Ah, September…my favorite month of the entire year. It rushes in to the discordant noise of cowbells, the rhythmic beat of marching bands, and a new energy shoving out the lazy days of summer.
My thoughts turn to tailgating, spotting the first pumpkin, sleeping with the windows open, and retiring the white shoes and tank tops. Thank goodness. White shoes make your feet look like boats, and sleeveless dresses should be against the law for anyone over 50.
I long for the smell of burning leaves although that practice has probably been banned in all but very rural areas. Before burning them, we would amuse ourselves for hours jumping into the piles we had carefully raked together. If someone would come up with a fragrance called “Burning Leaves,” I would buy it.
I will put up my “pumpkin tree” this week with its little orange twinkle lights and miniature pumpkins, and dare anyone to tell me I’m rushing the season. It will remain up until Thanksgiving evening when it will change into its Christmas finery. All these things are symbols for the ephemeral notion of hearth and home so beloved by this unabashedly devout “home body.”
It will soon be time to brew up my first pot of chili which is always a big deal when the temperature flirts with 45 degrees. Shouldn’t be long now.
All these things bring back memories of Septembers past when my mother took me to Goldsmiths and Lowensteins in Memphis to buy my signature pleated wool skirt, an itchy sweater and a new pair of saddle oxfords. Those must be the three most uncomfortable items of clothing ever produced by the fashion world. I haven’t worn wool in years and probably never will again since you only need something warm about one week out of the year these days.
I can still recall one crisp fall evening while I was helping mother clear the dinner table and wash the dishes. It must have been around 1956 and Jimmy Durante was performing “September Song” in that distinctive gravely voice. You know the tune which begins with the words, “Oh, it’s a long long while from May to December, but the days grow short when you reach September.” That tune must be a metaphor for life which seems to drag along until you reach the middle ages, then speeds wildly out of control as you try to hold on to some semblance of your youth.
I am determined to slow down and savor the season and all the things that typically get trampled by my botched attempts at multitasking. Right now I’m craving some of those little waxy tasting candy corns. Love those things. I read somewhere that they are completely fat free and contain less sugar than a raisin for only 3.6 calories per candy!
Hey! They could be the new health food and they contain three food groups – orange, yellow and white. Unfortunately I can’t eat just one.