Fall Haikus

Autumn Romantic
A chill in the air
Jumping in a pile of leaves
Warming by the fire

Autumn Realistic
Layered in sweaters
Fall Ball in the wind and rain
Freezing my tights off

A Photo Per Day

My girlfriend Ursula has been posting a daily photo on Facebook of her life for a month. Pictures include the view from her apartment, the street vendor from whom she buys her morning coffee, her bike, etc. And she's struggling. I keep thinking, "You live in Manhattan -- every street has a new photo op, no?" Not to mention that she's artistic and works for MOMA. It seems like it should be a relatively easy assignment for her but it's not.

I was wondering if I could do the same thing here for a month. How difficult would it be in a town where nothing happens? Apparently pretty darned tough. But I might try it during November -- a month in the Roc that's notoriously devoid of character. No falling leaves. No sunshine. No snow (hopefully). 

I'm a terrible photographer but I brought my camera with me yesterday, in preparation, just to see what I could capture.

First stop, early morning, my sister's new puppy barking at the waves outside the cottage. He was racing around so quickly I could barely capture him in the frame.

Then, off to the tiny Episcopalian church that's about one minute up the road where my little man rang the bell after the service. So stinkin' cute to see him pulling the giant cord and listen to the bells chiming.

 

After church, we went bowling where I somehow forgot to take pictures. What I should have captured were the insulting graphics that appeared on the giant screen above our lane. Dancing pins shouting "gutter ball." Great for a little kid's self-esteem (not to mention mine). 

Remembered the camera before lunch at Rio Tomatlan in Canandaigua. Como se dice, "yummy" en Espanol? It was here, after buying the kids new winter coats and gloves on the way to the restaurant, that I heard, "Thank you mom for the best day ever." Warms the heart. 

 

Intent on studying the selection of salsa verdes, the subject of the photo hides behind his menu.

Last stop on the way home, apple picking at the aptly named The Apple Farm. Riding the tractor . . . 

Picking yellow delicious . . .

Posing like the Fonz at the top of the hill camera askew . . .

And picking red delicious . . .

So tired at the end of the day, I could have slept while sitting upright but I let the Milkman do that for me  :)

When September Ends

Whenever this time of year rolls around, I want to make a big change in my life. I’m guessing it comes from years of going back to school in September after a glorious summer off. My body, my psyche, is conditioned to change. The trip to FL, albeit brief, satiated my hunger slightly. And the fact that the sun is pouring in my window right now helps curb my need to move on.

But, the truth is, I have wanderlust. I was born with it. My godmother, who was my father’s sister, was a world traveler in the era when it was much more expensive to travel than it is today. And my maternal grandmother picked up and traveled to Europe as a young nurse which was then unheard of in her family. Neither of these women came from money; they just had traveling souls. I definitely inherited that gene from both sides.

In direct contrast to my desire to pick up and move all the time, I want to put down roots everywhere. Experience everything. And I’m not just talking about my desire to travel to Thailand or learn to surf in Costa Rica. I’m talking about living in every cute neighborhood in Rochester or tiny town in the countryside. It drives my mother crazy.

“You want to live everywhere you go.”

I want to watch my husband thrive in the Austin music scene. I want to breathe in the crisp Maine air every morning. I want to wake up and swim in the warm FL ocean waters. I want to live in an old home, with architectural integrity, on Park Ave. in Rochester and walk to local restaurants. I want to live on Gramercy Park and sit on a park bench in the afternoon and read. I want summers in Quogue. Or the south of France. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

But, for now, my kids are happy and surrounded by friends and my hubby is playing with a number of fun, local bands. So I have to remind myself that I actually have roots here and enjoy the evening chill as we sit around the fire pit drinking wine with our neighbors.