Plum, Rust, and Mustard

Inspirational song: Cool Change (Little River Band)

August is the hardest month for me. By this time I am sick to death of summer, and ready for autumn to begin. Even as a much younger person, the dog days of summer held little appeal for me. I've spoken at length about how poorly I fare in hot weather. That's only part of the story. I was just enough of a Lisa Simpson-type student, who enjoyed school more than the average kid, and who loved playing in the marching band best of all. The farther we get into August, the closer I get to that familiar emotion, the excitement that meant band camp was about to start, that football season was getting close, that the sights and sounds of school would surround me. I can't wait for the joy of cool, crisp air, even when the sun is still strong and warm. I love falling leaves, even though I'm not the most diligent about raking them up. And most of all, I love fall colors! I don't just mean the leaves turning on the trees. I mean the rib knit sweaters and scarves and corduroy pants, in mulberry and cranberry and pumpkin and russet. You have to imagine how I'm unable to keep still while I type. I literally cannot sit still, I cannot stop smiling, thinking about mock turtleneck sweaters! 

As giddy as I get when the pinks start peeking out in spring, I am twice as happy when every day involves foods seasoned with cinnamon. I have an absolute favorite day every year, but the date changes, based on where I am. In Oklahoma, it was usually in October, close to my birthday in the middle of the month. It almost always rained on my birthday, and I was probably the only kid who considered that a gift from the weather gods. In college, in Colorado, my day comes in September. There is a day, the first one of the fall, when it drizzles all day. Visibility is very low, and it feels like the gray is crowding in to touch you. It doesn't actually freeze, but the temperature is lucky to see the low 50s. When you drive around, you catch occasional whiffs of wood smoke, and you think how perfect it would be to go home, light a fire, and sit under a light blanket while you drink hot chocolate and plan fall activities. This spring and summer were unusually cool in the Low Country. If the year ends like it began, I may not have to wait until November to experience my day down here.

The other part of autumn that makes my heart sing is football. (I know I have a few readers outside the US, and I'm sorry, friends, but I don't mean futball. I mean American rules, with helmets and pads and billions of dollars of merchandising.) I love the game, I love the rivalries, and I really love the sounds. I know without a doubt that I have a favorite color (cranberry) and a favorite smell (coffee grounds), and I know for a fact that I have a favorite sound. That sound is the tinny, hard to understand sound of a man announcing a football game, echoing around an outdoor stadium. Different sports have very different sounds as they are being called. Golf announcers are calm, baseball announcers try to make a slow-moving game sound exciting, and basketball announcers try to make fast-moving games easier to follow. There is something singularly magical about football announcing. Everyone sounds like they grew up in the Southwest. It's easy to imagine that during the week they probably sell used cars, and call the high school games on Friday nights. Even advertisements and PSAs sound better in a football stadium. I need to check the schedule to see when I can fly out for my annual game at my alma mater. This year I asked my dad to come with me. I need to convince him I'm serious. 

And on that note, perhaps I should go work on my fantasy football league for which I am the commissioner. I'm not the only one ready for the season to begin.