Meatloaf season.

Oh baby it’s hot. Chris looked at me before trudging up to the attic to retrieve the AC and without a word, I knew what he was thinking. In a few short minutes he would return with a honker of an ac unit, drenched in sweat, wishing it were October. During the summer, the attic becomes a sweltering place hotter than Lady Gaga. My husband always calls this meatloaf season because of one time, long ago I inadvertently decided to make meatloaf on the hottest day of July. Ever since then, on July 18, the statically hottest day of every year, I prepare a celebratory meatloaf. Chris wipes his brow of sweat and there is no need to season the meat as the salt drips down. Perhaps, this year, we’ll have a mid-summer meatloaf party and invite some friends. So rather than dwell on the weather and my ill thought out dinner menus, I thought it would be best to share with you a photo or two from last year’s relentless winter. Hopefully it will remind you of the miracle of the seasons and how we always relish the opposite season of the one your in at the time.  I find winter the most perfect season to photograph because it is stark and simply beautiful. As the air gets heavy, the dog get lazier, and cheeks become flushed, remember that soon enough well miss this season and find ourselves longing again for the dog days of summer.