bob barker wants you

Yesterday, we were talking about life cycles in Mexico (a day like the others -- and no other). Here comes another.

One of the big adjustments I had to make when I moved to Mexico was the lack of seasons. I had a friend in Minnesota who claimed Californians did not age because they did not have to survive hard winters; their days just melded from one day into another day just like it.

That is not true for the area of Mexico where I live. We have seasons. Two of them. One of them is dry and warm. The other is wet and hot. The former passes as winter, the latter as summer.

This year our summer seemed to be hotter and less wet (if you do not count the torrential rains that brought the August flood) than usual. And the heat has lingered longer than usual. We have started November and the temperature and humidity are doing a very good impression of early September.

Now, I have absolutely no scientific data to back up that assertion. The heat may just be one of those perceptions of grumpy old men, who search out easy complaint targets -- when they are not running for president.

The only data point I have is very subjective. Most years, I turn on the Barco Rubio Memorial Air Conditioner starting on August nights, and turning it off somewhere in early October.

Not this year. I started using up my solar credits around July, and the air conditioner has been running each night I stayed in the house. I will confess I even ran it during the daytime if I was doing work in the bedroom.

In Oregon, I was accustomed to seasons transitioning into one another. Certainly, there were winter storms that barreled in to challenge the rule. But they were the exceptions. Spring seemed to magically turned into summer over a couple of weeks of sprummer.

Here, the two seasons change abruptly. The end of winter is heralded by a spike in the humidity somewhere around late June. It feels as if the fat guy who violates the sauna towel rule has just dumped a 5-gallon can of water on the hot rocks. And winter arrives just as abruptly.

I could feel a change in our nights during the past week. Our days were still hot and humid, but the nights were starting to take on a subtle chill. In three days, the water in my pool dropped four degrees.

Last night, I had turned on the overhead fan (but not the air conditioner)in my bedroom while I finished writing yesterday's essay. The room was still a bit warm from the day's heat. When I finished writing, I decided to traipse over to the kitchen to wash a salad bowl. (Sorry Joan. No ice cream this time.) When I stepped out my bedroom onto the patio, there must have been a ten-degree difference. Winter had arrived.

When I returned to my bedroom, I opened both main doors, closed the screen doors, and turned off the fan. I slept better in the chill of the night than I have for months. Winter is finally here.

I knew it was coming. For the past week, my son Omar has been wearing a heavy hoodie while riding his motorcycle. Just as the blooming barcinos promised, the weather has slipped into another cycle. And I can stop looking each morning at NOAA's National Hurricane Center website -- at least, for another six months.

This refreshing weather has arrived just in time to welcome back northernern visitors -- at least, those who have determined their risk tolerance is high enough to migrate south for a few months.

As Bob Barker used to say -- "Come on down!," The weather is fine.