Oh, save me from myself. Please. I know that I'm backsliding into some awful habits in the last week or so, and it is only by a tenuous thread that I am controlling the urge to repopulate the deck with fall flowers. Wasn't it just last month that I was whining about being over the obligation to care for my container gardens? I didn't want to go outside at all, to face the heat, the bugs, the spiders, and that awful sticky humidity. Now September is halfway through, and the official start of autumn is next week. My favorite season is nearly upon us. I'm allowed to wear maroon and gray and dark orange anytime I want, and I won't look odd. I pulled a pair of brown jeans out of the closet yesterday, and sighed in relief as I felt seasonally appropriately dressed. But there I was today, using the garden entrance at Lowe's when I went in search of a specific brand of home siding cleaner (I did not find it), and there were yards and yards of mums, dianthus, gerberas, snapdragons, and violas. I managed not to buy any, but I can't guarantee it will hold for the whole week. I always get excited when the mums show up in great quantity. It's the sign that autumn is really upon us. I don't know which reason is stronger to explain why I love autumn so much. Maybe it's the colors--of clothing, advertising, bulletin board displays, and flowers. Maybe it's football season (although that is a bit rough this year, all things considered). Maybe it's because it's almost time for my birthday. Maybe it's because the damned heat is finally retreating. October and November look gorgeous, smell crisp and inviting, taste spicy and sweet, and feel magical. I absolutely love them.
We had heavy rain today that helped keep things cool most of the time, although it managed to sneak up to above average heat briefly, enough to steam the water off the streets as I drove home from the dentist today. When I moved near the coast, in the humid Deep South, I truly expected it to be foggy here as often as it was when we lived in North Carolina, or the Central Coast of California. No such luck. Today's rising steam was the closest it has been to foggy. I guess it's too warm here for real fog. I've said it many times, since I was a young girl, my absolute favorite day of the year, every year, is the first very cool day in autumn, when the overcast is so thick that it is battleship gray in every direction, drizzly, and just chilly enough to make you sniff the air for woodsmoke, while you dream of hot chocolate and blankets. Unbelievably, that day has already happened back in Boulder. A couple nights ago, my younger daughter sent me a selfie where streaks of snow were distinctly visible in the foreground. I probably have to wait until Halloween or later for it here.
I'm not the only one with bad habits around here. I foolishly gave in to a sugar craving yesterday, and bought a big bag of gummi bears to take to mah jongg, and of course very little was eaten during the course of the evening. So after dinner, I set the crinkly bag on the couch next to me while I split my attention between the television and a paperback novel. In no time, Rabbit was sitting on my lap, her little white head casually drifting towards the shiny gold plastic, her eyes closing in anticipation as her mouth opened, and her broken teeth sank into her favorite substance. Who knew that a cat could be so addicted to chewing on plastic? I chased her off, and she has been pouting ever since. And when the dental hygienist loaded me up with samples to take home, I said out loud I needed to be more careful with them than I was last time, when the professional eater dog devoured the tube of toothpaste before I could even get it up to my bathroom cabinet. Just yesterday, I found the unopened box of the new foundation makeup I bought on the landing of the stairs, where she sleeps during the day, and where she constantly hides yogurt cups, candy wrappers, dental floss, and any other thing that might vaguely smell like food, that I don't get put away or into the lidded trash can quickly enough, under her rug (that she refuses to sleep on, even though I bought it to keep the carpet clean). Between the two of them, any time I let myself be lazy, or not a good enough housekeeper, they are there to remind me that someone is always willing to chew up things I leave in reach. And here I thought I didn't have to worry about that sort of thing once my children grew up and moved out. No toddler ever made off with as much contraband as this cat and dog.
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