Autumn is a Second Spring
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus
Blustery showers and calmer days of drizzle take turns in
October. That’s why the days of blue skies and butter-colored sunshine are so
prized. On such a day the Lady-of-the-House opened the windows. Enjoying the
breeze she was roused to do some delayed spring-cleaning. A simple wash-cycle
and a hot iron put her curtains to rights.
Although she no longer snips faded blooms a few lingering
verbena can be cut for a bouquet.
The patio’s pot of thyme should soon be harvested for
drying.
Bunches of thyme already hang above the fireplace. These,
along with the rose hips, were a gift from friend.
A wreath of faux foliage encircles the tin lantern. Her
daughters made the cornhusk dolls
(a startling number of years ago) and are displayed each autumn. This
year the dolls take a place in the beehive oven. The Lady-of-the-House has
always admired the dolls' long corn silk hair.
She was awakened anew to this admiration perhaps because she
had recently darkened the door of a hair-cutter – something she ventures to do
but twice a year. She is familiar with the hazards of such places. Most often
she tells the cutter to “give it a trim” while she demurely holds up a thumb
and forefinger to specify how much – or should she say, how little? This time
she was more daring. As a result of her risk-taking she was given a head of all
ends – which to her resembles the shaggy
“do” of a popular male vocalist of the 1980s. Calm on the outside, yes,
underneath she was in a near panic. She returned home, ran upstairs, dug out
her pink rollers and set all the fly-away ends. A couple hours
later she was relieved that she had managed to curl them into female civility (for
the time being).
The Man-of-the-House is fond of his wife no matter how long,
short, chopped or gray her hair will ever be. Returning home in the car on her
birthday he bent down and picked up a bright maple leave that had just fallen
to the edge of the drive and said, “This is for you.” The gesture was so spontaneous and unexpected that it lifted
her spirits. The very next day, when she opened a cookbook to the autumn
section, she read the quote you see at the start of this post. It put the
Man-of-the-House in a spotlight of appreciation.
Back to the subject of decorating, resting on the fireplace
mantel is a photograph of a pumpkin on a yellow chair of Tasha Tudor’s.
The-Lady-of-the-House cut out the picture from a 1995 desk calendar she saved.
Then she slid it into a dime’s store frame. Gilded frames are not her first
choice but in celebration of the season the Lady-of-the-House makes allowances.
Near the kitchen sink a tea towel is all that boasts the
season here.
In the family room a small show of faux berries are nestled in the window candle pan.
Over the summer the Lady-of-the-House found use for the
stone pieces that broke apart from the larger stones used for the patio. She
made a pathway to invitingly draw the eye toward a mysterious “wild wood.” The path
ends behind the azaleas where she ran out of stone. Less romantically stated
this path also serves as an access-way for the weeder.
At the start of the path is the dogwood sapling the
Man-of-the-House planted in springtime. The Lady-of-the-House is happy to see
how red it has become.
Another surprise of color will be revealed six months from
now when the bulbs she put into the ground, will bloom. The package pictures pink narcissus. She is skeptical for she has learned not
to trust explicitly the graphic arts of advertising. Still, it is something to look forward to.
With the last tiny stitch in place the Lady-of-the-House
finished what she calls her “wedding sampler.” She followed a chart made of a
19th century sampler yet pretends that Eve and Adam (so nicely
dressed) are representative of she and the Man-of-the-House.
The crowns and initials were added by prerogative. So were
the subtle shades of white and gold trim on Adam’s tan suit, which would have
looked like his birthday suit had the Man-of-the-House not pointed this out by
delicate inquiry. The stitcher threaded her needle at once while
commiserating, “We can’t have that. Not in a lady’s parlor.”
Post Script
I had fun with this post, aiming to entertain my friends
with small corners of my life. Can you tell?
Curious to know why and how I would turn temporarily from
writing non-fiction to fiction, Teisha Priest asked to interview me. I agreed.
She then submitted the interview to a fiction book blogger. To read more click:
Interview with Karen.
Thank you for visiting,
Karen Andreola
