Another lovely one, Roy. As I move through my fifties I realize occasional sadness is a season just like any other.
Since I love Autumn, I experience this period in October before DST as the most enjoyable time of the year. Personally, I feel the tug of mortality and its accompanying sadness more in the dog days of August when I’m fed up with the non-stop heat. Maybe this ex-catholic girl fears hell after all, LOL.
When I was a skinny undergraduate, autumn was my favorite part of the year. It helped, of course, that I spent these years on an uncommonly handsome campus above a California coastal town. Then I left that little burg, which couldn’t support all the recent graduates who yearned to remain there, and took up paid employment in San Francisco, which kept me in an office all day (not long ago, I described the working environment of those days to a friend’s daughter, now in her thirties: telexes, invoices, manifests, bills of lading, mechanical calculators, banks of filing cabinets—I could have added sleeve garters, eyeshades and quill pens to the list and she would not have been more astounded), and my loyalties moved over to summer. Like Roy, I particularly valued Daylight Saving Time for granting me the illusion for a few hours each afternoon of a life after work.
This is my third autumn in retirement, and I’m still contriving, unhealthily, to spend most of my days indoors, although the dog gets me out for a constitutional twice a day. As yet, my loyalties haven’t “fallen” back to this quarter: I still cherish days at the beach, on the river at a friend’s cabin in the Sierra or poolside at her estate in the wine country whenever that region happens not to be burning down. Perhaps someday I will retrieve that autumnal magic, but at this point, as I bid farewell to each summer, I find myself wondering how many more of these are left in the jar.
Those who live closer to the natural order realize that spring and summer are when Nature's out to get them and fall is when the nasty stinging and biting things go away and you don't get a sunburn.
Have to admit I *like* fall here in the American South; the mosquitoes ease back and the leaves turn a multitude of colors from the multitude of species.
Nor will you have to worry about the people pulling down your statue to melt it down and fire the bullets they made of it back at your soldiers: https://www.loc.gov/resource/pga.02158/
I have always been weird. The times when I felt the most dread, the feeling of "Will this be the last autumn/birthday/Thanksgiving?" happened throughout my childhood, certainly *not* in the elegant, contemplative way you write about here. I was just a weirdly constructed, depressed child, always anticipating the atomic bomb or the car crash or (my greatest fear) the freak accident. (Freak accidents still creep me out: I sincerely hope never to be someone's example of an elderly equivalent of a Darwin award winner. But you never know, and afterwards, you never care.)
I have mostly gotten over that feeling of free-floating, sneak-attack dread. It happened after I moved to California (during the summer of the Watergate hearings), and it was very gradual and punctuated by periods of severe depression. One of the turning point memories I have was when I lived in a modest little apartment that had an area outside the laundry room where you could hang clothes to dry. (I used it for sheets and towels, because there was a slight risk of clothing disappearing.)
So one late afternoon, I was down there gathering the towels. Late summer, no fires, but still a dusty end of the day, so the sunlight was pure gold. I remember thinking, Damn, this is nice...oh wait! I'm happy! Wow.
California has a lot to do with my seasonal reactions. I think of the seasons as green and gold. When we're lucky and get rain, the hills start waking up in November and the gold turns green, greener, greenest. And everything gets noisy with waterfalls. Then the flowers start blooming in the hills.
So I like autumn, even though with my aging eyes, driving is trickier after dark. (Cataract surgery coming up in January!) It's like a comfy blankie being drawn up. I acknowledge it's inconvenient as hell in terms of outdoor activities, but I still like it. I like all of it. Time is running out and I like everything.
A very nice elegy, Roy. I liked the part about the woman in the sleeveless black dress. A vivid, almost cinematic image. I always like looking forward if only because I can't do anything about my past.
Here in the Bay Area it's in the '80s, and while I normally wouldn't mind the extra-long Indian Summer, now all I can think about is how that and the lack of rain is just increasing the possibility of yet another devastating fire. And the fuckers at PG & E are turning off our power for three days. Again.
That was beautiful, Roy. In my old age, I do think about my mortality (do I buy the 12 pack of toilet paper?) and I find myself drinking in every season, the flowers, the mountains, the quiet here, just in case.
Autumn at the beginning is my favourite time of year, but as it gets cold it just daily reïnforces my feeling of failure to leave this part of the country with its horrible weather.
Aww, Roy, this brought a tear to my eye. Been to too many funerals this year.
Another lovely one, Roy. As I move through my fifties I realize occasional sadness is a season just like any other.
Since I love Autumn, I experience this period in October before DST as the most enjoyable time of the year. Personally, I feel the tug of mortality and its accompanying sadness more in the dog days of August when I’m fed up with the non-stop heat. Maybe this ex-catholic girl fears hell after all, LOL.
