I've been thinking about home a lot lately, for obvious reasons if you've been reading (and I don't blame you if you haven't. I'm a little sick of my whining, too), and I haven't been able to get over the weather here.
Here's the thing: Spring is an entire season in Boston.
I know that there are tons of reasons why I'd notice Boston's loveliness right now, and perhaps you'd think my love for the area, and appreciation for its weather, is a bit exaggerated due to the circumstances.
And therefore, I want to tell you something about El Victoir: there's no such thing as Spring there. Not in the traditional sense (which I have found out is the New England sense). Spring in western New York consists of a few rainy days that thaw the ground, crocuses, snow on the crocuses, lilacs, ice storm killing the lilacs, and eventually weeds and leaves popping out on the same day in early June. The actual SPRING part takes place in about three minutes, and then New York gives the rest of Spring a miss and proceeds directly to summer. Hot, muggy, stifling summer.
It is quite simple to compare this to Boston weather, because it has never snowed on my birthday while I've lived in Boston. It may not seem like a huge accomplishment on Mother Nature's part, but to me... ahh, 'tis a gift. And I have never lived in any place that had 50-60 degree weather for more than two consecutive days. Until now.
The currect score:
Boston - 612
Victor - 7
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