I hear it all day from customers, as soon as the weather climbs above, oh, about 60 degrees. I wonder if it's compassion, or schadenfreud, or just another way of expressing the fact that they're feeling hot themselves.
Doing markets year-round, I've found that there's very little window between when folks complain about the cold, and when they complain about the heat. It'll be 45 degrees in January, and they'll say, "Can you believe how cold it is?" Let's see. 45 degrees in January. I don't find that hard to believe at all.
I've come to the conclusion that life in the Pacific Northwest is so good for so many of us, that the weather--whatever it is--is one of the only things we've got to complain about. As for myself behind the grill, I'm not in Arizona or Saudi Arabia where it's 110 degrees, and I'm not stoking a boiler in a basement somewhere. I'm cooking beautiful vegetables at a farmers' market, surrounded by magnificent food in a deeply life-affirming environment.
But then I become the person who complains about the people complaining about the weather...
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