Me and My Shredder

As I've mentioned before, the approach of fall triggers my nesting instincts. While most people do spring cleaning, I'm definitely a fall cleaner. To that end, I've spent the morning before heading off to work to at long last begin to reclaim my spare room, which doubles as my computer room and guest room. Up to now, guests might be hard-pressed to FIND the bed in here. Mainly because anything I don't know what to do with ends up in the spare room and often on the bed.

Let me further explain that my relationship with mail is rather like that between the postal delivery service and mail in many small third world countries: I don't deliver it, I store it. I have taken out no less than 3 tall kitchen bags full of junk mail, old mail and mail that has been shredded. And I'm not quite done yet. I am optimistic that I can finish this part of cleaning out the spare room in an hour or so tomorrow before I head northward to Dad's. Then I can start tackling the rest of the sorting out when I am home again come Sunday evening. I feel really, really good about this. It's needed doing for a loooong time.

Fall is in the Air

No, not a leaf in sight that has turned yet, but here in the middle of September, fall is definitely in the air. I suppose we may still get a few hot, humid days, but they will be considered "unseasonable" and not at all like those of the dog days of August.

I love fall best of all the seasons, I think. Winter I tolerate until sometime in early January, at which time I am tired of being chilled to the bone and soggy boots and heavy coats. Early summer is fine, but come August, I am tired of being reduced to a limp dishrag by even the slightest venture out of doors. Spring is something I have only come to appreciate at all in the past few years, mainly because here in Ohio it is an unpredictable season that seems to last about two weeks before the temperature gauge goes from 40 to 70. I do love the promise and hope that lie in a pale haze of new leaves on the trees and in the crocuses that poke through the earth, even when surrounded by melting snow.

I love the crisp, clear sunny days of fall, especially once the leaves do start to turn color. I don't even mind the leaden gray skies of November that pour cold rain. The scent of apples and new-fallen leaves fill the air and are one of my favorite scents. While most people look at spring as the time for deep cleaning, I tend to have more inclination to clean out my little nest in the fall. I become inclined to don my hiking boots and my hooded jackets and head off to the park and the orchard. I like making Dad's house snug for winter by putting the storm windows back in the screen doors and pulling down the storm sashes on the windows. I wash Dogzilla's blankies and his fleece blanket coats because even an old beagle gets a chill on those brisk mornings when frost starts to appear on the grass instead of dew. I start cleaning at my house, so that I'll have room to put up my tree before the day after Thanksgiving. Working in retail, you have to decorate before then, because afterwards you rarely have the time or energy to do it. Fall is when I take stock of what I use and what I don't. I think about subscribing to magazines and taking care of library fines, thinking of those long winter evenings. I stock up on candles in spicy scents. I sort through the magazines that have accumulated, in particular the cooking magazines, and clip out recipes to add to my already large collection of clipped recipes.

I take the flannel sheets out of storage and consider buying yet another set, even though, at the age of 49, flannel pajamas are no longer an option. Thanks to perimenopause, I have resigned myself to wearing little cotton knit summer nighties until I am about 80, even in the dead of winter. I keep an eye out for sales on things like blankets and comforters and pillows, so that nesting will be comfortable. I check my stock of winter socks and gloves and start to think about things like slippers. I inventory my sweatshirts and start eyeing new fleece pants to lounge around in. I consider whether my current snow boots will last another year or if this is the year I should spring for a new pair, just in case I need something more than the Columbia hiking boots for trotting Dogzilla around come wintertime.

I make apple butter in the fall and actually manage to can it appropriately for food safety and to last through the winter. It's better than anything you buy in a jar at the grocery and it makes a wonderful gift come Christmas. I make pumpkin pies and apple crisps. I almost always have hot soup at the ready, whether it is chili or potato or bean or vegetable or chicken noodle. I do up pickled beets almost every week and Brussels sprouts, cabbage and butternut or acorn squash become regular fixtures on my menu. I buy new bottles of bourbon and rum, because my cocktail preferences change a bit and bourbon and water or eggnog with a shot of rum take precedence over mojitos and planters' punch, and stock up on inexpensive Chilean reds that are perfect for turning into mulled wine in my small crock pot by adding cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, and slices of oranges and lemons. I make sure I have plenty of tea on hand, as there is nothing like a good hot cup of tea on a chilly evening, even when you are feeling well. And just in case I'm not feeling well, I make sure I have plenty of zinc lozenges, ibuprofen, chicken broth and ginger ale on hand.

Fall is my time to take stock and secure the homestead for the coming winter by the fireside, as it were. Speaking of which, I need to go clean some cobwebs. Literally. I just noticed they are dangling from the ceiling near the ceiling fan. I am going forth with my Swiffer in hand!

I Am Being Stalked

No, no. Don't worry too much. There's no crazed psycho or internet junkie after me. It's a wasp. I HATE WASPS!!! I was stung by them several times as a child (the perils of sleeping upstairs in an old farmhouse) and was apparently traumatized by the experience. I'm not allergic. I don't even remember it hurting all that bad, truth to tell. But whenever I see one buzzing around the apartment intermitently, I become obsessed by the need to kill it. I saw it once yesterday and it's buzzed me twice today and when I turn to get the wasp spray or the fly swatter, the bastard has disappeared. Oh, perhaps I should amend that to say the bitch has disappeared. It's probably a female wasp. Not that I intend to get close enough to it in its whole undamaged condition to conduct any kind of conclusive investigation of that point.

Such are my neuroses. Sigh.