Well, it’s hard to believe it’s September. Every year at this time, we all sit around and chime in a chorus of “it seems like we just celebrated the 4th of July.” Although I would love to live in a warmer climate, I think there is something about the autumn in Pennsylvania that revives a ton of memories for me.
It’s kind of cool to take out the jeans again — and not roast to death while wearing them. The coolness in the air also makes me want to rip the boots out of my closet. I love boots. I have tons of those, too. But, I remember the Back-To-School shopping sprees and how I’d buy sweaters and skirts and tights — most of which were too hot to wear to school on warm September days. But, we wore them anyway ’cause they were new. Jeans weren’t allowed in schools then, so I’m dating myself. But, we all looked like the models in Seventeen Magazine. We didn’t know any different. And…the 5 o’clock hour after homework and before dinner…always embraced my nostrils with a wood fire. We anticipated Friday nights as early as Monday mornings so we could run off to a football game. It was a perfectly innocent excuse for getting out of our houses. I didn’t even like football. But, I LOVED going out.
Because our kitchen was cooler in the fall, my Mom resumed baking…usually, cinnamon buns dripping with either caramel and pecans or thin, white icing. I enjoyed both versions of my Mom’s expression of love. Sometimes I could smell her baking and cooking half a block away from our front door. Had I been blind, I still would have known I was “home”.
When the weather crisps and the sun sets earlier, I resume my writing. And, it was no different back then. I used to spend hours in my room imagining the contents of my first novel. And…it’s no different now.
It’s kind of cool to take out the jeans again — and not roast to death while wearing them. The coolness in the air also makes me want to rip the boots out of my closet. I love boots. I have tons of those, too. But, I remember the Back-To-School shopping sprees and how I’d buy sweaters and skirts and tights — most of which were too hot to wear to school on warm September days. But, we wore them anyway ’cause they were new. Jeans weren’t allowed in schools then, so I’m dating myself. But, we all looked like the models in Seventeen Magazine. We didn’t know any different. And…the 5 o’clock hour after homework and before dinner…always embraced my nostrils with a wood fire. We anticipated Friday nights as early as Monday mornings so we could run off to a football game. It was a perfectly innocent excuse for getting out of our houses. I didn’t even like football. But, I LOVED going out.
Because our kitchen was cooler in the fall, my Mom resumed baking…usually, cinnamon buns dripping with either caramel and pecans or thin, white icing. I enjoyed both versions of my Mom’s expression of love. Sometimes I could smell her baking and cooking half a block away from our front door. Had I been blind, I still would have known I was “home”.
When the weather crisps and the sun sets earlier, I resume my writing. And, it was no different back then. I used to spend hours in my room imagining the contents of my first novel. And…it’s no different now.