Autumn Reflections

  

You think this is pretty? Whatever. (photo by Marta Wave on Pexels)

Ah, mid-October! The leaf-peepers are wending their bumper-to-bumper way through New England, because the only townes with leaves worth any peeps at all, have ye olde village squares with white-steepled churches, and air that is redolent of maple syrup and Yankee gumption. People I know, people I CARE about, are joyfully bundling up in heavy, really unflattering sweaters, scarves and wool socks, sipping their hot apple-pumpkin-spice-cocoa lattes from Starbucks, and loudly proclaiming their great love for this magical season. 

 

Why? I sincerely want to know.

 

Here is what autumn symbolizes to me:

 

Raking the yard. A Sisyphean exercise in futility, as the grass will be re-coated with dead oak remnants within minutes. (FULL DISCLOSURE: I personally do not rake. I have less pointless things to do.)

 

Retiring my flip-flops. The saddest moment of the entire year, a moment I put off as long as possible. Only when my tender toesies freeze into icicles, do I stop wearing my Havianas. 

 

The end of edible produce and decent looking flowers. I do not root for “root” vegetables, not the way I adore asparagus and swoon over strawberries. Frankly, I mash one or two turnips and I’m done. And florally? Mums the word. Mums galore, mums unending. Mums, in the same  drab, dreary shades of orange and brown as the trees and the rutabagas. 

 

Halloween. I’ve written before about my antipathy towards dressing your kids up in ridiculous costumes and releasing them into the neighborhood to ask for, and receive, candy that is far inferior to what is already in the cupboard at home. Boo, humbug! I say.

 

Encroaching darkness. Every late dawn and early dusk, I am reminded that the days are short and getting shorter. As I do not drive at night, autumn puts a definite damper on my social life. Meeting a friend for Happy Hour in the fall, I dash from the restaurant mid-drink, no later than 4:30 PM, praying I’ll make it home before the Black Curtain of Doom descends. 

 

Having fun yet? 

 

It doesn’t help that winter follows immediately. Oh sure, there’s Christmas, yada yada, but after that? One long, snowy stretch of misery. Don’t talk to me about Valentine’s Day, either. All the heart-shaped boxes of off-brand chocolates in the world do not compensate for February’s bitter wind and slush. On crisp, clear fall afternoons, that’s what I think about: winter. And death. 

 

I suppose a case could be made against summer, but it would be thrown right out of court. Too hot? Much easier to cool down than warm up. Kids out of school with nothing to do? Simple solution: max out that Amex to spend the equivalent of Harvard on Camp Hip-Hip Hurray. Sitting in a beach chair and gazing dreamily at the ocean is boring to you? You LIKE the way you look in a puffy coat? That’s insane. 

 

In closing, I suggest: a world without “wonderful autumn,” would be a far, far better world (bangs flip flop on table for emphasis).

Poor little Patrick, raking uselessly (Fall, 1993)