Time Warp

I love our warm southern climate, but even after fifteen years, I can’t shake the feeling that time has been warped. The calendar says it’s September. How can I reconcile the lush green trees outside my window with memories of my mother retrieving long underwear and arctic parkas from storage in anticipation of the next month’s snow? Perhaps it is really November. In my childhood, Labor Day weekend marked the end of summer vacation, but my granddaughter has been back to school for several weeks now. Everything is out of sync.

Southern natives don’t seem to notice. They are used to the school calendar that confuses me. Their dress is similar to their northern counterparts, despite the temperature differences. I’ve known co-workers, who donned corduroy skirts and turtlenecks in October, despite temperatures in the 80’s. By November, the break room is scattered with catalogs of winter coats and folks agonizing over choosing one before the temperature dips below fifty. While I am still perusing seed catalogs in January, southern friends are starting seedlings for the gardens they will plant in March, oblivious to the Memorial Day law that rules northern life.

I doubt that I will ever feel completely comfortable with southern time, but I have no plans to head north. I’ll just sit here in the sun, contemplate the green leaves and learn to live with it. Tough job!