OK, it's been hot lately. Really hot. Extremely, very, totally, completely, seriously hot. And I don't care.
I mean, sure, there were a few afternoons this week on which I had to use a spatula to pry my melted running shoes off the pavement. And of course, there was the carton of eggs that hatched into chicks in my car on the drive home from the Giant Eagle in Niles last Wednesday.
But I refuse to complain about sun-drenched days and warm summer nights. Why?
Blink and there'll be 10 inches of snow on your driveway.
Don't believe me? Look at the calendar. Exactly five months from this moment you'll be busy wrapping those last-minute presents and preparing for tomorrow's Christmas feast.
Time - she is a quick, crafty little bugger. And she's upping her game on me with each passing moment.
Only the other day, I accidentally slid into Kyle's flip-flops instead of mine. In my defense, they're both black, open-backed sandals.
But the real problem in this little scene isn't the flip or flop - it's the fit.
That's right, people. My 11-and-a-half-year-old son and I now (for this second, any way) wear the same size shoe.
Really? My baby can be this big already? Did we not just strap him into the infant seat and bring him home from the hospital like, two years ago?
Along the same lines, is my angel goddaughter Kelly - whom I remember taking to Disney princess movies galore and for whom I recall buying Barbie dolls aplenty as if it was yesterday - really going to be a high school senior next month?
Gulp. The past (nearly) dozen years of my life have passed by in a flicker.
And it's not just me. Time's trying to give the slip to as many as she can, folks, so be warned.
It's like my pal Susan Bender of Petersburg said after I sent her birthday greetings last week: "How can it possibly be this time of year again - already?"
Indeed. And how do those children of ours continue getting more and more mature when we ourselves haven't aged since the stroke of midnight of the millennium?
Another buddy, Linda Ellison of Howland, confided to me recently that her 12-year-old son has officially stopped kissing her goodbye - and has started kissing his "girlfriend" on the cheek instead.
"He's announced that he's now at a point in his life when he's ready to commit to a relationship," she said in utter shock - and a bid of disdain, methinks.
"Isn't this is the same boy who still takes 43 minutes to decide which ice cream flavor he's going to order at Handel's - and then always goes with 'Tin Lizzy?'" I asked.
But the better quandary is, where did her precious Barney loving, Tickle-Me-Elmo-toting "honey bear" go so fast?
I always remember what an older acquaintance of mine, Fred Callahan of Kinsman, told me about time. In addition to the typical warning of how it robs you of smooth skin, dark hair and short term memory, he said:
"It's tricky because when you're young, you've got the youth and vitality to conquer the world, but no means or experience by which to do it. By the time you finally acquire the means and gain a little knowledge, you no longer have the desire or gumption."
Reminds me of the old plaque my Grammy had in her house that read, "We get too soon old and too late smart."
Guess the moral is to enjoy the day - no matter the heat index - because it truly will be gone in a flash, and it really is a gift.
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.