Today is the first day of autumn.
September 22nd…a day of transition and equilibrium, a day which heralds the slow decline of yet another seasonal cycle.
Much like a March snowfall melting off of the nascent bud of a crocus signals the rebirth of the landscape, the yellow, orange, and umber leaves of September portend the impending slumber of the lush and fertile earth.
Being 44, I too, am in the autumn of my years.
Who am I kidding? As I don’t truly expect to live to be 88 years old, I passed my biological equator a few years ago and in Icarus-like fashion am quickly descending towards my own, personal Tropic of Capricorn.
But, I think you know what I mean.
This past Saturday I thought about getting older…about crossing the midway point of my life, and my thoughts relate to the autumnal equinox.
Saturday afternoon I was talking to Schmoop, as I stood in the kitchen. The calendar caught my eye because I saw something printed on September 22nd.
I looked at it, and read to myself what I thought it said…
First Day of Autism.
WTF? I thought to myself. It was at that point I took off my glasses, got three inches from the calendar, and then said…
“Ohhhh, first day of AUTUMN. Well, that makes sense.” I laughed, and then was a bit annoyed.
I don’t mind getting older at all. I am much better person than I was ten years ago.
I am in much better shape than I was three or four years ago, and much like the sun shining down at zero degrees latitude, I have a sense of personal equilibrium about me.
There are things about getting older that drive me nuts. My teeth for one. I wish they would simply ALL fall out so I can get a nice set of artificial chompers.
My eyes…My vision is 20/775 and on top of that, as demonstrated by my calendar incident I need bifocals.
Hell, I can’t wear my contacts to work, because the only way I would be able to check an ID is if my arms were forty feet long. With my glasses, I can take them off and check ID's…3 inches from my face.
I miss being able to party all night AND having sex. As it is now, I have to choose between the two. Too much drinkie means not much nookie, because after too much drinkie, there is no dinkie.
As George Costanza would say, “It’s like a frightened turtle.”
On the other hand, I don’t mind having very little hair on my head. It saves time getting ready.
I like the gray in my goatee too. Schmoop digs it as well, as does my new Beer Mine “girl” friend, Tiffany (any comment on that one, Pizza Bill?).
Anyhoo…I guess getting older is like fall…like autumn. This time of year is a harbinger of cold, gray, and lifeless times to come, but…
Autumn is also full of beautiful colors, festivals, and clean crisp days. Winter will come whether I fret about it or not.
I guess my best course of action is to accept the coming winter and in the meantime, enjoy the kaleidoscope of foliage, devour the culinary aroma of an Oktoberfest, and bask in the glow of a well-carved Jack-O-Lantern.
Autumn is good.