Crickets in the house, mums for sale

I have been attempting to ignore fall completely this year. The months of April, May, June and the first half of July were so awful, rain, cold and more rain, that we deserve an additional stretch of decent summer weather.

But despite what I feel entitled to the crickets have started coming into the house and keeping me up at night. Who came up with this business about not killing the little bastards? Carrying them out on a tissue is a pain. Why do they come in at all. I found one the other day trapped in an antique porcelain chamber pot on the porch. Did he think the acoustics would be better from there?

And the super market has mums for sale by the hundreds. Acres of orange and purple and brownish red. I suppose I’ll have to break down and get a couple. And a stupid pumpkin.

I refuse to turn the heat on in the house. I have been chilly a couple of mornings but turning heat on is admitting defeat.

I’m not done with summer, darnit. I still need ten clear beach days, five good boating-fishing days, three more hot hiking-camping days and a big barbeque evening with a red sky in the west.

Who’s in charge of this?