Autumn Changes

 

I have always had a love-hate relationship with fall. The ushering in of cool temperatures after so many southern sun-soaked, humidity-filled days was always a relief. But the impending holidays were a dark cloud hanging overhead, so I couldn’t fully breathe after the last days of August.

Now that holidays are something to look forward to, I can wholly appreciate and ignite my love affair with autumn. Even though it surely happens gradually, it always seems to me that there is one night when fall arrives. All of the sudden, there is a chill in the air and the thermostat gets adjusted from full blown AC to somewhere between “off” and “heat”. I immediately want to go shopping for school clothes even though I am no longer a student and don’t have kids. My thoughts turn to apple picking, bonfires, and hot cider.  I haven’t been apple picking in over a decade, and can’t remember my last bonfire or cup of cider, but the fact that all those things are happening just makes me happy. It all means fall-- cooler temperatures, sweatshirts, pumpkin patches, stained glass colored leaves, and Halloween candy.

I always want to head to the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina in late October and walk through crunchy piles of leaves around The Grove Park Inn and settle into one of their beautiful, old fashioned rocking chairs out on the huge back porch, drinking hot chocolate while taking in the view. I think of countless falls before, making the trek almost solely for the purpose of sitting in the lobby in front of one of the two biggest fireplaces I have ever seen. All of it means something to me: autumn perfection. I have been to Asheville during other times of the year, but nothing beats walking the grounds of The Biltmore Estate when the air is cool, and strolling around the shops and art galleries, and taking time for long breakfasts and lunches, almost forgoing the need for dinner at all.

When I was young, I remember that every year around this time, I held out hope before school began that things would be different this year—better than the last; that this was somehow a new beginning. Even more than New Year’s Day, this time of year seemed the start of things. For the many years I was in elementary, middle and high schools—then on to college—that makes more sense. But even now, I feel like this is the starting line.

This year it may very well be. Living in a beautiful location by the sea is as wonderful as it sounds. We are less than a mile from the beach, and every corner and hot dog stand holds some of the best memories of our childhoods and growing up over the years vacationing here. But, the job market is as bleak as the sunny, salty days are wonderful. We are facing some tough choices, and some possible huge changes in our lives that could bring about amazing things. It will not be easy, and the unknown keeps me up at night with worry.

But, the possibilities and the excitement also keep me up at night. Knowing we are this close to making some dreams happen, and thinking about sharing this adventure together is as thrilling as it is stressful. For now, I have to try and stay focused, learn to meditate or try some yoga, and hope for the best. And as I unpack my fall sweaters and my Halloween decorations, I am doing just that..and also giving thanks that my favorite time of year has finally arrived.

Read more...

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Without a doubt, fall is my favorite season of the year. In the south, the summers are too hot, the winters are surprisingly cold, and spring loses itself in the mix. But fall is this burst of color that saunters in after the sweltering heat of summer to usher in the holiday season.

Every year when I was growing up, I actually looked forward to going back to school. I think that in August and September, there was some order to things in my house. Lists had to be made, school supplies had to be purchased, and there was usually a shopping trip to buy new clothes for the next school year. It seemed to me to be more of a beginning of things than any other time of the year. As a ten year old, January 1st had little meaning to me, except that I often slept over at a friend’s house so we could stay up late to watch the ball drop. But, it never had any meaning, it was just another day.

I remember always thinking as the first day of school approached that this year would be different, better. I would feel more popular, more accepted. I often associated these possibilities with the clothes I wore (or styles I didn’t have), my hairstyle, and the notebooks I carried. I was so worried about fitting in. I think of all the superficial things I thought mattered, and in truth they did. At least to middle schoolers and teenagers, looks were important.

But, there was always this feeling of hope going into the fall season. Feeling that first bit of a chill in the air meant new, good things were possible. The need for order in my house extended past planning for school, quickly folding into planning for my birthday, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas. The structure needed to coordinate events or trips to see my family in Kentucky made the house less quiet, and took the focus off of things that were so glaringly wrong.

It was easier then to pretend that we were just like every other family, preparing to enjoy the food and festivities of the upcoming holidays. In what always became a bittersweet mix of hope and disappointment, the holidays were at least busy times. After the new year, things became quiet in my house, too quiet. There were incredibly angry outbursts at times, but for the most part, there was a lot of silence. Uncomfortable silence. As if there was nothing approaching to help us pretend things were normal, and no one knew what to do with the free time.

I have only recently realized that I associate winter with quiet, and more than that, restlessness. It never ceases to amaze me how we truly learn what we live, and how hard those patterns are to change. The holidays are often difficult for me, as I don’t have anything close to what I consider “normal” in my life right now as far as a family of my own or the typical life. But, I have learned to make new traditions for myself, on my own, not trying to pretend things are anything other than what they are, and it has been liberating.

Today, I drove by a pumpkin patch, watching families search through the field of orange, walking in zig zag patterns, calling out to one another to inspect the latest find. There have been times when scenes like that have made me sad, reminding me of what I don’t have. But, today, I was caught up in the spirit of hope in this new season, the chill in the air, and age-old traditions. I pulled over, parked my car, and joined all the other families stepping over pumpkins, searching row by row for the right one. And as I paid for my choice, I was so glad I had chosen to participate instead of drive by, and happy to head home with a perfect piece of fall to place on my doorstep.

Read more...