Thirty Days Hath September...

              Today’s the last day of September, so I’ve decided to say my official goodbyes to summer and force myself to accept it’s over. But, let me warn you - I’m not happy about it. That's right - I'm downright droopy. Please, fear not, I’m not dense. I knew it was coming, since it magically happens every damn year. It's just that I'm afflicted with a serious case of magical thinking when it comes to summer, so I cling to it when it’s here and imagine that if I hold on to it hard enough it won't go.

So, now that I've seen the light (well - more like lack of it), I've been able to appreciate the swarms of pine cones covering my driveway (seriously - you can't miss 'em). They've been yelling at me with their Christmas-scented breath that it’s time for me to accept that fall is not going to turn back into summer, no matter how much I pretend it will. One out and out bonked me on the head the other day when I was walking down the street, I guess to remind me it was about time I gave up all my wishin’ and hopin’.

What worries me is that those stupid pine cones might be portending a cold, cold, cold and dark-as-a-dungeon winter. I'm shivering just writing down the word cold, because it makes me think about the possibility of one more New England winter (my 30^th!). Hmmm, the very thought of it launched me out of my chair towards the thermostat. I turned it on, oh yes I did, and let it warm up my purple-with-fall-cold toes. What a difference a few degrees of Fahrenheit make.

Once I warmed up, I was seized with a case of fall fever, so I ran around the house like a squirrel on speed, zipping up the screens and yanking down the storm windows, then closing up all the open air conditioning vents (with a few quick curses thrown out, because of all the damage that stupid air conditioning unleashed in August).

I know I sound like a Scrooge (bah, autumn), but it’s because I'm a summer gal from head to toe. I'm not a pumpkin patch picking, leaf-peeping, cider-mulling, football-game-going rooter tooter. I mean, all of those things are terrific...for the fall guys. I'm a California girl - a Beach Boys-er. A sun shining through my dirty (never been cleaned) upstairs windows at 5 a.m.-er. 

Sigh. Bye.