For the entire month of September, Emerson has been asking me, “is it fall yet?” (It is an honest question, as well as one with an ulterior motive – I told her we could light the candle she made recently when fall began) As a parent of a five-year-old, I have the liberty to chose the exact moment that fall begins – oh, the power – and until this week I have been saying “no.” When does fall begin? And when does anything begin for that matter? Beginnings are so vague. We have the right-to-lifers and pro-choice advocates arguing when life begins, and various religious and secular factions putting in their two cents about when life ends. And here in the microcosm of my life, I am asking when my next “beginning” is going to be. I made a plan that at the end of summer I would make more time for writing, and blogging, and exercising, among other things. I told myself that I would begin during Emerson’s first week of school, but we had a friend visiting from overseas, and that was too much fun. Then I said the next week, but it was always something or another. Lack of babysitter. Matt’s hours at work changing. Bla, bla. The truth is, that I can’t change everything at once. Like fall, I don’t just begin a new life in one day. There are some chilly days, and some warm days, and some HOT days, and on and on. Until one day, we wake up and realize that it’s cold, and the leaves really ARE changing colors and falling to the ground, and that it’s time to go rummaging around in the bins downstairs for some hats, or warm socks, or sweaters. Fall is here. We’ve been lighting a candle at dinner. And it is officially time for me to get back on the blog.
It was exactly one year ago (almost to the day) that I began this blog. I just re-read my first post, and smiled at both how much and how little things have changed. I started this post as a documentation of our home renovations, and now it has turned into a blog to document more varied sectors of my life. (I’m soliciting a new title for the blog, by the way, if anyone has suggestions…) So yeah, it’s fall again, and the apples came early. Our house is more put together that it was when I started, and so is our life. But it’s not THAT put together, which is fun too. Ophelia is about 100 years older than when I began. Here is my first blog photo:
(which is coincidentally dated exactly a year before the above photo of the candle – my first photo of “this year’s” blog) She was just starting to crawl. And here she is now:
Lips turned up in defiance, intentionally not looking at the camera, “don’t want to!” about to emerge from her mouth. Fiery, feisty and full of juice.
Also a bright, contemplative, and sweet.
And here is my first photo of Emerson, who I thought hadn’t changed that much, until I looked at these photos side by side.
She is getting so big in so many ways, and is still so little and innocent in others. I’m thinking five is going to be a good age…
And the Garlic Festival was this weekend – the same as my first blog posting a year ago – although we didn’t attend. Instead, we went to our local fall festival here in town, which was hilarious. Gotta love the rural farm towns. Instead of partaking in massage and natural cooking demonstrations, we got to view antique engines
and washing machines. Instead of dancing to hip, local bands, we got to dance to the town polka quartet. (The organist in the far left was my favorite, although the woman playing bass was a close second. She really got into the music, and made some awesome faces to prove it. Unfortunately these remain undocumented, as they were going on break right as I began photographing them)
Instead of local food establishments selling their wares, we had the local fire-department selling Market Basket hot-dogs, square-shaped hamburgers and Sprite, and the local moms selling chocolate cupcakes with candy-corn frosting. (And the boy scouts selling hand-cut french fries from local potatoes, which were a big hit in my opinion)
But some things were the same. There was face painting, ladies spinning, and the old apple press (I had forgotten about Matty’s horrible beard he grew last winter – blocked from memory apparently…)turned new, which Ophelia tried out this year as well. And there were some things that the Garlic Festival doesn’t offer – like a parade of antique tractors and cars barreling down Main Street.
And now I am going to go take a long, luxurious shower and go to bed, without making a shopping list for this week. So here it is – my new beginning – flying by the seat of my pants once again. And if this one doesn’t work out, I’ll try for one tomorrow. That’s the great thing about beginnings. They can come at any time, on any occasion, and there is always one out there, just waiting for you.