Page 11 - Scene Magazine 42-10 October 2017
P. 11

The Way I’ve Scene It
As usual, some- time during that third week of Au- gust, I stepped out into the back yard to see why my hoo- ligan dogs were so quiet, and I smelled “it”. No, no... it
was not skunk, and it was not any of the ample waste that three dogs generate. “It” was fall. The husband rounded the corner into the kitchen, and I made my annual proclamation that I smelled fall and summer was over. He almost man- aged without rolling his eyes, “You al- ways say that, honey. It’s not fall you’re smelling, it’s just the way late summer smells. It’s still summer.” No it wasn’t... that dude was in complete denial!
About 10 minutes after Labor Day is over, my brain begins to mysterious- ly shift gears. I no longer care to spend hours on the boat, I’m ready be done sea- sonal camping, I want to switch over to my winter car, and I want to make soup. I inexplicably start to think about putting up my fall decorations. The critics shake their heads in judgement. They say it’s too soon. It is not too soon. First, I have to think about it for a couple of weeks, so it tends to not happen until the actual beginning of fall, and second, it’s none of their bees wax. If they are worrying about my autumnal accoutrements, they should probably think about getting a gold fish or a hobby or something. Besides that, the holiday décor I have amassed over the past 35 years is so big it needs its own zip code, hence if I’m putting it all up, I assure you it is going to be for more than a week or two.
What is with the pumpkin spice every- thing? I don’t know when this craze start- ed, but I’m not participating. Get this! Someone was advertising pumpkin spice pizza... for a limited time only! Duh, real- ly? I would have expected that to become a year round favorite! Ugh, I’m so out on that. Do you know they even messed up my rum with that stuff? Yeah! And I would totally never have bought it, ex- cept dang, that little pumpkin bottle was waaaay too cute, so I had to buy one to try and one to keep. Oops! Aside from that one indiscretion, you will not find
much pumpkin spice at our house. I know of only two things. One candle and one box of Trader Joe K-cups for my Keurig machine, which by the way are now two years old, so they barely count. Oddly enough, I don’t even buy it for the spice rack! I just make my own for that one thing... you know... pumpkin pie.
Fall is a siren, luring us toward win- ter. Painted with vibrant reds, oranges, yellows and evergreens, her colors are seductive, and we can scarcely look away, knowing that as soon as we do, the majesty will dissolve like a rainbow. Her days are warm and her nights cool. She talks us out of our swimsuits and into our boots and sweaters. She brings with her the crackle of the drums per- meating the Friday night sky and the familiar sound of the school fight song. Her voice and cadence echo players and plays in my memory, and though the true colors of my football heart will always be purple and white, she, and only she, can make me don a shirt that causes total strangers to pump their fists and say “Go Blue!” She is what makes The Mitten a glorious place. Her song is too short, and all too soon, she will fall silent under a blanket of snow, which you will probably move with a pumpkin spice shovel.
Take My Pumpkin Spice, Please!
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