Gray Weeds
“Cos this winter looks like it’s gonna be another bad one
But Spring’ll soon be here,
Oh God I hope it’s not late.”
The Roof Is Leaking by Phil Collins
On days like today, too, where it’s 17 o’clock in the afternoon, the sun cashes in its chips and heads south early, as if there’s something even he or she would rather be doing than warding off the darkness. October fades to winter and we here in the North can’t do a darn thing about it.
Vague, un-formed emotions poked at me from the edges or scampered through my dreams. Little things became enormous bogeymen. Ambiguity about self and future continually phoned my land line, offering to sell me their narrative. The weeds flourished. My funky heirloom tomatoes were a bust, ergo, I suck at everything.
I thought maybe it was the government shutdown that was making me gray. Other misguided guesses were my lack of new and original writing, an emptier house, too many caffeinated milkshakes, the end of Breaking Bad or some of the really lousy new fall TV shows. But no, it was simply the season itself.
Then everything happened. Playoff baseball, our football teams started winning, my wife and I clicked our relationship back into place, our house filled with my daughter’s friends, my cousin and I had a tremendous conversation about living as 50-year-olds. And suddenly I remembered that the autumn shutdown happens every year; the GOP has nothing on Mother Nature.
Even the DVR proved helpful as we watched one new sitcom that held a bit of promise (Mom, starring Anna Faris and Allison Janney deals with multi-generational addiction and even has a Breaking Bad actor on its cast — Badger plays Baxter.) Brooklyn Nine-Nine is another show that’s still pretty funny after several episodes.
I can now walk outside and not try with all my might to hold onto something as fleeting as summer. Winter’s coming but it brings reunions, holidays, birthdays, warm baths, excuses to stay in bed and best of all, the promise that Spring is sneaking up on it, ready to kill it with the kindness of flowers, sun, warmth and hope.
It’s only just begun and Winter might do a number on me yet, but hopefully it will also work its evil magic on all those weeds who chose late September to attack.
Nicely said. Fall seems to make most of us melancholy. I think it stems back to childhood when we knew it meant going back to school. It’s a conditioned response. Those weeds are his-to-ry. 🙂
Thanks Suzy. Yes, that repetitive cycle we got into for at least 17 years can be powerfully pulling. And now our kids are caught in the spin cycle too.
Made me think of,
“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp,drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily passing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; …whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me…then I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball.”
Ishmael opening in “Moby Dick.” I guess we could call it Seasonal Affective Disorder. I liked your spin on it.The sun having a better place to go! I’ll keep an eye on my drizzly November soul, but right now October on Mid-coastal Maine is pretty golden. Duncan
Rodney, you well know that I love your writing and insight. I, too, am learning to love fall. It’s difficult but I, too, look forward to nights in, warm baths, rich red wine, pumpkin pie, and reason to read more. Blessed are the cool autumn days.
Also, I laughed quite loudly after reading: “My funky heirloom tomatoes were a bust, ergo, I suck at everything.” Thanks. I needed that.
OKAY, So it’s exactly 25 hours,and four minutes,later, and
I just re-read your piece. And it made me feel better again, all over!
What is this magic called words?!
That’s some kind of magic, Duncan. Your note makes me feel perhaps a little more lofty than I probably should. Though in truth, I could feel the Down East timbre in your voice, the salt water taffy on your Adam’s apple. Your words are pretty golden themselves. Thank you for your kindness.
And Paul, thank you for snorting at my heirlooming tragedy. And may I humbly suggest you add the wine, pie and books to your bath. Your bride may look at you askance for a moment. But then she’ll realize the brilliance of your slow soak.
lolz “askance”