Lightning Bugs and Unripe Tomatoes

Seasonally, it's been a quirky few months in Iowa. It began well. We had several gorgeous nights sitting on the porch watching the fireflies light up the garden, but as the weeks advanced into July, I prepared Dave for a blistering August, but it was so cool at the state fair, I could have danced down the boulevard in a sweatshirt. "It'll get hot in September," I said.

"Don't expect a Michigan fall," I said.

"We can still get hot weather in October," I said.

Saturday morning we woke up to an inch of snow on the ground, and last night I gritted my teeth every time the sleet pinged and zlinked against the window screen.

Dave now thinks I'm full of crap.

Don't get me wrong. I am not a fan of humidity and 90-degree summer days. I can remember the torture and frustration of standing in front of a fan -- which was only blowing hot air around -- trying to pull on pantyhose over sweaty skin because we had to go to a wedding or church or something, only to be elbowed out of the way be a sister who was waiting to attempt the same feat. I'd be happy if the thermometer never rose above 75 -- if it weren't for the tomatoes that stayed green until last week. But this is just weird.

Yeah, yeah, I know -- global warming. I get it. I don't ignore evolution either. But what am I supposed to do for BLTs?