September 18, 2024
The calendar may say that it’s
not autumn until sometime on Sunday, the 22nd of September, but that
has no relation to reality. Today, 4 days ahead of that date, I can tell you
without a doubt that autumn is indeed upon us.
I know that the days here have
decided to go warm again—the usual seventy-five but feels like eighty-four in
the late afternoon kind of warm. But by eleven tonight, it will be in fact, and feeling like, sixty-three. (Forgive
me, fellow Canadians. I grew up in the 1960s and temperatures and weights will
forever, for me, be Imperial).
Our walnut tree, the last to
get its leaves and the first to lose them is crapping all over our sidewalk and
porch and steps. Cleaning them is a constant job—because if they are not seen
to, at least along the path from sidewalk to front door, they will invade my entranceway.
Once they find purchase within my house, they can be traipsed everywhere.
Folks, daughter and I have
been sweeping those leaves like nobody’s business. And as a side note, no, neither
one of us are the persons going in and out all day long and thus responsible
for the problem.
We’ve finally caught a break
from the rain, but of course the downside of that is now, in September, on the
very precipice of true autumn, our lawn is turning brown. That would be funny
if it wasn’t so sad. For most of spring and through the hot/wet summer our lawn
has been a lovely, lush green. Now, when one would perhaps expect the situation
to be otherwise, the grass looks as if it has been scorched by the sun.
The sky above has seconded our
decision that it is indeed autumn. No longer the deep blue to be seen in June
and July, the blue above us today—what I can see through the cloud cover—looks watered-down,
paler, and less robust. We haven’t, of course, had a frost yet—but it is only a
matter of time.
I’m okay, mostly, with the
fact that this year, our garden was a bit of a disappointment. Last year’s
tomato crop was one for the record books. But in nature, you don’t get bumper
crops every year. That’s what makes those times when you do seem so amazing. We
had several meals of green beans, and we’ve had enough tomatoes that we haven’t
become what our daughter termed last year as “tomatoed-out”.
In other news, we’re looking
forward to the fall television season. Oh, yes, I do know that there are
copious very good shows available to be streamed online. And that’s good, and
we do partake of streaming in this household, as we have about three different
options in that regard. On our computers. In separate rooms.
But David and I do enjoy
sitting together each night to watch television together. We start off our
viewing each night with the evening news. We tape two of the six-thirty news
casts, and when they are done, it is animal “treat time”. Which I vociferously
announce with the skill of a carnival barker.
I would like to take this
opportunity to thank my husband and my daughter for not recording that performance
and putting it on any of the social media sites.
After the treat time, we may
watch one other hour-long program. We do long for our usual fall shows, because
the flood of politics has about reached the critical level in this household. And
too often, what we have available after the news right now is cable news
offering laced with, you guessed it, politics.
It is important to be informed
about what is happening in our own country and around the world. But there is a
very fine line between sufficient and too much information.
Life goes on here, day by day
and mostly at a comfortable pace, with relatively predictable results.
Deviations can be diverting, or frustrating, depending upon one’s perspective.
The principle I most employ
along this path I’m on, lately, is tolerance. People are funny and will do what
they will do. Outcomes surprise, most often, only those who aren’t paying
attention. It’s wise, and therefore desirable for one to be calm, cool,
collected, and let things unfold as they will.
But there are times, I swear,
when I hear a soft, distant rumble—a sound that can only be made by the quiet
conviction, and the growing determination of a force of nature preparing to
change direction.
Love,
Morgan
https://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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