Standard line has been, “I love this time of year. (Pause) Everything’s dying.”
I love fall.
Now I'll hear Frank Sinatra all day:
"The falling leaves
Drift by the window
The autumn leaves
Of red and gold."
Not a bad thing, you understand.
What about Cranky Franky's
The autumn wind, and the winter winds they have come and gone
And still the days, those lonely days, they go on and on
And guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind
When I was a skinny undergraduate, autumn was my favorite part of the year. It helped, of course, that I spent these years on an uncommonly handsome campus above a California coastal town. Then I left that little burg, which couldn’t support all the recent graduates who yearned to remain there, and took up paid employment in San Francisco, which kept me in an office all day (not long ago, I described the working environment of those days to a friend’s daughter, now in her thirties: telexes, invoices, manifests, bills of lading, mechanical calculators, banks of filing cabinets—I could have added sleeve garters, eyeshades and quill pens to the list and she would not have been more astounded), and my loyalties moved over to summer. Like Roy, I particularly valued Daylight Saving Time for granting me the illusion for a few hours each afternoon of a life after work.
This is my third autumn in retirement, and I’m still contriving, unhealthily, to spend most of my days indoors, although the dog gets me out for a constitutional twice a day. As yet, my loyalties haven’t “fallen” back to this quarter: I still cherish days at the beach, on the river at a friend’s cabin in the Sierra or poolside at her estate in the wine country whenever that region happens not to be burning down. Perhaps someday I will retrieve that autumnal magic, but at this point, as I bid farewell to each summer, I find myself wondering how many more of these are left in the jar.
Those who live closer to the natural order realize that spring and summer are when Nature's out to get them and fall is when the nasty stinging and biting things go away and you don't get a sunburn.
Love this. Ain't got nothin' clever to say . . . that was beautiful, like moldy fruit can be beautiful.
Have to admit I *like* fall here in the American South; the mosquitoes ease back and the leaves turn a multitude of colors from the multitude of species.
Nor will you have to worry about the people pulling down your statue to melt it down and fire the bullets they made of it back at your soldiers: https://www.loc.gov/resource/pga.02158/
I have always been weird. The times when I felt the most dread, the feeling of "Will this be the last autumn/birthday/Thanksgiving?" happened throughout my childhood, certainly *not* in the elegant, contemplative way you write about here. I was just a weirdly constructed, depressed child, always anticipating the atomic bomb or the car crash or (my greatest fear) the freak accident. (Freak accidents still creep me out: I sincerely hope never to be someone's example of an elderly equivalent of a Darwin award winner. But you never know, and afterwards, you never care.)
I have mostly gotten over that feeling of free-floating, sneak-attack dread. It happened after I moved to California (during the summer of the Watergate hearings), and it was very gradual and punctuated by periods of severe depression. One of the turning point memories I have was when I lived in a modest little apartment that had an area outside the laundry room where you could hang clothes to dry. (I used it for sheets and towels, because there was a slight risk of clothing disappearing.)
So one late afternoon, I was down there gathering the towels. Late summer, no fires, but still a dusty end of the day, so the sunlight was pure gold. I remember thinking, Damn, this is nice...oh wait! I'm happy! Wow.
California has a lot to do with my seasonal reactions. I think of the seasons as green and gold. When we're lucky and get rain, the hills start waking up in November and the gold turns green, greener, greenest. And everything gets noisy with waterfalls. Then the flowers start blooming in the hills.
So I like autumn, even though with my aging eyes, driving is trickier after dark. (Cataract surgery coming up in January!) It's like a comfy blankie being drawn up. I acknowledge it's inconvenient as hell in terms of outdoor activities, but I still like it. I like all of it. Time is running out and I like everything.
"....a dance recital....." ?
Uh huh.
A very nice elegy, Roy. I liked the part about the woman in the sleeveless black dress. A vivid, almost cinematic image. I always like looking forward if only because I can't do anything about my past.
Dylan-worthy, Roy: https://youtu.be/RZgBhyU4IvQ
Here in the Bay Area it's in the '80s, and while I normally wouldn't mind the extra-long Indian Summer, now all I can think about is how that and the lack of rain is just increasing the possibility of yet another devastating fire. And the fuckers at PG & E are turning off our power for three days. Again.
That was beautiful, Roy. In my old age, I do think about my mortality (do I buy the 12 pack of toilet paper?) and I find myself drinking in every season, the flowers, the mountains, the quiet here, just in case.
Autumn at the beginning is my favourite time of year, but as it gets cold it just daily reïnforces my feeling of failure to leave this part of the country with its horrible weather.