Halloween!

One of the things I like best about the fall is setting out my Halloween decorations.  The porch is looking welcoming for all the little goblins in my town.

Mine is the friendly Halloween house, the one that won't scare trick-or-treaters.

The pumpkins on the table may get carved this afternoon, though I've grown rather fond of their happy orange presence.

Last year's Halloween was cancelled thanks to Sandy.  I missed the celebration and air of excitement in the air so I've laid in a big supply of treats for this year's ghoulish visitors.  Here's to a happy Halloween!

Old Man Tree

To look at my backyard, you'd think that the fall leaves are about finished with their work.

But old man tree is so huge that he's nowhere near done with his seasonal responsibilities.

The smaller backyard dogwood has yet to really get in on the action.

Good thing I have a big stack of leaf bags at the ready.  

Hurricane Journal: Sandy at One Year

As the one-year anniversary of Superstorm Sandy has approached, my local public radio station has  been asking listeners "how is your life different since the storm?"  My first response to the question was to consider that nothing had really fundamentally changed.  My home wasn't damaged beyond repair, my life and my town were not completely upended.  Within a few weeks of the storm, I no longer startled when the electricity flashed.  I quickly resumed a normal life.

Upon reflection, though, I realize that it's rather a new normal.  In my daily life, I still see evidence of the storm.  Everywhere I go are trees and branches now down for good; wides swaths of the woods now different.  On virtually every street I drive each day are power lines that have been re-hung since the storm.  On my street and many streets all around me are homes in the midst of repair.  I am more aware than ever that my share of the storm damage was both limited and small.  I am incredibly grateful for that blessing.  In the bigger picture, when I hear stories of weather apocalypse elsewhere, I am immediately on alert and sympathetic to the meaning of such events in people's daily lives.  I never see a power crew, whether in-state or out-of-state, without waving a friendly greeting.  I check the weather forecast and pay careful attention to forecasts that may deviate from normal.  My emergency supplies are up-to-date.  So life is back to normal but it is a new normal.

I'm also aware that neither my state nor my local government has done enough to prepare for the next super-storm.   There is half-hearted recognition of climate change around here, though no conversations or specific plans to adjust our lives to it or, heaven-forbid, change our lives to protect the planet.  Billions of dollars have been spent on Sandy repairs but a lot of practical preparation for the larger community is yet un-done.  On the Jersey shore, people are still demanding to live in flood-prone areas (and they want government-subsidized and cheap flood insurance to do so).  In the meantime, plenty of middle-class folks are still struggling to effect repairs to their flood-damaged homes and businesses.  Our state has only recently developed a plan for getting back-up electricity to gas stations or towns in the event of widespread power losses.  Few details of that plan have been shared with the public.  There has been no state-wide conversation about household disaster readiness.  

What has changed for me since Sandy is that I know we must do all of these things.  We must adjust our lives to the reality of climate change.  I remember how tenuous civilization feels in the face of disaster.  I see that we have a great deal of work to complete.

Unwise Marketing

Dunkin' Donuts has signs all over town advertising their new pumpkin pie donut.  T and I decided that the picture is hardly appetizing and may just lend itself to inappropriate comments about what this donut is doing.

In the world of donut technology, even a bad donut is usually pretty good.  That cannot be said of the pumpkin pie donut.  In person, it tasted as good as it looked, which is to say: yuck.  

Dahlias!

For years, I have given dahlia bulbs a try.  I have almost never met with success in this venture and yet I have never given up hope.  This year's dahlia attempt came via some late-in-the-season on-sale bulbs.

They came up nicely and then were involved in a race against time in order to bloom before the first frost.  They made the cut just in time and I got some lovely orange flowers for my troubles.  That's happy!

Your Weekly Bouquet

It could just be my starry-eyed view of flowers, but something about this mess of end-of-the-season blooms seems especially bright and lovely.

 I organized them by color before I trimmed them for bouquets.

Then I placed them in my fanciest vases.

That's happy!

Fall

Two weeks ago, fall was in full display when we were in Cooperstown.  Around here, we're about to catch up.  In the meantime, I made some lovely pictures in upstate New York.  

Here is my boy, demonstrating his charms.

There were lovely pumpkins.

Even more pumpkins, this time with mums.

I think that mums are the patron saint of autumn.

At the cider mill, there were bins of apples.  We bought a bag to enjoy.

This giant flowerpot made me terribly envious.

Cooperstown itself was really most charming.

We're having a snap of cold this week, just in time for the bulk of the leaves to take on their colors.  Sweaters and fleeces are at hand.  I put on some tights today and set the furnace to come on to ease the morning chill.  It feels nice to tuck under a warm quilt and embrace the next season.

And Now There are 14

I was just drafting up a post about why Governor Christie should simply drop his appeal of the New Jersey lower court's ruling to permit same-sex marriage when the governor's office announced that's exactly what he will do.  The New York Times reports here that the governor will enforce the law and permit same-sex couples to legally marry in the state of New Jersey.

We are state number 14.  Well done, New Jersey.  Well done.

Dear Major League Baseball,

No matter who is playing, the arrival of the baseball playoff season is an event in my home.  We will watch these games and enjoy the splendor of the sport.  But when one of my son's favorite teams is playing, it's more than an event.  It's a religious experience.  My 13 year old son, JT, is a fan of the Cardinals and the Giants.  His enthusiasm is a family inheritance, a love shared with his grandfather.  The last few years have been very good to us.

There are some challenges in my household when JT's teams are playing.  Team shirts must be washed and ready for the game.  Since his entire non-school wardrobe consists of baseball t-shirts, this is pretty easy to accomplish.  Hot dogs must be served for at least one game.  Again, that's manageable.  What's killing me is the time of the games:  8 pm eastern time.  By the time these games are completed, usually just after 11 pm, I am exhausted.  I awaken the next morning at 5:30 knowing that another 11 pm bedtime is on the horizon.   And then there is the matter of my son staying up that late and then attending school the next day, each day more tired then the previous.

Sure, we could skip a game.  We could go to sleep early and miss the end of the games.  But this is the playoffs and the Cardinals are contenders.  We aren't the sorts of fans who take our duties lightly.  If our team is in the field, we will cheer them on.  My son's world is baseball and I am the sort of mama who wishes to cultivate her child's joy and excite.  So we happily watch.

The World Series starts next Wednesday.  The games are all scheduled to begin at 8 pm, EST.  We will be there in front of our television.  But I wonder how many other kids want to watch games and are saddled with mothers more sensible than I, mothers who make their children get enough rest to be functional in school?  I wonder if you couldn't think about a few games that start at 7 pm EST.  I wonder if you realize that a generation of fans misses out on the some splendid playoff baseball and may never develop a passion for the sport when you show the games after their bedtime?

Respectfully,

(Exhausted) Sassafras Mama

Your Weekly Bouquet

Though we are closing in on colder nights and a frost that will bring an end to the flowers, the zinnias are holding fast.  This week's bouquet was made in the waning light and the flash-based picture isn't perfect.

But the zinnias are still lovely and that's happy.