Okay, it’s officially fall…first honeycrisp apples of the season purchased today. You can try your best to convince me otherwise, but I am fairly certain that honeycrisp are the most delicious apples ever.
Also, I wore socks this morning when I went out to run errands. Um, YEAH, I wore more than just socks, people. That would be an interesting look, though. Especially amidst the hoity-toity customers in the produce section of Whole Foods.
But I digress. Let’s get back to fall. While I love summer, fall runs a very close second. I love the vibrant colors, the flavors (hello, pumpkin! what UP, cranberry? come sit by me, sage!), the smells of roasting turkey and burning wood, the sounds of crunching leaves and hissing radiators.
And I’ve had a lot of good things happen to me in the fall, so it’s a special season for me on an emotional level. It always signifies the excitement of back-to-school time, of new beginnings and sharpened pencils (and teachers who didn’t yet know what a handful I was) and all that. Also, my wedding anniversary is in September; last month, I was lucky enough to celebrate ten years of wedded bliss with my husband, which has made the season extra-festive. And there’s a relatively-new milestone for me now: the anniversary of my last day of chemo two years ago, October 4. That’s a big one.
Two years ago at this time, I couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone get outside and enjoy the fall weather. My shoulder and arm still had a long way to go with physical therapy, so I could barely lift the weight of a single apple, let alone a big ole bag of honeycrisps. And I didn’t have the appetite, let alone the digestive fortitude, to partake in much autumnal feasting.
Spring may be the official season of rebirth, but for me, it’s fall. Every time it rolls around, it makes me feel happy, and lucky. And hungry.
What does the fall mean to you? And more important, have you taken the leap and worn socks yet?