The Summer Wind

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I love this time of year, actually. Despite the fact that summer is leaving and there may or may not be about 8 months of garbage weather I actually like the crispness in the air.

Until I figure out that I didn't bring a jacket with me.

It happened on my most recent road trip, a 4-day excursion to the beautiful towns in and around Syracuse, New York. I served as a travel guide and the paid heckler that I am.

At one site we were discussing the emergency situation.

"What's the site medic's name?" one of the guys around the conference table asked.

The other eight people sat quietly as I answered.

"Marcus," I said.

The guy wrote it down.

"W-E-L-B-Y," I continued.

He wrote that down too.

You see, we had no way of knowing who the medic would be before the start of the job.

Everyone laughed.

The guy sounded it out.

"ASSHOLE!"

And that was the sort of trip it was with the exception of feeling cold and sort of knowing that what would begin soon enough was the mad rush to my 48th birthday and then Christmas talk.

Snow will fly. Santa's coming.

"Marcus Welby," the guy said as we gathered our materials and headed for the door. He pulled his jacket tight around him. I pretended to do the same.

"Where's your jacket, wise-ass?"

The sun was riding high in the late morning sky. I didn't need a jacket. It was approaching 65 degrees.

Love this time of year.

30 days until the 27-Time World Champion first-place, greatest franchise ever, Yankees win the crown!

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