for more than a few days, but it’s a nice break from the summer agony.
During fake fall, you can sit on your porch and wave at your neighbors without sweat stains beneath your arms. And your neighbors are actually outdoors to wave back.
“Hello!” you say, waving your arm at your neighbor.
“Hello!” comes the response.
“How do you like this weather?” you ask.
And everyone usually answers that they are content. And we ARE content. Because faux autumn is great.
Last week, Alabama’s temperatures were akin to the Fifth Circle of Hell. Last week you couldn’t check the mail without seeing buzzards overhead.
The Alabama heat can be oppressive. You start sweating within seconds of exposure. Your drawers get soggy. Your feet squish in your shoes. The humidity can reach the triple digits, which means that if you have curly hair, you will look like you forgot to take your psychiatric meds.
Take me. I have curly hair. Humidity is not good for my hairdo. In high humidity, I look like the love child of Bozo the Clown and Eleanor Roosevelt.
But with fake fall, everyone’s hair does what it’s supposed to do. Also, birds are singing. The sky is blue. Kids are riding bikes. Distant leaf blowers are singing their encore chorus.
And suddenly, you’re grateful for little things. Like honeycrisp apples, or the sound of children playing tag in the distance. For iced tea in sweaty glasses.
For crickets and cicadas. For the Latino music hovering in the air, blasting from the nearby construction crew. For the repetitive slapping of unseen screen doors.
I am grateful for it all.
When I first started writing this column long ago I had no idea what I was doing. It took me ten years to realize that I had no talent for writing, but by then I couldn’t quit because too many newspapers carried my column.
But during my early days as a writer, I was like most fledgling artists. I wrote sad stuff. I tried to engage in tragic poetry. I thought it was art. But it was really just crapola.
Because the first thing you learn as a writer is that people do not need tragic poetry in their life. People have enough tragedy of their own. Even the happiest person on earth has a profound sadness hidden deep inside themselves due to the IRS.
But what I learned as a columnist—the greatest lesson of my life, in fact—is that people need cheerfulness. All people. You. Me. The mailman. The neighbors. Everybody.
We need joy. Laughter. Levity. Pleasantness. We need little, tiny reasons to smile. It doesn’t matter where the reasons come from. The older you get, the more you need these reasons to be grateful.
Fake fall is reason enough for me today.
Sean Dietrich is a columnist and novelist known for his commentary on life in the American South. He has authored nine books and is the creator of the “Sean of the South” blog and podcast. The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the policy or position of 1819 News. To comment, please send an email with your name and contact information to Commentary@1819News.com.
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