Perfectly Balanced

Perfectly Balanced

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Approximately one hour from now the Northern Hemisphere will leave summer behind and enter fall. While there is plenty of reason to mourn this passage — and I will certainly miss summer— there is something about these days, one in the spring and the fall, these equinox days of perfect balance, that I always admire. 

It has something to do with moderation and tolerance, with being able to hold in one’s mind two opposite thoughts and feelings. Here we are with summer flowers and autumn chill. I like the variety of the day. It is a hinge, a bridge, a passageway.

So instead of concentrating on what we’re losing, I’m going to try and think about what we have today. In this moment we are perfectly balanced: a rarity in nature and in time.

Remembering Cold

Remembering Cold

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After months of high humidity, warm mornings and sultry afternoons, cooler weather has returned. At night temperatures are in the low 40s, and though sun drives us into splashy bright afternoons, the bones don’t completely recover from the morning lows. 

The first cold is always a shock: the way the air enters the nostrils, the need to feel warm merino wool against the skin, the return of layers, the chapping of lips and the drying of hands. 

You know the cold is out there in the summer, up there at the poles, or circulating in another hemisphere. And you feel whenever you step into a super-chilled supermarket. But you can’t step out of today’s cold. 

This is not the end of the warmth and humidity (it can’t be!) but a taste of what’s to come. And it makes me shiver, just thinking about it. 

The Bells

The Bells

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I found a new online Mass this morning, the first one to pop up when I did a search. One of the ways it  recommended itself was by the playing of church bells at the opening.

In earlier times, the sound of bells was far more a part of life. Bells marked times to rise and work and pray. They commemorated the passing of lives and eras.

Of course, now we are in unusual times, but even in pre-pandemic days I seldom heard church bells. In fact, my church was taken to task for their modest bell-ringing. As a result bells are rung shortly before services for a couple minutes at a time.

Thus are we deprived of one of humankind’s more sonorous sounds — and of the reminders they provide us.

(The bells of Notre Dame during an exhibition in 2013.)

Quickly

Quickly

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As I watch two of my daughters go through pregnancy and motherhood together, I try to explain what it feels like. “You were once that size,” I say, pointing at my grandson. “And now you’re having babies of your own.”

They smile and laugh. They get it. Sort of. 

But not really, not yet. They think it’s passing quickly. They don’t know what quickly is yet. But some day,  I imagine — I hope — they will. 

(Photo of moonrise in North Arlington, taken as I was leaving the girls after a virtual baby shower.)

Magic Beans

Magic Beans

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Yesterday, at the end of a busy workday, there was a wee little knock at the door. I didn’t hear it at first due to Copper’s loud response. And since he barks often when given the front yard to survey, I assumed it was more of the same. Turns out it was one of our new neighbors, age 8, doing some door-to-door sales. 

“Would you like to buy some magic beans?” she said, holding out a handful of small acorns for me to see. “Only a dollar for four.”

“Ah, only a dollar for four,” I said, stalling for time. 

With the poise of a true saleswoman, she rushed in when I hesitated. “Or, I can make it five for a dollar,” she quickly added.

“Hmmmm,” I said. “Well, I think I will buy only four this time. Let me go get you the dollar.”

She was ecstatic when I returned, as was her sidekick, one of the three precious boys who lives across the street and who was apparently going to share in the proceeds of this incredibly savvy scheme of selling something that is piling up all around us. 

With everyone working at home these days, this budding entrepreneur will have plenty of customers. I can’t wait to see what she’ll offer next: maybe a special on autumn leaves. 

Saying Goodbye

Saying Goodbye

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A few minutes ago, while working on the deck, I heard the distinctive low buzz of a hummingbird. It was not, as usual, sipping the nectar from the feeder or plumbing the petals of the New Guinea impatiens. It was, as far as I can tell, taking a closer look at me.

These tiny birds are entering their final days in this part of the world. Every glimpse I have may be my last of the season. 

So when this tiny creature entered my air space, did a few star turns and hovered in front of me, I held my breath. It was a moment of transcendence, a moment of quiet communion. The bird, I’m convinced, was saying goodbye.

(An update on this post: I saw a hummingbird a full week later, so not quite goodbye then after all!)

Recess at Home

Recess at Home

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Fairfax County may be holding virtual classes, but there is no such thing as virtual recess. That is being held in backyards, on street corners and in cul-de-sacs across the area. 

For those of us lucky enough to work out of our homes, lunchtime and recess happen outside our windows, where a fleet of bicycles and a chorus of young voices serenade us during our humdrum workdays. There are scooters and chalk art, shovels and buckets, games with their own sets of rules that we adults can never fathom. There is childhood on full display.

I’m not so far removed from child rearing that I don’t appreciate what’s going on here. All romanticizing of recess aside, parents of young children must be pulling their hair out. 

All the more reason to smile when youthful exuberance spills out onto the streets. Or at least that’s how I’m feeling now. It’s not quite time for recess yet. 

Forty-Nine!

Forty-Nine!

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It was 49 degrees when I woke up this morning. While we have moved up into the low 60s, I’m still wrapped in a blanket wearing a wool sweater (the first time to don my toasty new Inishmore-knit cardigan) and sipping hot chai.

My plan, you see, is to work outside as long as I can this season. But based on my wimpy response today I barely give myself to the end of the month. 

Given where I live, however, I realize I could be sweating in record-breaking humidity in just a few days. So for now, I plan to sit tight, wrap up when necessary, shed layers when not, and write al fresco until the cold chases me indoors.

Quiet Sigh

Quiet Sigh

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This morning’s walk gave me a taste of fall: brown leaves on the roadside, thick clouds in the sky. There were fewer people about, and I picked up my pace just to get warm.

Autumn arrives next week, but tell that to the crickets, which are chirping more slowly these days, and to the cicadas, which aren’t chirping at all.

Working outside now, I glance up at the roses that twine on top of the pergola, a few of them in second bloom.  I notice how thinned out they have become, how fragile.

It’s still a humid, green world, but the edges are peeling away to reveal what’s been hidden beneath all the time: the bare trunks of winter, the quiet sigh of fall. 

Grandparents’ Day

Grandparents’ Day

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It’s the first Sunday after Labor Day, which means …  it’s Grandparents’ Day! This is the first time I’ve ever paid much attention to this day, though I think I occasionally sent my parents my kids’ hand-scrawled notes around this time of year. Now, I’m the grandparent. I’m still wondering how that happened! 

But, since it did, I decided to look into the derivation of the holiday. Turns out, Grandparents’ Day is not a Hallmark creation. It was started in 1956 by a woman in West Virginia who volunteered with older folks and wanted to create a way to honor them. Grandparents’ Day became a national holiday in 1978. 

What I also learned from googling, though, is that today is Father’s Day in Latvia and Macedonia, Day of the Homeland in Germany, and Knabenschiessen (a holiday based around a target-shooting competition) in Switzerland. It’s also National Peanut Day. 

So we grandparents don’t have a lock on this day. Like every other holiday, we have to share it.