With the fall comes a sort of mourning/morning.

I've always been attracted to green.  Vegetation.  Life.

Cement and grey depresses the hell out of me.  Makes me angry, almost.  The destruction of so much beauty so that we can thrive.

As you can see, the waning summer makes me a wee bit sad.  But, as someone who considers themselves the 'artsy' type, I let the melancholy wrap itself around me like a mist.  I still experience periods of happy and everything in-between.  There's just something specific about fall that excites me and makes me blue at the same time.

Maybe it's the change of season, simple as that.  Maybe it's a ton of old memories of dreading riding that bumpy bus to a place where I often felt out-of-place for many years.  Maybe the old memories of piles of snow in my not-too-distant future.

Or, maybe, I'm just in love with the green.  I don't want it to go.  Don't want the hummingbirds to lack blossoms to sip from.  Don't want the fat robins to lack a warm lawn feast to nibble on.  Don't want the lawn to lack rays of sunshine to kiss and sometimes scorch it dry.  It's better than the crunchy, dried-out death of winter.

Then, when I think that my 'Damn you, winter' spiral might take me right into my bed and under the covers, never to be seen until the spring, the excitement seeps in.  The scented candles, the warm drinks, the knitted sweaters, the promise of family gatherings at the holidays.  Those things keep me fueled through the dead days.  My beagles sproinging through the yard, less lethargic in the cooler air, their kind, happy eyes looking at me, their doggie smiles making my heart sing.  Fred will tilt his head back, and close his eyes as the cooler breeze stirs up his coat.  He'll sometimes lay down and nap, his head inches away from buttercup-like yellow blossoms that can survive when it's an extra five degrees cooler.

Knowing that they're happy makes me happy.  It never fails.

The town comes back to life, people start to walk more, starting earlier in the evening when the huge fireflies begin to hover (They're carnivorous.  Had no idea.).  Sometimes when I walk around the path near the lakes I can pick up the peppery smell of dead leaves.  I love that smell.  It takes me back to Michigan.  I can almost hear the methodical crunch of running shoes, the swish of ponytails, the slight huffs of breath.

The mist of melancholy fades almost completely as I'm sucked into this next season, my eyes more used to the new colors, the lessened sunshine, the urge to watch old, scary movies.  Candy will be bought soon, my door will be opened for kids that have planned their costumes, some for months, some the day of.  The teens holding onto the idea of free candy will get a candy or two extra.  I remember wanting to hold on, too.

Everything will be evergreen, eventually, indoors, at least.  Life will be tiny lights, and robotic reindeer.  The decision of how to greet someone on the holiday.  The happiness of finding that any 'Happy' greeting is well-received.  We're all trying.  All of us, to make the winter good.

So, here's to it.  Let it roll in.  Crunch, cold, cinnamon sticks, pricky needles, sneezes, laughter, and too many sweets.  Grey skies, geese flying away.  Counting the Pekin ducks, putting a fleece on my girl to keep her warm.  Movies, popcorn, us.

I'll see you soon, green.

Where are you going.

This One Time.

When I moved here I'd heard about the tornadoes.  We all have.  The big ones that fill up the sky, turn it a nice urine yellow and make you glad that you're nowhere near them.

Those.

A year or so after we settled here, I was werkin' at my new job when one of the nice ol' boys that I worked with -- really great old fella, wore a bow tie every day -- told me to come and look outside.  I walked outside and the air had a distinct heaviness to it, and a weird, green/yellow hue to the sky.  I got that giddy panic in my gut.  It was only February and it was unseasonably warm.

'Not good,' he said, taking a swig of his coffee.  'Not good atall.  When it's seventy in Feb-rary, it's ripe for a tar-nada.'

Now, I've had the unique pleasure of growing up in a state that is also a peninsula, and on top of that I grew up on a lake, so I was no stranger to tar-nadas.  I got a smug look on my face, and told him so.

What I got in return were wooly eyebrows raised and a 'Whatever you say you little a**hole.' smile in return as he took another drink, turned on his heel, and walked back toward his office muttering, 'Yeeep, yep, yep.'

I wandered back to my cube and zoned out.  About fifteen minutes later, I noticed a creaking sound and heard excited chatter flow through the place.  The HR lady fluttered over to my desk to let me know that they were letting out early due to a tornado that had touched down less than five miles away.  A 2:30 go time worked for me.   Again, still smug, I grabbed my purse and walked toward the door.

