A Pinch of Fall

Wow. Summer is almost over. I'm noticing fall approaching. The barely perceptible change of light has bought on a slight melancholy. My sister called a few days ago, she noticed it too. Wherever the earth is in its elliptical path around the sun, we are losing more minutes of light per day than in the steady mid summer. To me, it feels like a pinch. Like I'm being pinched ever so slightly with melancholy and nostalgia.

The nice thing is, Larry's been on vacation. Tuesday is our anniversary, so we are going to Vegas. I despise Vegas. The first time I drove through Vegas, I was in seventh grade, on the way to a ski trip. We arrived at about 8am and stopped at a supermarket to get Cheetos and coke. At the front of the store, where they usually stock charcoal and rug shampoo and ATMs, there was a line of slot machines. Fat ladies stood at the slots, spending their grocery money. Outside a balding man in a ratty jacket wandered aimlessly along the sidewalk. My brother said he looked like he’d had a frontal lobotomy. We got out of there fast. Two years ago we drove through Vegas on the way back from Denver. We hit Vegas at midnight and needed a cheap motel to crash. We spotted an exit, but along the frontage road was some strip club. There were over a dozen police cars, yellow crime tape, and a wall of people getting herded into police trucks. We didn't stop.
But, we are going to Vegas for our anniversary. One reason: The Cirque du Soleil's Beatles LOVE show. It’s been there two years and it’s not going anywhere else. Wish me luck

The only thing Larry wanted for his anniversary, besides a firm bed in a quiet room in Vegas, was a Dodgers T-shirt. So this afternoon we went looking for one at Target. They were sold out, but I did buy him a new muscle T-shirt (his current one is so stretched out, the armholes go down to the end of his rib cage. Larry has chest hair. this is not good ).

I also convinced him to let go of his bachelor penchant for tube socks and buy ankle socks instead. Why do men buy tube socks? Is it too confusing with the heel curve? Too hard to figure out how to to figure out how to match up the sock heel with your own? So what if there's no front or back. Invariable you've got a bubble at the front of your ankle. They’re vile.

Besides, Larry has been wearing tube socks with shorts. Tube socks. Shorts. Until today. Witness Exhibit A and B. It’s a very subtle change, but I like it.

Our search for the Dodgers t-shirt took us to the Arcadia Mall. My writer friend Diane is a teacher. Diane writes for Burnside Writers Collective as do I. She wrote a great three-part piece (1) (2) (3) about how she didn't buy clothes for an entire year. It changed how she looked at clothes and retail marketing. As Larry and I browsed the mall, I kept thinking about Diane’s piece. I realized something: Diane is right, retail stores lie to you. They convince you that you need a bubble shirt or fly eyeglasses or those insane prints last seen on Lovey Howell.

I realized something else: I have, to use Joseph Campbell’s Greek Mythic structure, crossed the Threshold. I am officially too old for Wet Seal, Forever 21, and sadly H&M. I used to shop at H&M in New York, back when I was still producing collagen. I can no longer do it. Oh I might slip in and buy an H&M accessory, and I'm not ready to resign myself to Talbott's, but when the low rise pencil leg jean came back in this spring, that was it.

Neither Larry and I are big shoppers, but we loved hanging out all afternoon. I love being married to Larry. We get along, we make each other laugh, we think the other is cute, he lies about my face not getting wrinkled. And we enjoy hanging out. Even if he's in one room surfing the web and I'm in another room... surfing the web. Or being productive like sewing or watching netflix ... we like being around one another. Like having a best friend. Larry also comes fully equipped with a super awesome sister. Dianna makes me cards. She is creative and artistic like her brother.

I'm also e also trying to economize on our food bill. So I pulled a bag of corn and a bag of peas that were losing the battle against freezer burn. I had bought them when Larry fell on the stairs and bruised his hip and used as ice packs. Well this evening I made a pea-corn salad, added an old can of garbazo beans, some onion, vinegar oil and garlic. I now have a slew of marinated veg salad to tide me over until we can buy more meat.

Larry took a look at it and pulled out a frozen pouch chicken pesto sausages to grill. He insisted on calling them "brats,” I told him I didn't think Germans made sausages with pesto. But he feels more like a man if he's grilling bratts than sautéing pesto sausages. I won on the tube socks. So I allowed the bratts. I let it go. It worked wonders. When we cleaned up after dinner, look what I found in teh rubbish pail. I didn't have to ask.

I'll soon be ready for the fall and the industry that is borne of that melancholy. It's no wonder the Jewish year ends about now. It's time to harvest, take stock, repent and clean up my act. And get going.

I’m off to sew some more tea cozies. Larry is writing.

Happy Second Anniversary, Larry. You get cuter every year. Especially with shorter socks. And hair.