Labor Day, summer doesn't officially end for another three weeks,
but we Texans generally ignore the meaningless semantics of the
calendar. Summer knows that it wears the crown in this neck of the
woods, and the darn tyrant isn't going anywhere 'til well into
October. Leaves seem to change only on television, greeting cards
and fall catalogs.
Our Northern neighbors are shocked to hear that we're still
running the A/C during autumn's approach, resenting summer's encore
performance, while they get to light the fireplace, bake cozy apple
pies -- bake anything, for that matter! -- sip cinnamon-laced hot
cider, and retrieve seasonal throws and sweaters from storage bins.
We're green with envy, particularly because we won't be seeing any
shades of red, orange or yellow anytime soon.
This is the time of the year that taunts us the most: to be so
close to that coveted autumn weather, the crisp air only a few
hours' drive north. Many of us even engage in hideous acts of
self-torture, languidly browsing through New England seasonal
recipes for chowders and mulling spices, then shopping online for
Scottish tartan plaid flannel sheets.
Some day, we tell ourselves, some day.