Who doesn't love a sweatshirt? Not just marvelously cozy, they are blessedly…yea…
INFINITELY more forgiving than the average sleeveless summer top. (Just
wait, you lovely well-toned under 40 crowd….one day you too will be waving at a
friend, maybe trying wildly to catch someone’s attention with your upper extremities
when suddenly you become abysmally alert to the sound of your own arms flapping
like a flying squirrel… With morbid curiosity and severe incredulity, you ask yourself,
HOW does this happen?!!! Without warning, you have suddenly become one of THEM. The unfortunate ladies who have happily
donned tank tops and collected shoulder freckles their ENTIRE LIVES, but now find
themselves among the luckless who should without delay CEASE AND DESIST wearing
anything remotely sleeveless. And with pronounced
and sad irony, this occurs at the very time in your life when you detest
sleeves. You detest ANY sort of wrapping
or fabric constraint as your internal body temperature has intermittently and inelegantly
risen to heretofore unattained heights…let’s say heights something akin to the
temperature of flaming hot caramel or maybe more accurately molten lava…) But I digress.
Weary of wilting in the August sun and other irritating flashes of extreme temperature, I’ve had my fill
of heat and humidity. Finally, Fahrenheit
degrees are tumbling and it appears there is relief in sight. Just as
I’ve been longing for sweatshirt weather, a lovely crisp breeze is actually blowing
through my window this evening. Drawn to
the light in my hallway, stupid kamikaze bugs are banging their insect heads
against the screen of my front door in a rather catchy rhythmic fashion. These
banging heads sound too large to be mosquitos (the bane of my summer evening enjoyment and another darn good reason
for sleeves…) (Digression 2: ) You see, I’m a magnet for those maddening little phlebotomists. Apparently, my
blood seems to be unnaturally delicious to the dreaded “Order of the Diptera”
and I’m fairly certain all 3,000 species of mosquito have tasted me at least
once this summer. I’m itchy just
thinking of it….. Back to the
sweatshirt…
I’m rather an autumn
junkie. The approach of September and
the end of lazy summertime always manage to make me a little melancholy. It’s the time of year I actually have to go
earn my keep. However, once I get over the shock of waking to an alarm, I get
back into my school nurse routine. And
with the predictability of my days, I can begin once again to appreciate all
the seasonal things that make me smile. Allow me to bore you with some of them.
There is, after all, the first glass of chilled Bauman’s
apple cider to consider. There’s nothing
like it. If you have a crunchy Sweetzel’s
spiced wafer to go with your cider, you are a blessed person. Don’t settle for
any other brand of cider or cookie as none can compare. (And don’t EVEN be one of those people who
attempts to heat and “mull” my cider. If
I wanted potpourri in my cider, I’d throw some perfumed cinnamon mulch in there
myself. If I wanted a hot beverage, I’d
drink one of the countless hot beverages historically available. Does anyone try to heat Coca Cola? I don’t think so. So why are we trying to ruin my cider?
And you know what’s about to happen at the foot of my front
step? That cute little Travelocity gnome
(whom Aubrey, for whatever peculiar reason, has named Xavier….) (Digression
3:) The gnome really looks much more like a Sven or a Nikolas with his red cap and
white beard... Xavier makes no sense at all for a garden gnome... despite his penchant for travel...) As I was saying, dear vertically-challenged Xavier is going to
get to see the whole thing. All summer
long the trimmed and patient green stems of my chrysanthemum plants have been
biding their time. Boring green stalks,
giving plain backdrop to the show going on around them. They (and Xavier) have
watched as the astilbe, the coneflowers and the hydrangea have boasted riots of
color, shouting their undeniable moments of blooming sovereignty while the
marigolds and petunias (less capable of pulling off such a grand performance)
look on in awe. But just as my sad
little spent garden is drooping and turning brittle, hundreds of buds are
poised to burst into stars of rich color.
There is NOTHING as festive as fall mums in bloom.
My husband and I were married during the most beautiful week
of the year, mid-October when the leaves are vibrant and the air is crisp. It’s that spectacularly perfect time of year
when it is too late for a hot day and too early for scraping ice and shoveling
snow. Our wedding was on Sweetest Day,
1983. And it was the sweetest day.
Have you ever stopped to truly appreciate a leaf? They start out as blossoms in the springtime,
progressing to shelter us with shade when we are wilting in the heat. They turn amazing hues in autumn and then (if
you aren’t the poor guy who has to rake them) they provide wonderful sensory
activity for your ears and feet. Don’t you just LOVE the fabulously satisfying
sound of leaves crunching under your shoes?
(My husband would say that I feel this way because I don’t have to rake
them and HE does…) Hey, I’ve raked leaves…
A few times… When I was young and didn't have a choice....Or a husband and children to do it.... Besides, I’ve got other important work to do… In the house… Important work that does not require a rake... (Digression 4:
in the form of a tip for the misunderstood pitiable rakers among us…) Get out your push mower and drive over those
pesky leaves a few dozen times until the crunch is gone and all you’ve got left
is a fine mulch. Spread evenly, it makes
a lovely protection to feed your grass all winter long and doesn’t require
bagging unless you have a forest for a lawn.
And if you’ve got the luxury of a self-bagging mower, is it your lucky
day, or WHAT?!
And that brings us back to ENJOYING the leaves. I do so look forward to the splendid crunching
ahead. If you would like to crunch with
me, give me a call. I’m always up for a
good crunch through the park. And if my internal thermostat is cooperating, I
will wear my sweatshirt for the occasion.
