Author: Christine Elias

It’s almost time to put away my summer clothes and get out my boots and autumn clothing.

I am beside myself with anticipation.

I hate summer. I hate being hot. I hate not being able to layer in attractive and flattering ways. I hate not wearing interesting shoes and boots.

Already the weather is wonderful. Sunny and warm but not hot. There’s a nice breeze in the air and I can breathe better.

I know hating summer is atypical but I’ve always felt this way. I’m the type of person who prefers to eat indoors — patio season does little for me.

I attended an outdoor eating occasion a while ago and a good portion of time was spent shooing away wasps. There were no wasps inside the house but somehow sitting on uncomfortable plastic furniture outside was better — more festive I guess.

This is not to say I don’t sometimes like sitting outside — I do — I also sometimes like going grocery shopping. Both activities are not high on my list but each can have their moments.

I was thinking about Facebook after I read this article in the NY Times.

Whenever I log in I see wall posts that don’t really resonate with me.

For example, one person posts religious quotations/thoughts. We went to high school together and were never great friends but we were friendly. She may well have been an Evangelical Christian as a teen, I really don’t recall. She was — and probably still is — a very nice person.

I don’t have anything against people of deep faith, I just don’t share their fervent devotion.

Then there are people —also from high school — who talk about and post pictures of their kids. Now, I like children and I enjoy looking at the photos of children I know.

But these are kids I have never met. In fact, I haven’t seen the parents since we were pretty much children ourselves. (Plus it freaks me out that people I went to high school with have so many kids).

But something is stopping me from deleting people I don’t keep up with now.

I’m not sure what it is. Nostalgia perhaps. Or maybe it’s something else.