Autumn
October 24, 2007

My mother loved autumn, in all its russet splendor.  I think she welcomed a break from the relentless needs of her gardens.  She loved to nest in her home, a fire in the fireplace, and soup and toast on the menu.  I share her love of autumn, but I always have my eyes fast-forwarding to gray days and sloppy streets.  I credit her for that, too- I think it is an Irish melancholy thing. Last week tolled the 9th year we have lived on without her.  My Irish mind time-traveled me to her pumpkin procuring, cornstalk arranging holiday madness.  She had Halloween costumes for her concrete geese.  Every year she prepared for hordes of trick or treaters, and then happily ate the bowl of candy that was left by the puny turnout.  When she died, October 17th, 1998, her laundry room was stuffed with Butterfingers and Baby Ruths.  Like a squirrel, she would be ready for those times that demanded sustenance.

I felt her with me this last week- the glorious days, big winds, trees rapidly turning from verdant to majestic, with bare on the horizon.  I zipped to Michigan right before the tornadoes, and I was rewarded with two glorious days of Indian Summer.  The dogs could frolic in the woods until their tongues were too busy panting to fit in their mouths.  Milly learned to climb a playset, and Mabel found tennis balls hidden under a giant pile of leaves, and tried to bury them so Milly couldn’t share her bonanza. Steve could watch his Big Ten, MLB, and NFL in peace, because I was content absorbing the gifts outside. 

On Saturday, we had a sun-filled early dinner on the patio at Stop 50 - the best pizza, ever.  I am not a pizza girl, mind you, but this is Naples style, wood burned thin crust- I had prosciutto, rosemary and pistachio, and Steve went for sausage and mushrooms.  We inhaled Caprese salad, mindful of the wan tomatoes that loom ahead.  I had wine; Steve had coffee.  We had enough left over for Sunday dinner.  Bugs were flittering, but it could not deter our bliss. 

I held the dogs off the beach all weekend, worried about the big waves that followed the storms.  The sand was virginal, the sun was beautiful, and the dogs were tired from the woods.  I ditched the Bears for the beach.  The dogs deserved an end-of-summer romp.  Into the sand they charged, autographing the fresh sand with their footprints.  Mabel needed to surf, Milly wanted to keep up.  They basted the shore, galloping into the waves.  Milly tried to piggyback Mabel, who is by far the stronger swimmer.  Mabel shrugged her off- she is not a life saver, she is an athlete. They both rolled in the dunes, scratching their backs with sand.  To watch them was to know pure, in-the-moment joy.  I’ll bet they never gave winter a thought.  Of course, neither one of them is an Irish setter.  Later Sunday night, when my bed was sandy and Mabel was snoring the fatigued song of a sailor, I gave my field trip a second thought.  But at sunset on Sunday, I was grateful for my many gifts- that moment, my family, my dogs and my history. 

Winter will arrive.  The sun will go on hiatus.  The beach will crust with ice.  Winds will keep us inside; fear of snow will curtail our ambition to cavort with nature. Life’s plans will change and force us in new places and directions. We will adapt.  We will go on.  But I will have my amber, sun-drenched day forever.  I can keep it in my heart with my Joliat Days, my Steve days and my Pat, Mike and Matt days.  For that, I know I am very blessed. God willing, I will keep having Days.  I do not take it for granted.