Savory Fall

In September, we in Minnesota had summer, a real feat since the traditional summer months were all cold.  In October, we mostly had something that looked terrible except for one day.  One day the wind blew and all of the leaves fell off.  That was our fall.

And then came November.  True fall. Today was a cool sunny day and everyone who hadn't raked their leaves on the one nice day in October ran outside and began raking.  I never knew that leaf raking could be almost like an Olympic sport, but people are trying to work it in frantically between the sleetrainsnow storms we've been having.

For me, today is something else. I actually have quiet time at home.  The boys are taken up for one more hour and then the noise begins.  From our bedroom comes the slow steady breathing of The Man Who Now Works Nights.  So I keep the house quiet and I am enjoying the peace.

When my Oldest was young, we used to travel to see my parents at their Minnesota lake home.  My mother, who was an absolute fanatic about people touching her windows, because it meant cleaning them later, never said a word when Oldest would press his nose and fingers against the pane and look outside.  Later, after we left for our Alaskan home, she would write, "I see the little fingerprints on the windowpane and I can not bear the thought of washing them off.  It will be so long before I see him again, and I think of him every time I see those little marks on the glass."

That was almost seven years ago. And in my quiet I look at the windows that I have had all summer to clean, and wonder why I never got to it.  I know I am not the type of person to sit still for anything longer than writing a blog or sewing on a boy scout patch.  Perhaps it is to remind me that even when they are not in the house, their mark is on my heart.  The sun reflects off of the smeared mess Youngest made just a couple of weeks ago as he tried to open the window to yell at us outside. I know someday soon I will need to wipe it clean. 

I am not at the stage of my life yet when I need to cherish scuff marks- or maybe I am!  My Oldest is now taller than I am, and my mother, who lives in the nursing home, now recognizes none of us.  Her vacant look leaves me cold as I call to her across the desert of her mind. She has a different quiet, and I am feeling suddenly glad my boys will soon be home, where we will wake the snoring husband, pour soup in bowls, and share our meal together.  Maybe savoring fall is letting the taste of our life run across my tongue.