The warriors of winter won a decisive skirmish in Utah last week when temperatures plummeted into the 40s over the course of one day and the rain came and stayed, and stayed . . . and stayed. On Monday I emerged cautiously from my den, much as I imagine the citizens of a Sicilian village might after a Mafia turf war. I was wearing a sweater–my favorite sweater, a lightweight, black mock turtleneck with a double zipper–and carrying my new black umbrella. Now, the problem with bad weather, the real problem with bad weather, at least in my case, is not the cold or rain or wind themselves, although those are hard to handle, but the anti-weather paraphenalia that the weather requires. The umbrellas and sweaters and windbreakers and overcoats and mufflers and parkas and what-have-you are a blessing when one is out-of-doors, but as soon as one goes inside they become mere encumbrances. Encumbrances that are all too easy to forget and leave behind, in, say, the university gym locker room.
Well, I didn’t forget my umbrella at the gym; it was more or less impossible to overlook, what with all the water it was dripping everywhere–but I somehow forgot my sweater (you know, my favorite sweater–the black one with the high collar and the zipper that zips from both ends), and I didn’t remember it until I was almost home, since the weather had improved to more September-like levels since the morning. Since the gym was already closed by then, I shrugged philosophically, swore viciously, and smiled at the whimsical vagaries of Fate. Accordingly, I went back to the gym yesterday morning and asked if anyone had turned in a black sweater. The guy behind the desk got a strange look on his face and admitted that maybe someone had. Indeed, he immediately produced it from a cupboard, but when I went to sign for it, I understood his bemusement. The description: “Item found: Girl’s black sweater, 9/19/06.”
So, I’m forgetful, and verbose, and I wear girly clothing. What else could you possibly want to know about me?
And for your reading pleasure, here are the lyrics of my favorite Joni Mitchell song, “Urge for Going,” which is about love, loss, and the turning of the seasons. Imagine Joni’s husky-sweet voice singing them, or better yet, obtain a recording of the song and read along to it.
I awoke today and found the frost perched on the town
It hovered in a frozen sky, then it gobbled summer down
When the sun turns traitor cold
and all the trees are shivering in a naked row
I get the urge for going but I never seem to go
I get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
I had me a man in summertime
He had summer-colored skin
And not another girl in town
My darling’s heart could win
But when the leaves fell on the ground, and
Bully winds came around, pushed them face down in the snow
He got the urge for going
And I had to let him go
He got the urge for going
When the meadow grass was turning brown
Summertime was falling down and winter was closing in
Now the warriors of winter they gave a cold triumphant shout
And all that stays is dying, all that lives is getting out
See the geese in chevron flight flapping and a-racing on before the snow
They’ve got the urge for going, and they’ve got the wings so they can go
They get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
I’ll ply the fire with kindling now, I’ll pull the blankets up to my chin
I’ll lock the vagrant winter out and bolt my wandering in
I’d like to call back summertime and have her stay for just another month or so
But she’s got the urge for going and I guess she’ll have to go
She gets the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And all her empire’s falling down
