Change of Seasons
A man in a yellow rain slicker throws food to the herons on the beach. The sky is overcast and it threatens to rain. In the few years that I’ve lived in Vancouver, I’ve learned that neither rain nor a raincoat signifies much here. But a raincoat on the beach at the end of August is a subtle reminder that summer is ending.
Summer is the season I look forward to most. It has something to do with the potential of longer days and warm weather. It’s the years growing up having summers off to do anything or nothing. As the light stays longer and the temperature rises, I start planning. I decide that we should go to the lake for the weekend, see an outdoor concert, spend an afternoon browsing and then sit all afternoon in the sunshine of an outdoor patio. I intend to invite friends for sushi on the beach and plan a weekly twilight tennis game. I want to try a restaurant that friends told us we’d enjoy, take an extra class, hike Cypress and learn how to paint my dining room.
As the summer ends, I have a list of good intentions that were never realized. I promise to do them all next summer, and try to stretch out the last warm days of summer, living in denial that fall fast approaches.
On my way back home, I pass by the man in the yellow rain slicker. The sky has made good on its promise and it has started to rain. The man has pulled his hood over his head as he continues to feed the herons. A sheep dog bounces around beside him. I decide that there are two people in the world–hose who let the weather dictate their plans, and those who simply dress for changing weather. I’d better buy a raincoat.
Celebrity tabloids”?admit it, you know what I’m talking about:
The glossy pages invite you, entice you, from the aisles of your nearest grocery store. You see them amongst the stack of magazines at the dentist, the doctor or your local coffee shop. Sure, their facts are obscured and their tone dumbed-down and absurd, unprincipled even, but that’s a tabloid in all its trashy glory. Shiny close-ups and secrets to the stars are all caught by the world’s best paparazzi. They get you so close you can hear the flashbulbs…
It is incredibly important to determine who wore it best and to monitor the weight loss of Hilary Duff or Kirstie Alley. The stalkerrazzi pictures of Kate Hudson’s grocery cart (I’ve just never been so fascinated with grocery carts before) shed a unique perspective on the daily grind. Oh, speaking of the daily grind, can anyone tell me (I simply must know), does Reese Witherspoon order a chai tea or vanilla latte? With growing interest, we can see Ben Affleck walk down the sidewalk, or Jared Leto eating corn on the cob (just who is Jared Leto, and why does he like corn on the cob so much anyway?). We can go on babe-watch and see how much weight Britney Spears can gain during her pregnancy. We can anticipate that any bloating a celebrity woman might have must mean baby-on-board, and then we can time how long it takes for the celebrity moms to shed the excess weight. Perhaps you nursing students can help; if you have a personal chef and a trainer, is three weeks enough? I’ve recently discovered that Lindsay Lohan drinks (gasp) water and learned the kind of cigarettes Jen Aniston smokes (although, I did find a descrepancy on this between Vanity Fair’s and Us Weekly’s rendition. That fact-checking class I took finally comes in handy). Oh, and be assured, you can sleep tonight knowing that Demi Moore has not had plastic surgery, nor has Nicole Kidman or Sharon Stone. They just have lots of money.
Invariably, the plot will thicken. Will they reconcile after his hideous affair with the nanny? Will he adopt her children? Will they ever get married? The drama continues, should you decide to purchase another issue.
The author would like to state that, yes, she does from time to time buy such reading material. She is in no way advocating it, nor is she judging fellow readers. It’s your $4.79. She does, however, ask that you recycle. It’s just good sense.
