I Only Have Ice For You

Winter in the Midwest. I was complaining then, too.

I spent yesterday cooling down the water in the birdbath. I thought we had a flock of cardinals in the yard,  but those bright red birds turned out to be scalded sparrows. So this is summer in the Midwest.
We used to live on the San Francisco peninsula, where the weather is somewhat boring; the same every day for months of the year. (Yawn!) 70 degrees again. If that's too hot for you, drive over the hill to an ocean beach, guaranteed to be 20 degrees cooler with misty fog.
"Okay, kids," I would announce," Get your bathing suits, jackets and blankets. We're going to the beach."
No rain from July to October. Plan a picnic. Plan an outdoor wedding; no problem. Leave your lawn furniture out for months. Hang clothes to dry.
But no. My family wanted the excitement of the Midwest. We moved here to experience seasonal change, and don our snow clothes, and see the trees bloom and marvel at the colorful fall leaves. It never dawned on us that they had summer here, not to mention this year's selection, Summer with Drought.
I'm sorry, Mother Nature, that I ever complained about your rainstorms. I'll never again curse the ice that encases my car. Bring on your freezing rain! Go ahead, Blow my garbage can down the street!
Bring it on. Please!