I saw a few yellow leaves on the trees in the park today. It made me smile. Fall is on its way and after a whole lifetime of summer being my favorite season, I have switched my allegiance. I now love Fall above all. The heat which I used to let wash over me all summer long is now cloying and suffocating and the beach has become more of an annoyance than a something I enjoy. Not long ago, I used to sit on the beach for hours just letting the heat bake into my skin. Now, just the thought of that makes me cringe. I'll be lucky if I don't get skin cancer for all those years I prayed to that yellow ball of disease. I'm not sure why this has changed. Maybe its because the last few summers of my life have been nothing short of underwhelming and at times god awful. I was unemployed for 2 of them which meant no money to do things, another summer I was too far away from the beach to go easily and I was pretty lonely a lot of the time. With my husband working a lot, I was alone much of the time and as good as I am at entertaining myself, I got bored. Not something that even remotely came into play when I was a kid. Summer was a season of freedom. Freedom from obligation, homework, waking up and ugly winter coats. I got to play outside all day and stay up late at night. Summer as a kid is special. As an adult, its just another season. Fall as a kid sucks. School starts again, no more outside play time and going to bed when my parents said I had to. Somewhere in the last couple of years, fall has embraced me. Maybe its because I got a job in the fall and maybe its because during the holidays I see my friends and family more or maybe its just because I'm old and cranky and hate the heat but the reasons don't really matter. There are a lot of things I've always loved about fall: the chilly, windy air and the smell of burning leaves and apple pie baking (I'm told I make the best apple pie ever) and football. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw those leaves because it was hard proof that I don't have to deal with 90 degree days fraught with insufferable humidity and the lull at the gym when everyone is on vacation expect me. My vacations come in the fall: My sisters, my mother and I have a tradition that we have carried on for over 20 years. We go on a weekend shopping excursion in Freeport, Maine in November which is a quintessential New England town. It has a white church with a steeple, a tavern with a roaring fireplace and bright, falling leaves everywhere you look. It is one of my favorite weekends of the year: the setting is perfect and the company is even better. We shop, drink wine, eat chocolate and laugh. A lot. Its a weekend I look forward to all year because it gives me the time away from the everyday grind that I need with the people I love. There is also something very comforting about tradition.Having traditions like our Maine trip makes me feel as if life is not always moving at the speed of light. If we can go to the same place for over 20 years and see that it is largely unchanged it makes me feel at peace with the world even if its just for a day. Of course I am not at all the same 15 year old kid I was when we first took this trip but being in the same place year after year and going to the same places that we did then lets me channel that kid again. It helps me remember that there will always be things in life that are constant; that I can rely on. In a world that is constantly changing and my own little life that is constantly changing, it is a huge comfort to have little things to fall back on. When I'm with my family, I don't have to be anyone but my goofy, giggly self and that is a little peace of heaven.
There are varying definitons and opinions about what defines a classic but they all have 3 things in common: 1. It stands the test of time 2. It has universal appeal 3. It has artistic quality I have to add my own to these three and that is that it moves you to feel something - whether it be love, hate, anger, sadness or joy, a classic work of literture should have the power to move. This has led me to reflect upon my first real experience with being moved by a book. I read a lot as a child and teenager but largely to impress my mother who was a librarian. My reading experience didn't extend beyond Stephen King and the Baby Sitter's Club books. Then my junior year in high school, my English teacher assigned, "A Separate Peace." by John Knowles, a typical high school reading list book. I approached it like I did every school assigment - with diligence but little to no enthusiasm. Three quarters of the book was pretty forgettable....
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