The Feeling of Falling

It's raining, a steady down pour of large droplets in constant rhythm, just outside my window. I listen to the big kurplunks and soft tinklings of the water as it hits the concrete pool deck. In my mind it is no different from being in Ohio in the fall, during the chilly, rainy days that had me wearing sweaters and sipping hot tea in the afternoon in front of a fire in our family room. But here, it is most definitely different, since the rain is warm and the air is thick and muggy, a balmy 80 degrees, a sign that summer is still very much a part of our landscape in the south. The trees are lush and green and the tropical flowers continue to bloom. Fall here in Houston is merely a fading of color rather than the brilliant changes I used to know back home.

I miss home and my family so much I ache, right now. Like clock work, every fall, I begin pining for home and the smells and sights I loved so very much. I get lost in the memories of the falls where the leaves crackle beneath my feet, the sweet smell of apple orchards hung in the air and the the leaves turned red, yellow and orange as a way to warm the palette of the woods. I miss walking through the woods in the long stretches of parks that smelled of pine as I snuggled deeper into my sweater or sweatshirt and holding hands with my beloved Michael. I miss the smell of burning wood, the smokey embers glowing in our fireplace as I made soups, pies and breads in the kitchen filling the house with delicious and spicy aromas. I miss the season of richness. Fall has always been my favorite season. The one season I was most comfortable in my own skin.

I felt weepy yesterday, as I ran my errands and went to the superstore to pick up the odd assortment of items we needed. As I walked the isles every where I turned there were signs of fall in the store. I could purchase my leaves in assorted colors if I chose to do so. Ceramic pumpkins, soup tureens and table cloths were displayed in brilliant hues of burgundy, burnt orange and amber. I stood in front of the displays for the longest time, breathing deep the pot pouri that sat out, smelling of ripe apples. It's the closest thing I can get that is the most like home. I admit that I felt a little pathetic wallowing in fake leaves and canned smells. But my deep sense of mourning I feel every fall was weighing heavy on me and I felt fortunate to have the reprieve.

I am packing up some of our belongings we won't be using until we find another house. I have given away box after box of things that no longer serve a purpose here and given it to charity. Room by room, I sift through every item and remind myself to let go of what isn't NECESSARY. The house we will move into will be so much smaller than what we have room for now. I have to let go and get rid of so much stuff. We will have to live simpler, smaller, adapting to less. This very process is the exact opposite of what fall has come to be for me. Fall for me was a time of bounty. Crops came in, trees bore fruit, food was pinnacle in celebrating before the snow began to fly. This year it is me saying goodbye to my home one unnecessary chachki at a time. The season, the job I was doing and the family reunion I was unable to attend, all made me weepy.

At the store I bought pumpkin spice candles to manufacture the smells I long for. I bought things to hang on the front door that look like leaves and dried pine cones. Guilty of bringing in stuff in a time when I am supposed to be weeding out stuff, I regretted my purchases for a moment. The monetary part was next to nothing, but dragging in more stuff was not my brightest idea. Except, it did and does make me feel better every time I see it. It looks like fall, even if it did come packaged up shrink wrap plastic and a price tag. It was almost like those Visa commercials. Wreath-$10, Pumpkin spice candle_$5, being grateful that I have a family, friends and hometown that still makes me cry-priceless.