No, today is not the first day of fall. To this Texan*, though, it might as well be. Birds are chirping, trees are no longer wilting, and my face doesn't melt right off when I get into the car after work. The temperature drop of about 20 degrees in the last week or so has changed my outlook on life. And by golly, before the week is up I'm bound and determined to make something out of pumpkin.
But the first day of fall is rapidly approaching. September 23 is the official start. And since I will probably be in the hospital with a new squirmy baby, I'll pay my homage to fall now. In advance. While I still have a few remaining brain cells.
Growing up in Missouri, we experienced fall. For more than a day. Leaves would turn, apples would be picked, pumpkin pies would spontaneously be baked, and all was right in the world. Although, I'm not sure if I'm recalling all the details exactly as they happened. For instance, I never looked at leaves on my own free will. Usually, my parents would force me into the car, drive around the local cemetary, while I sat in the back seat rolling my eyes at the thought of being made to look at some dumb leaves. Yeah, orange. I get it. Ooh, there's a yellow one. Marvelous. And the weather. Usually by the time Halloween rolled around, it was cold enough that our parents would insist that we wear our coats over our costumes, which was the ultimate curse. It ruined everything. But age dims the memory, and I now have fond memories of the autumns of my youth.
But in the not so far away past, a particular fall stands out in my memory. The fall of 1998. It was a time of new beginnings. That spring, I had gone through major changes prompted by an angsty relationship with an old boyfriend. Hurtful things were said, and my poor 19 year old heart was crushed. From that came a long period of depression, moving out of the dorms at the college I attended, cutting off contact with most of my friends, and a retreat into hermithood. By the fall, though, I had gotten back on the right track. I mended friendships as best I could, enrolled myself into a new college with a new major, and had come to terms with the fact that maybe the best idea would be for me to focus on my education and quit obsessing about getting married. So I went into the fall with the Dixie Chicks anthem about exploring new horizons as my theme song. My plans were to finish college, move to a big city, and make it on my own. No guy for a crutch. No coddling from family members. Just me, the Atlantic ocean, and plenty of space to make a big mistake. Or something like that.
The school year started off fabulously. I loved my classes. I'm sure i saw a leaf or two change. I'm almost certain I ate something containing pumpkin. And then a girl I worked with mentioned that her husband had a friend who was a nice guy, and would I like to meet him? Actually, I really didn't. I thought blind dates were creepy. And I was not looking for a boy. But.....the bank that I worked at was hosting a party soon, and it might be nice to have a date to take with me. So I told her she could make arrangements if she wanted to. But in the meantime, i'd be focusing on my schoolwork and making plans to relocate in a year or so.
I got the call on a Wednesday night. Did I want to meet this guy and some friends at Harpos in downtown Springfield? No, I did not. I was not a bar hanger-outer, and it sounded like I would be out of my element. Maybe another time.
The next time, it was another weeknight. The guy and his buddies were watching the Mizzou game at a sports bar. Did I want to meet him there? No, I did not. But this time, when I declined the opportunity to be paraded in front of his buddies at a sports bar where they could silently judge me, he offered to change the location and meet me next door at Applebees. So I said yes. I made plans to drive and meet him there, just in case he was a crazy lunatic and tried to murder me after he discovered where I lived. We met at Applebees, and were joined by the girl who set us up and her husband, which was totally unexpected and mostly awkward. We sat in one of those big corner booths and probably said two words to each other the entire date. As far as first dates went, it was not too great. He offered to order me a drink, I declined, and had iced tea instead. He seemed nice enough, but we were not even sitting next to each other. We made plans afterwards to get together, and although the other couple planned on joining us, it ended up being just me and the guy. Before we left the restaurant, he paid with $100 bill. Which impressed me more than it should have. I found out later that was his last bit of money. In the world. Let that be a lesson to you, gold diggers.
So we went to have coffee afterwards. I rode with him in his car, and crossed my fingers that he wasn't going to use this time to murder me. He didn't, and we made it to the coffee shop. I found out he didn't drink coffee. Oops. We sat there and made small talk for a while, and at one point he looked me directly in the eye and said "What's wrong with you? You're cute, you're smart, but you're single. Why?" That question did two things. One, it caught me off guard. that's really not a first date question. Second, it was sort of rude. It immediately put me on the defensive. I don't remember how I responded, but it changed the date totally. Now, it was my goal to show him that there was nothing wrong with me. NOTHING.
On the way back to Applebees to get to my car, his car died and he ended up pushing it to the mall parking lot while I steered. From there, his buddy picked us up and took me back to my car. Overall, it was a first date disaster. But for some reason, I agreed to go out with him again.
He didn't fit into my plan. I was not looking for a boy to get tied down with. It was going to be a lot more difficult to graduate and break up with someone before moving to the coast. But after that second date, we saw each other every single day for the month of November, all the way up to the week before Christmas, when he went to Georgia to sell fireworks(which is a bizarre story for another time). While he was away, I mooned around and checked the mailbox every day for letters from him. He called me every night from the Pizza Hut next to the fireworks tent. I missed him, and couldn't wait till he got back.
A new year, and it was no longer fall anymore. But by this time, I was considering the idea that maybe my great plan was just that, a plan. And plans could change. And by the next fall, instead of making plans to move away and start a new life by myself, I was in New York, saying yes to a proposal. That first date with Larry had been a comedy of errors. The first year that we got to know each other was a crash course into the world of coaching and sports and all that comes with it. Our engagement was a whirlwind of wedding planning, college attending, and breakups. With each other. And our first few years of marriage were not easy street for sure. Take a first born son and pair him up with the spoiled brat of the family, and feathers will fly.
But as we start this fall, 13 years later, it will again be the time for new beginnings and new experiences. We both have experienced career moves that have shaped our lives over the past few years. We have learned how to be parents of two, and this fall we will hopefully figure out how to be parents of 3. He hates the Dixie Chicks, and I still love them. Because they remind me of the new beginnings that fall brings. And of my silly little plan to make mistakes, all by myself, in a town where everyone doesn't know your name. It's much more rewarding to go through life with someone you love. Who loves you, despite your 3rd born, baby of the family tendencies.
Fall will always have a special place in my heart. Because of pumpkin pie, of course. And also, because of Larry.
*it's official. I've signed paperwork and will now be yelling the loudest at large group gatherings when they ask you what state you are from.
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