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When most people think of summer, they talk about beaches, picnics, and pools. Not me. My best summer memories are at night, when dusk goes on forever and it’s ten o’clock before the stars come out. We used to hang out on my friend Mary’s second-floor porch, laughing, playing Cosmic Wimpout, and spinning old 78s. The sounds of a city at night enveloped us. A chopper brumming on the next street over. A party across the way. Crickets mixed with car radios, echoes bouncing off buildings, warped and Doppler-bent. We talked until dawn some days. How was there ever that much to say?

When we got our first house, it also came with our first lawn. Right about this time of year, the dandelions would start sprouting everywhere, invasive weeds ruining the manicured green that kept us in good standing on our block. Wanting to be the perfect homeowner, I bought an amazing contraption that let me yoink them out, one by one, without even bending down. It was so satisfying to keep those forces of entropy away … until a couple of days later, when the lawn filled up with them again. Come on!

This week we finally got our first real hint of spring. The kind where you can open the windows and let the outside world back in after months of keeping it at bay.

I’ve been thinking about the gap between the list of things I want to get done and the things I actually get done. For a long time, my attention went almost entirely to what wasn’t finished, and kept getting pushed back. Recently I’ve been trying to flip that around and look at what did happen. Turns out it’s usually plenty. Writing. Teaching. Following through on things that matter. The list of what’s actually getting done is longer than I give it credit for.

At the moment, my life is in disarray. A record Arctic cold snap has turned normal routines upside down. The water to the upstairs is shut off. We’re going crazy each night to keep the remaining pipes from freezing. An ice dam is causing water to leak into our house. I’ve injured my knee, not through anything cool like snowboarding, but because the cat slept on it wrong. The new web development class I’ve spent months preparing for has turned into a dumpster fire because of incorrect assumptions, snow days, and a fractured schedule.

I’ve been thinking about the research showing that strong friendships and social connections are an indicator of longevity. Initially it seems weird. You’d think it would be about diet, exercise, stress reduction, and things like that. But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. When you have close friends and social connections, that sustains you. It gives you things to look forward to, people you can vent to and laugh with. You can find out about their lives, too: what they’re doing, what’s important to them. Then they can do the same for you.

Something very special happened recently, and I almost didn’t even notice it. For a few days, I had achieved the domestic trifecta: I had a full tank of gas, my fridge and pantry were stocked up, and I had a load of laundry cleaned, folded, and put away.

By November the leaves are down, grey blankets everything, and the cold starts to bite. So why is it still one of my favorite months? Part of it has to do with my birthday and the happy associations that come with it. But it goes deeper than that.

October in Southern New England is one of the most special times of year because this is when the leaves turn. Driving through the countryside or even just commuting to work means explosions of radiant color everywhere you look.

September is a month of clarity. Light and air embrace us in crisp invigoration. The sky bursts with blue and goes on forever. We’re finally unsealed from our climate-controlled, humidity-regulated boxes.