Memoirous

It is early days—of what? We don’t know. My soul senses some impending doom. It hovers above the migraine and my twitching eye. I have no words, it seems, as I continue to write, type, fill up the page. First there was the build up to Halloween, trick or treat night, then baby’s birthday—now 1 year old—then my birthday, 66 (I’ll be 70 the next presidential election). And the aftermath of this election. The trees are mostly bare. First there were the colors, latent and sparing this year, then the latter rain (after a dry September and October), then the wind, which brought down the last of the leaves. After the hype, the string of busyness, the frenetic running here to there—is over; we tuck into shorter days, longer nights, and learn to love . . . these November days.   Fall, leaves, fall Emily Brontë   Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree. I shall smile...

In mid-October my daughter and son-in-law celebrated their anniversary—5 years—and went away for the weekend, leaving me with 2 children who do not sleep well at night. Sooooo, I said to myself, I’m going to tire these kids out. Except for a dry autumn, it decided to rain. On Sunday morning we got up and because everything was so early we had a long breakfast and indoor play until the baby grew cranky and I knew the best way to get him to sleep was to push him in the stroller. There was a break in the rain and we left in milky light for the woods. Early Sunday morning and there was no traffic on busy Grand River Road. Our tires made sizzling sounds on the new blacktop path in the hushed woods. As the sun slowly broke through the clouds the sky between the tree canopy was a Capri blue. A flock of wild turkeys gobbled and ate their way back into a copse of trees. Glittering leaves lined the path, gems red, orange, and gold. After cresting a “hill,” Jack said his hands were cold. I ...

 Colors of the Sky   early morning the sky is dishwater grey the sun is coming later and later in near darkness I start the kettle and set out my cup with one tea sachet Where does the time go, the end September, almost October   in one burst Jack pushes open the door Grandma! Grandma! Come look at the colors!   Together we stand on the deck and watch the sky change from bruise purple to mauve to butter clouds scatter revealing a tablecloth of blue   Wow! Where does the time go? photo by Lyda Jackson, Lake Michigan, Chicago lakefront, colors of the sky provided by Helene, the storm that ravaged the southeast US

I reported that last weekend me and my grandson went to cheer on runners at the Capital City River Run. It reminded me of early mornings, getting up before the sun is up to go downtown for the Chicago Marathon. Either to run or support runners. We had a support tent for Run for Change—runners raising money for Cornerstone Community Outreach, the homeless shelter I volunteered at. I’ve been asked to be lead bike for the Autumn Classic taking place Sept. 29 for the 5K—a little over 3 miles. Again, I’ll have to get up early and ride to the start line. I’m a little anxious, as I’ve never done this before, but I’m certain I’ll be able to stay ahead of the lead runners. Anna, who talked to me about the event, explained many of the participants are walking it. I love being part of these events. The comradery is infectious—making all those there want to keep moving. Keep moving!

We’ve left summer—officially, though the heat persists. Mornings are cool and the sun rises later. At 7 a.m. it barely breaks through. Despite the progression of time, we’re still stuck here in the routine of daily living: Kids that don’t sleep through the night Trying to keep several plates spinning at once Meal planning Managing multiple schedules (see plates) Add to the above apple picking and corn mazes. Yesterday my grandson and I were up and out early for the Capital City River Run to cheer on participants and co-workers. He kept saying to me, “We’re leaving in the dark?” The sun rose while driving. After helping set up, we ate doughnuts and pumpkin muffins while waiting for the runners. It was the only time we encouraged Jack to be loud; he also had use of a whistle and cowbell. Great fun! We look forward to campfires and falling leaves.

The Wild Geese By Wendell Berry Horseback on Sunday morning, harvest over, we taste persimmon and wild grape, sharp sweet of summer's end. In time's maze over fall fields, we name names that went west from here, names that rest on graves. We open a persimmon seed to find the tree that stands in promise, pale, in the seed's marrow. Geese appear high over us, pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear, in the ancient faith: what we need is here. And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye clear.                                              What we need is here.

The days are growing shorter. Now when I go for a walk in the evening the sun is nearly gone by 7:30. The squirrels are in hyperdrive—thus, more of them flattened in the road. The deer, too, are out. I see family groups grazing in an out of the way couple of streets across from Cornell Woods Elementary. In the mornings the air is crisper, a bit of a tingle to the nose and when I start off there’s always the question: Should I put on gloves? as I ride up an incline to get out of my complex. Once on my way, there are dead leaves, brown from the summer, not quite the autumnal turn, but plenty of them on the path leading down to Dobie Road. More than all this, there is a sense that summer is winding down, a frantic hurry to get things done: bike rides, swims, rafting trips. And, as always, the self-doubt—Did I do enough? Did I squeeze the season for everything of worth? Did I live my life the best I could? There is certainly no going back, no re-arrangement, only a perseverance to live...

A maple tree flames, catches fire As the sun slowly slips over the horizon The cross-country runners lap the track The world continues to glow Shooting golden rays over the frosted blades I am reminded of the movie, Dead Poet’s Society Autumn leaves trigger scenes of prep school boys Crossing manicured lawns, school books under their arms Captain, Oh Captain, Robin Williams, the blue twinkle in your eyes Knox Overstreet, Richard Cameron, Steven Meeks, Pitts and Dalton Puck, Ariel, The Tempest , Midsummer’s Night Dream Make your lives extraordinary There will come a time when you must choose Which way will you go, who will you follow? Plotted on the horizontal and the vertical —or to some other drummer Will you disappoint the status quo, Lead a revolt, stand against power Run you own race? Pay tribute to the ethereal gods of nature Of poetry and dance— Oh, Captain, my Captain! Follow your heart! In this one second of standing stil...