Now, we've all seen disaster movies.  The kind where Helen Hunt stares in dismay, hands on hips, across a field watching gathering clouds before a massive twister.  I experienced that moment.  The sky was a weird shade of green, and it was completely still.  The roads were empty.  The main intersection, usually always bumpin' from the mall nearby, was completely deserted.  

I was feeling a little less smug as I walked quickly to my car.  My boss opened his door and smiled a toothy grin and a 'Good luck!'.  I swear he did a little 'Yeeehaw!' as he got into his pick-up. 

As I pulled out of the driveway and flipped through the stations absent-mindedly, I couldn't help being taken aback by how dead everything was.  The sky was a sick green at this point, and the air was so still.  The DJ on the local radio station warned everyone to take cover.  So, I pulled into a small one-building hospital parking lot.  And to my dismay, people were flooding out to their cars. 

'Can I take shelter in the basement?'  I yelled to one of the nurses.

'No, we're evacuating!  Everyone's trying to beat the storm!'  I stared at the scene, completely flummoxed.  Evacuating a building with one of the only basements in the region during a tornado?  I must be in hell.  I had no choice but to attempt to beat the storm and make the seven miles home.

The road home, the back way at least, is full of hills and surrounded by farmland and country estates.  As I drove, I felt the wind pick up, and with it, the hair on the back of my neck raised.  My palms were sweaty.  This road, a main vein around these parts, was also dead, save for one lone car ahead of me.  And it was hauling ass.  I had made the transition from smug to unnerved, and was nicely moving into piss-yer-pants terrified.  

And I should have been.  I was about to do my best to outrun one of Mother Nature's lethal weapons.  This was no tiny twister.  No little pick-up-your-Fisher-Price-playhouse-and-toss-it wind storm.

It had caught up with me.  And it was massive.  

The tornado took up the entire right side of the sky.  The winds threatened my car, and I began to cry.  Cry!  And sweat.  I floored the gas pedal, and I maybe even prayed.  Somewhere in all of this I called Dan, and I managed to choke out an 'Oh my god!' and maybe an 'I love you.'  I watched branches fall, and leaves blast my windshield.  I believe to this day that if I would have stopped I would have had the unique experience of DeLorean-esque car flight.  I managed to outrun the eye of the storm and stay on the outskirt, all the way back home.  The bathtub and I got real familiar, and I thought of all of the people who brave these things in mobile homes or structures with weak construction and I was thankful.  

Thankful to hear the house stay silent while the world went wild outside.  And somewhere in that storm was my smug smile that I'd worn earlier that day.  Gone for good.

It's Mah First Blog.

So, uh, yes I did jump on this bandwagon and so what if I did.  You love it.

...

We've been in Tennessee for over five years.  I have owned a kiddie pool and drank iced beverages in it in my bikini to beat the heat.  I've said 'Y'all' and July and August are becoming indoor months instead of the two most glorious months of the Northern summer.  I've been here long enough that I'm starting to lay claim to some of the common occurrences that define the greater Memphis area existence.

I know now that 'Bless your heart' doesn't necessarily mean that someone thinks that you're grand, but they may think that you're a little special.  I've learned that women down here love their nail salons.  There's one every five feet, and getting daisies painted on your big toe is the norm.  Most of the jewelry for women is adorned with mammoth rhinestones and crosses, and if you're not down with J.C., you'll often get the side-eye.

Race relations are a bit tense in some parts of Memphis, and if you walk into the 'wrong' mall, you may be asked if you're lost.  Responding with 'Hell nah!' is not appropriate.

I've also learned that it's a good thing to stop and talk with your neighbor.  It's not unheard of and damn well expected to lend a hand to one in need.  Eye contact and smiling is common, and people take the time beyond a head-down 'Hello' to get the latest gossip or just to see that you're doin' alright.  Averting eyes as you pass someone in the hallway isn't common down here.  Waving as you drive by is.

People don't tend to jog a lot, but they love to bike.  Oh, yes, they love those spandex.  Sundays find driveways packed with family cars for family dinners, like clockwork.  Kids spill out into the road and play until after dark.  People call me 'Miss Noelle' and one girl told me that she 'wants six kids' and asked me why we don't have any.  She seemed flummoxed.  I told her our pets kept us busy.  Her brow immediately unfurrowed and she smiled.  Made kid sense.

I've met good ol' boys with hearts of gold and plain good ol' boys.  I've met people who were so curious about me that I was almost offended, and I offended them by not spilling my guts.  I explained that we're just quiet and they've accepted us as their weird, Northern neighbors.



Bless our hearts.