Weekends At Bellevue...

Come September every year I get punched in the gut by life. August is a great month and everyone around me seems to be in a great mood. People are on vacation, enjoying the great weather here in the North East. I, like everyone else, get swept up in all the excitement. Then September comes and BAM! Something happens. All the air in my mid section leaves. My head starts to hurt. And more times then not, I'm reaching for the aspirin bottle. Why?

Friday afternoon I'm driving to my mother's house as I do most weekends. I have the car radio on and this doctor, Julie Holland, is explaining some of the sections of her new book, "Weekends At Bellevue." She means the hospital. Ms. Holland is smart, but not too smart for a modest guy like me to understand. Her voice comes across the radio waves quite well and in a matter of seconds, I'm out...hypnotized right into the subconscious. (so who is driving the car?) Then it hits me...wait...I spend my weekends in Bellevue!!!

The street I was raised on is called Bellevue Avenue. Go figure. And being the struggling writer that I am, I also (to supplement my income) help run the family business in Connecticut. It's a self service car wash my father bought back in 1971. When in Connecticut, I usually stay on Bellevue Avenue. But what does this have to do with me being punched in the gut by life in September?

Well as doctor Holland explained; "...With seasonal changes and loss of sunlight, more people get depressed in the winter months."

Ah, Seasonal Affective Disorder or S.A.D. And I plunge into depression.

I always thought I was thinking back to my younger years and dreading the end of summer vacation...(comes in September right?) I thought the feeling in my gut was a carry over from the hatred of school. (dyslexic remember?) But no, it comes down to sunlight. We need sunlight just as our plants do. As our cats do. As every other living thing does. I hate the beach, but this isn't about collecting sand. It's about collection sunlight...on your head...through your eye sockets...like the ENERGIZER BUNNY...we need to be charged up. We need SUNLIGHT! Or we will die.

I work in the sunlight, and I love it. It's funny but I write in the dark however, figure that one out. My imagination must like that setting better. But when the springtime comes, it's like a shot in the arm for me. My future suddenly looks bright. My birthday is in April. Women in NYC shed those heavy clothes. We come out of our caves. The chances of my car wash freezing solid are almost nil. Ah, life is good.

Tonight I write in the darkness of my Bellevue Avenue cellar. I foot of snow is scheduled to fall across the region. I haven't a clue where my snow shovels are, or my windshield scrapper for that matter. It's time to hunker down... It's time to buck up and bear it... There's no crying in winter time... My father used to say to me as a boy standing frozen next to him... "You're not cold...you just think you're cold..." I didn't know at the time it was all about the sun. If I did, I'd probably say a little prayer like this...

"Oh Mr. Sun...come back around...don't forget that I am here...waiting...my eyes closed...my smothered hair...my scarf wrapped tight...my glove hidden fingers gasping for your warm air...waiting for the triumphant return...of your full force...don't forget me...I need you...