Seasons

i have been told there are 2 seasons in Panama, the rainy season; the rest of the year it raiins every day. i added mango season as a third season. other folks say that if i add a 3rd season, then we must have 4: xmas season (may 8-jan 06). next month we have guests, friends and family from SF. who asked for my "wish list" of items not available in Panama. i asked for cold and fog. 4 seasons of winter/spring/summer/fall would be grand. it would be okay if there were 4 days a year for the seasons experience. since this is fantasy i'll trade: 3 days of autumn, one of spring. wednesday, upon waking, i checked the clock. i could not tell if it was day or evening. even the light was right. i did not notice last year that duriing this "winter" (from what is familiar), the light changes. the past few days there has been great, grey grey overcast of fog and , clouds. so i'm trying an experiment. feeding paid and beckett provides me the perfect time to brush my teeth, drink a glass of water, find the prayerbook, and checking the weather. great glorious gloom! and since i'm not sleeping, i tried another benadryl, cranked down the a/c (cooler, lower temp), piled on the comforter, and reset the alarm. my plan is to play weather sovereign. (i'm perfectly happy with 2 hours of "tricking" autumn. i'm surprised my answer: i would have thought i'd immediatly asked for friends. but it's easier to viist and be visited than to experience 2.5 hours of autumn. i remember an dubliner joining our seminary for an el nino year. every day, we had "perfect weather," according to some. the usual berkeley heavy fog in the morning, changes to sunshine after noon. people would greet one another, beaming with joy: perfect weather, perfect weather, look at that sunshine. smiling andrew grew more and more grumpier and more morose each and every day. we shared many evening of john jameson, hours spent in shared solitary of grumps and harumphs. one october morning i contemplated cutting class--just so i'd not have to see or hear about "another perfect day." closs. i'd awakened to fog so thick it literally plopped onto the ground and sidewalks. i ran to find andrew. there he was, one smiling dubliner, beaming. there's your man, raising his guinness arm with a huge mug of coffee, wrapped in a luscious, ancient arian islands sweater. when asked for his reason for such good cheer "on this foggy morning after all these days of perfect sunshine," andrew replied, "feck the sunshine, man. what good irish folk want sunshine and blue skies." we can't survive sunshine's perfect days; we must have grey skies and foggy cool." john jameson tastes better in the foggy cool anywhere. "supreme it tis to be drinkin yer man jameson in fog's perfect gloom. one last thing: i'm checking the irish, see if the wee people have been tasting it now and again.