100 degrees today. Tornados in Bensonhurst. What are we, the Midwest all of a sudden? There’s not even any trailer parks in Bensonhurst, or anywhere else around here for that matter. I was under the vague impression that trailer parks were the cause of tornados. Guess I’m wrong. Wouldn’t be unprecedented. Apparently they are caused by hot air rubbing against cooler air and updrafts and drops in barometric pressure and things like that, at least according to the smiley-faced well-groomed meteorologists on TV. Since all the stuff they are blathering about is invisible I have to assume they either possess super-keen powers of observation or are making it all up.

Whatever their cause, tornados are a bitch and I wish they’d go back out west where they belong Not that I have anything against trailer parks, it’s just that I prefer a little brick around my butt when that big bad she-wolf Mother Nature huffs and puffs and tries to blow my joint down. My brother John learned that the hard way down in Florida where he had houses severely pummeled by both hurricanes and tornados. He finally wised up like the smart little piggy and his latest house is a brick fortress that survived all of Florida’s heaviest storms in the past twenty or so years, and there have been some beauties down there, real rootin’-tootin ripsnortin’ slices of hell in the form of wind and rain that wrecked thousands of homes and killed a whole bunch of people. Seems like a high tax to pay to live in a warm climate, but hey, lots of people seem to like that sort of thing, my big brother among ‘em.

I suppose that’s why I love living in Brooklyn. Everything’s paved and lit up and sturdy as hell. Oh we’ve got plenty of parks and beaches when you want them but for the most part everywhere you go in the course of a routine day you’re treading on stuff built to last. We get some wicked hurricanes here from time to time, maybe every ten years or so. Aside from a few trees falling over and some minor flooding, the town looks just the same when the storm goes away, not like the Luftwaffe just finished a major bombing strike. I had planned to do a bit of cement work with the lovely wife Louise to make Casa Crespo even sturdier and more waterproof but that can wait until the temperature drops back to double digits and there’s no threat of tornados. Extreme heat and humidity make me a very grumpy and lethargic pain in the ass, even more so than usual. Add the threat of a tornado (Bensonhurt’s only a couple of mile away from Casa Crespo) and I’m miserable. Only one way on a 100 degree humid August day to lift this foul mood.

Let’s talk snow!

Now, blizzards I like. There’s nothing more beautiful than New York City during and just after a blizzard, especially late at night. Everything’s quiet as a cathedral, there’s barely any traffic and the air is as bracing as that of the Rocky Mountains. It’s hard work just walking around but well worth the effort. The few people you meet in such walks are doing what you’re doing, out enjoying the show. You exchange joyful greetings and keep on keeping on, even though you’re not going anywhere in particular, each giving the other their private space to be alone with the incredible beauty everywhere you turn. Sometimes you run across people in trouble with their cars and everyone’s eager to help out, appearing like apparitions out of nowhere, cheerful and eager to assist. Snow brings out the best in people. Can’t say the same about oppressive heat.

I love having four seasons, there’s something about each of them that touches one’s spirit profoundly. Making it through a New York winter feels like an accomplishment, and your soul says: “Yeah! I made it! You did your worst, Mr. Winter and I’m still standing, thank you.”
And no Spring is as sweet as one that follows a hard winter. The plants, the trees, even the bugs are welcome old friends sharing the experience of rebirth. And of course the women start to wear sexy clothes again and that’s always a welcome sight. Add Opening Day of baseball season to the mix and Spring just might be my favorite season.

But then Summer comes and wraps you in its warmth and before you know it you’re leaving the house without a thought to bringing a jacket, just shorts and a shirt and some sandals and you’re good to go. You fire up the barbecue at the drop of a hat and sit in the yard swatting bugs, talking baseball and daydreaming deep into the night while the summer breeze rocks you slow. You go to beach and swim in the ocean and appreciate the artful construction of the beautiful young ladies in their tiny swimsuits. There’s not a bad view on the whole beach.

But seasons wear on you. By the end of February you’re pretty sick of winter and your heavy clothes and the sniffling and the wet feet and drafts and skidding on black ice. By the beginning of June you’re tired of rainy Spring days and you long for Summer. Then Summer comes and it’s great, everything it’s supposed to be and more until… until days like this one with hundred degree heat and the humidity of a steam room. I opened the door this morning and it was like opening up a blast furnace. Walked to the corner for the newspapers and the hot wind singed me good. So much for doing cement work. So Instead I long for Autumn, that time of cooling off, leaves turning colors and the bracing, intoxicating air. Fall brings the baseball playoffs and women dressing in smart, sexy turtleneck outfits with sharp looking blazers and those very cool knee boots.

Then comes Winter and blizzards. Today is a day to think about snow; cold, deep, white and fluffy snow. Red nose and cheeks, your breath puffing out in steams of vapor, your heart singing, tossing some snowballs around. You come in from the cold to a nice hot drink and a warm house and look out the window at the beautiful snow. Life is good. There’s always something to look forward to around here, profound changes and new challenges. Like the song says: “To everything there is a season…” Okay, New York, what’s next? I’m ready.