Last Wednesday was my birthday. I found myself so excited throughout the day that it was my birthday, that I lost track of the fact that it actually meant something, that I was now a different age (and hence have to remember to tell people I'm 22 and not 21). There's just something about having a birthday that is terribly exciting.
Fall is in its waning stages. The day time is still mostly not cold, except for when it rains, and most of the trees still have the majority of their leaves. But it is steadily getting colder, and the sunlight has that hard, distant cast as it settles in the sky. Our earth is spinning crazily through space, held together by atomic connections and the savior through whom it was all made; it is tipping our hemisphere a little farther every moment from our nearest and dearest star.
I mostly think that Fall is my favourite season, but I'm never entirely sure. Summer certainly holds a piece of my heart; I get tired of how we shut ourselves off into these temperature-regulated spaces, attempting to make ourselves immune to sweat and shivers. Not that I'm exactly a fan of the humidity of the South, but more that I want to learn to embrace the nature that goes beyond our modern ideas of necessary comfort. And there is nothing like discarding every piece of clothing that is unecessary, leaving shoes at home, and traipsing through the heat and green of joy of warm months. Having summer classes, and then a job, made me appreciate even more the times that I was able to bask on a blanket in the sun, or go to the beach, or read under a tree. And then, last Spring my heart leapt with joy every time I saw a flower. Living in a house--not a dorm, not an apartment--was precious. Kim and I had planted a few pansies the previous fall, and Bekah and I planted several more, so flowers became even more of a joy than ever. Around my future House of Dreams, to borrow terms from Anne Shirley Blythe, there will be an exquisite garden. Exquisite. And then, Winter. I think I get tired of cold faster than anything. I can't stand being cold. But. Winter is still good. I like winter clothes, especially now that I have discovered tights and boots. And I love love love love love snow. And winter is the whole reason that I learned to love Narnia. When I was little, I remember one night at dinner complaining that winter would never end (and we're talking about Texas winter here, which shows how much perspective I had); Dad responded that there were four other children who were super tired of winter, here's a book for you to read about a wardrobe, a snow-covered land, some kids and talking animals, and a witch and a lion. YES! Thanks, Dad. But anyways, winter's alright, but not my favourite. Actually, I think the only thing I don't really like about Fall is that I miss going barefoot every day, and feel apprehensive about the coming winter.
But the thing that has always gotten me about Autumn (what a prettier name) is the sense of longing it brings. There is nothing like this time to have a flaring up of Wanderlust. Many Autumns I have picked up Through Painted Deserts by Don Miller and started to re-read it.....and just about dropped out of school and set off across the country. Come to think of it, the only reason I haven't managed to do my epic road trip is becuse I haven't really had the money for it. Good thing, I guess. Getting a degree or two might be a nice idea before I do anything crazy. But as soon as I can, I'm fixing up a van and finding a friend to drive around the country, and maybe a couple of others. I've never been to Canada, but I have a few friends that need visited...
Oh, there is one other thing that gets me about this season. I need light, and the getting used to early sun-setting is difficult. But while it lasts, the light is beautiful.
I was thinking about old times, those dark ages days that we don't really know what they were all about, and can really span hundreds of year in most peoples' (limited) understanding (of history)... It was brought on by the stupid Christmas decorations that are everywhere, and just thinking about our late-Fall and mid-Winter celebrations, and about how peons apparently had to toil miserably their whole, short lives, and only had a few festivals a year, and used the middle of winter as a fiesta to break up monotony and misery. I guess the Spanish developed reactionarily in the completely opposite way. They party all the freaking time. And in the best ways. No other country has parties just to throw tomatoes at each other. When I was getting ready to leave Spain, my flatmate's boyfriend was talking about all the fiestas in Navarra that they were going to in the summer time....there was something every weekend. I guess that's one of the benefits of being a Catholic nation...lots of Saints to celebrate. And no Puritan tradition that makes alcohol taboo. But the point was, that we may not lead miserable lives (au contraire, we've got it pretty fantastic here in amurrika), but the winter sure gets boring after 1 January when all there is to look forward to is Summer. Not even Spring, dude....late winter just starts to tease with bits and pieces of warmth, and then Spring has the lovely flowers, and leaves renewing themselves on the end of cold grey branches, but it still doesn't get warm enough for my bones for so long. Also. I wish we celebrated Christmas for like two weeks. Fill the banquet hall with fresh reeds on the floor, flowers and spices to mask the smell of bodies that only bathe once a year, and a feast of delicious food and overflowing mead; invite everyone to the tables, and lets eat until we're bursting, fall asleep in our chairs, and wake up to eat again, and take another nap, and keep at it until we think that we'll die. If I could have been at least relatively well-off, it might have been nice to have lived in the middle ages. Maybe to have been a wealthy merchant's young widow, who learned the business while he was alive, and takes over, prospers, and gets to make her own decisions when he's gone.
Mmmmmmm I'm hungry now. Time to go to the grocery store.
I think it's true. But there's a balance betwixt feeling guilty all the time, and completely ignoring crappy things. I guess I'm trying to find that balance.
