I confess — autumn and winter are my favorite seasons.

Reds and golds in the trees, cool nights, sunny days and baseball playoff games are my favorite parts of October.

Silent snowfalls, fires by the hearth, blankets on the bed and chili on the stove are prime things about December.

For now, I must survive summer. Tuesday has been advertised as a 90-degree present from the sun god. Hazy, hot, humid are passwords for the day. I have heat vision, and the rest of the world wears bifocals, to paraphrase Butch Cassidy.

I admire people who live for this kind of weather. My father, H.J. Wilkin of Rochester, is one of these guys. He’s 87, hates air conditioning and is content to cool down on his front porch with a rum and Coke. Other people, like co-worker Bill Buell, are content to play two hours of tennis in the afternoon sun and savor every solar-charged second. Doug Hopkins, the foreman in the newspaper’s composing room, is another one: “I walked 18 holes yesterday and played basketball for two hours after that,” said this golf and hoop freak.

As for me, I hate jumping into a cool morning shower and jumping out, still sweating. From there, into a long-sleeve short and tie for work — didn’t feel like a short-sleeve this morning — and in seconds I’ve got circles of sweat peeking through cotton. My hallways and bedrooms often feel like steam baths.

Part of the problem is my house, built in 1915. This place was built to hold the heat, except during the winter. So the sun packs about 85 degrees into the attic, bedrooms and living rooms on big sun days. I’ve never seen a bug in the house. They must find the living room and kitchen so uncomfortable, they immediately crawl or fly out.

The old Gazette is full of cool air — so I prefer to type like an American inside rather than walk like an Egyptian outside. And I try to take my vacation in the fall, when temperatures are more reasonable.

I know, I know ... this probably sounds like I hate summer. But I appreciate backyard cookouts, tomatoes in the garden, sitting outside under the stars, Raid commercials, bike rides, wearing shorts, swims in my neighbor Elaine Cape’s pool and thunderstorms.

But speaking of thunderstorms, I wish they’d show up when they’re supposed to. Storms are often predicted, and I dutifully close every window in the house in the early morning ... only to return home to sunny skies and a super-heated house in early evening.

I’m hoping for a monster storm later today.

My grass can use the rain ... so can I.