Fall Things

   It’s a time of the year that I love, but what I hate is that time is zooming by at the speed of light, not leaving much of it free to go out and enjoy the all too few weeks that you can actually be outside here in this great country of Texas. It’s like a Garth Brooks’ song: in the summer you burn, in the winter you freeze.
   It’s also the Spooky Month and what’s scaring me aren’t the ones from The Other Side because I think that most ghosts would automatically know that I’m not the one to appear to, otherwise, I would have a complete heart attack and I would be Over There bothering them. The closest thing I’ve come to seeing anything Other Worldly is Maureen Hancock, who is not a ghost, but a medium with a face like a cherub and a mouth like a sailor. She is one of the most amazing people that could possibly inhabit this planet.
    Another frightening thing is garter snakes. 102 of them to be exact, which, I am glad to report, are not anywhere near me, but they were hold up inside a house in Canada. The Great Snake Invasion started in the basement, then as the snakes began showing up in the other rooms, particularly the bedrooms of the house, then it began to be a problem…..”Hey Joe, can you go put these preserves in the basement???” “What’s a preserve?….oh wait is that a garter snake in the refrigerator?”
   The LOTE is also scary. This stands for something like: Languages Other Than English Exam. I wish I had taken it umpteen years ago when I was fluent in Spanish (why oh why did I not???) Instead I am now navigating through the Brain Fog of today in order to relearn what I used to know. It is necessary for teachers to pass it in order to teach Spanish because it is currently a critically unfilled area in today’s classrooms. Anyway, one day at a time here.
   The last thing is death, which is more bittersweet than scary (depending where you are on the spectrum). My significant other’s grandmother’s cat, Sir Thomas, died this week. He outlived his lovely mistress two years. My dear one had to head to the small town of our ancestry and bury Thomas. The journey home, which is 75 miles, did give some time for reflection – about the neighbors that took Thomas in (he was a scruffy, outdoor cat who would not have adapted anywhere else). They loved him as much as the wonderful lady who first owned him. Then there was the kindly gentleman across the street who found him at the end when he was apparently trying to make it home once last time. It was the same old-timer who had seen my love grow up right there in that little town. He laid Thomas the Cat out meticulously in a cardboard box inside his carport. This gentleman of advanced age, was in no position to wield a shovel for the physical labor necessary to break that hard, drought-beaten ground, but he was certainly willing to do it.
   After going home, reaping the bountiful love gifted from the old-timers, they themselves – left over from the Greatest Generation, and then realizing that possibly some of the best treasures are still right where they were all along. Yes, Dorothy, there really may be no place like home….but when you are young, the world is calling, you go. The Wheels of Time turn, the hourglass empties – and every now and then, it is nice to have a place to go back to….