This song. I used to listen to my mom's old records and "Autumn Leaves" was a particular favorite. This jazzy version is perfect for Saturday mornings at work.
Last night after work I decided to drive to one of my happy places and kick back with a glass of wine. Each season has its own charm, and the fall deco didn't disappoint. To get a better view, click on the pictures. See for yourself:
Pumpkins
Happy Place
Oliver
Fall
Today I am back in my old room working the SAT. It looks nothing like my space and the green and blue covers she has over the lights casts a yellow-green hue, which to my eyes is unsettling.
Hope that you are doing something you enjoy today.
2 days of Iron and Wine. This one popped up in my feed yesterday and I really like it.
Yesterday was a perfect fall day. I am so lucky I was able to get out a bit and enjoy it. Today is a day for building a fire, making popcorn and reading. Too bad I am at work.
The training for working early voting was certainly eye-opening. Not because of how it runs but more of working with old people. They move slowly. They have a funny smell and they ask a LOT of unnecessary questions. Maybe I am just used to being around teenagers that I didn't know how that population runs. And just like college aged kids look at me in an odd way, I suppose I felt the same about those Septuagenarians. Still, it will be a new experience for me and in a way giving back to my community.
I'm in middle of 2, and now 3 different books. One I picked up after guest teaching for a friend of mine. I am actually using one of the short stories today with a class of what my colleague called the last class a "zoo" and that 2:40 sure feels good this year.
The book is by author John Green and it's called The Anthropocene Reviewed. I think if I were a 14 year old boy I wouldn't mind reading about The Nathan's Hot Dog Contest, wouldn't you? I guess we will see.
I am finishing up The Book Club for Troublesome Women by Marie Bostwick, where I found a quote that really resonated with me, The character, Charlotte, a bold, brash, vivacious and rebellous on the surface but deeply insecure underneath. She is struggling to be a well-know artist, and when she shows her work to gallery owner Fedorov, he basically tells her she doesn't have talent. When the Russian reflects on his work he says, It's a good life. Charlotte muses-- "What would it feel like to say that and mean it? To have purpose and know you had lived to fulfill it?"
Good stuff there.
This class is so terrible. The worst I've ever experienced.
I am at peace this morning. Iron and Wine vibes and candle of cinnamon spiced vanilla burning. I can see the sun rising through the maple tree out the kitchen window. Such a beautiful song with such sad meaning. War's devastating effects.
Fall has arrived in style this season. I am taking more time to take in all the details. Are you?
Yesterday I had a great conversation with my mom. I know those will be missed and I can count how many are left as she ages. It is hard to think of a world where she isn't a phone call away. I'm tearing up just thinking about it.
Today will be a test to see if I can run the 5k without my knees screaming at me. I'm on the fence about the race Sunday. Today will be the deciding factor. Still, I need to be realistic and listen to my body.
It is so nice to be able to move again like I did back in the day.
I hope you will take a listen to this song. The guitar sounds so simple I think I will pick up the old gitbox and strum along. Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots is a great album all the way through-- well except for Pink Robots Pt. 2 with so much screaming. I get it's a battle but Yikers! Here is another good one--
This morning I scrolled back to when this blog started-- 2004. Wow. I was a much better writer back then.
Or maybe I just had more to say. The year of the Big D. The big change. The turning point, honestly.
The hits just keep coming!
Yesterday I was lucky enough to get outside and really take in the change of season. You can see it in the sky and the trees, but the tell-tale sign is the smell. I am hoping to do a longish run today just to enjoy the subtle changes eveyrwhere.
On these days I speak to few and it is the usual polite Midwestern response you say at grocery stores or gyms. It's no wonder I have nothing to say. But I have been thinking about a book I read recently called The Correspondent. It is a series of letters to various people in Sybil Van Antwerp's orbit. She is a gifted Epistolarian, to be sure. Still, I was thinking how people just don't write letters anymore. What a shame that we rely on email and text (or telepathy!) to communicate these days. I cannot remember the last time I received an actual letter. Most likely it was a thank you note (and who even writes those anymore?) from my mom.
Back in college I wrote letters to all my friends because long distance calling was expensive and, well, that was before cell phones. Plus, I was painfully shy and hated to talk on the phone. Now kids don't even know how to address a letter-- or even where to put the stamp. There is something intimate about an actual handwritten letter that requires care and thought. It is a gift to receive one and says so much about the sender.
I sent a care package to my girl this weekend and she just got it. She was so excited to get an unexpected box of fun fall stuff from her mom. Well, it's what I do.
I see this life like a swinging vine/
Swing my heart across the line/
And my face is flashing signs/
Seek it out and you shall find/
Old, but I'm not that old/
Young, but I'm not that bold/
I don't think the world is sold/
I'm just doing what we're told/
I feel something so right/
Doing the wrong thing/
I feel something so wrong/
Doing the right thing/
I could lie, couldn't I, could lie/
Everything that kills me makes me feel alive.
I have most of the week to do what I want, but my phone keeps alerting me to Sub jobs that try to lure me back to school.
This month I am going to work early voting at the polls. It actually pays pretty well and who knows what may come of it.
Now I am really starting to sound old! But you know what? I am really trying to embrace this new phase I'm in. It is just so weird that everyone I know is still working and I'm...not.
Especially if you knew my former self. I was a workaholic.
There was no work-life balance except for summer. And now that I have been working for different teachers, they don't do school the way I did school. In fact, most people I have worked for have it pretty easy. And mundane. No wonder they stay until they are 68.
Anyway- you have work to do-- this gym rat is late for my workout.
Driving to the build site yesterday, the Harvest moon was impressively full, giving off an orange glow as the sun started to rise behind me.
Too bad the build wasn't as impressive--it was the last day of the 12 day build. Two houses were erected for the happy families. Our job was to do the final grunt work-- trim, cabinents, the last of the siding-- all jobs that I loathe. It was a case of no one knew how to do anything or there were too many of us on a single task. The crew head I was assigned to overexplained things and by the time we started, someone had already finished the job.
After about 30 minutes of this madness, I decided to pack up and go home. The sound of nail guns and generators was too much for me.
Instead, I opted for road tripping to a farm and winery south of Columbus, which proved to be a much better use of my time.
While the wines were less than stellar(and the pours even worse!), the grounds were a gardner's paradise with Koy ponds and gurgling fountains, brick cobblestone paths and bountiful, lush flowers as far as the eye could see.
The historic house was built in 1836 and saw some action in July of 1863 during the Civl War-- Confederate Brigadier General John Hunt Morgan led about 2,500 cavalrymen across the Ohio River into Indiana on July 8, 1863. His forces moved through southeastern Indiana, passing near neighboring communities in Jennings County like Vernon and North Vernon around July 11.
Local folklore in the Commiskey area is tied to the James Covered Bridge (located near Commiskey). A regional legend claims that a Confederate soldier from Morgan’s raid did not return south across the Ohio River and that his spirit—specifically a leg—can still be spotted hanging from the bridge's rafters.. You can read about this beautiful farm HERE.
In the end, my day turned out to be pretty nice. While I feel a little guilty bolting from the Build, it was the right choice for me. Plus, I can work on my own damn house without 25 clueless women working with power tools any time I want.
Pumpkins
Happy Place
Oliver
Fall
James Covered Bridge