Well, here I am, a full season has passed since my last post. I suppose you could say I took the summer off. I spent it back and forth in the land of my people, enjoying sunny days and crisp evenings tucked safely in West Virginia’s “escape from reality” mountains. Lake water lapped at the shore, mornings began with the sun’s dancing diamonds on the water, and nights ended with the moon’s reflection lulling me to sleep.
But now I find myself in the heart of another fall— a season of beginnings and letting go. Schools are back in session, summer vacation a vivid yet fading memory. But as I do in most autumns, I feel a familiar letdown. Fall feels like its name to me. Leaves change colors and drop as quickly as the temperatures.
I am reminded of a comment my brother made on a road trip years ago: “Autumn is here with its heartbreaking riot of color.” And then the trees are bare. The grass fades and goes dormant to save energy for its first green sprouts poking through the snow with hope for spring.
So as I normally do, I clung to summer and the unnaturally warm days of fall. I refused to empty my begonias and sun impatiens from their pots until a week ago when they started to feel like white pants and flip flops at a Christmas party. I finally succumbed to the inevitability of our first freeze and planted mums in their place, their smell as repugnant as this season I have never loved. And it got me thinking.
Why do I dislike autumn so much? I liked school as a kid. I was always full of anticipation for the first day. Blank notebooks, the possibilities of a new teacher, a predictable rhythm returning to my life after the long carefree days of summer. I liked it so much it is most likely why I became a teacher. I loved the energy of a fall football game under the lights–pep bands, cheerleaders, players all rallying the crowd with a “go team” enthusiasm.
Inspired by those memories and by my grandkids’ joy for all that lies ahead (pumpkins, goblins, candy, turkey, and finally the pièce de résistance — Christmas) I’ve decided to embrace the season.
I am even restraining myself from resenting the retail world’s insistence on blurring all holidays from now to January together. It would not surprise me to see a skeleton wearing a Santa hat and Happy New Year sparkling goggles, driving a sleigh, with pumpkins and turkeys piled in the back in a Walgreens window. Why not throw in a bag of menorahs and a dozen dreidels for good measure. But I digress.
This fall, I am putting away my Halloween grinch perspective of impudent candy grabbing goblins that say “how many” instead of “Trick or Treat” and embracing each holiday as it comes, in proper order of course. I got my fading and torn dining room chairs seats recovered to welcome family around the Thanksgivng table . I went through all my ancient kitchen bowls, plates, skillets, and bakeware and disposed of anything plastic or slightly resembling a “forever chemical” so boomers and millennials can all feast together guilt free.
I cleaned out closets and boxes filled with generations of family memorabilia that held too many memories or brought a sense of longing for the past. I’m living in the present and accepting it — the good, the bad, and the ugly — all just a jumbled mix of life, love, and happiness. Which is what it is all about, right?
So here is to acceptance of what we cannot change and embracing what we have. That is my mantra this holiday season. And I am working to make it last. At least until the first doorbell rings on October 31. And then if I see a teenager with a pillow case in a Bears jersey as a costume, my resolve may wobble a bit. But I will be damned if I will let it topple me.
I will just ask to see his birth certificate and if his girlfriend is driving the getaway car.