Seasons in the Sun

There is something special about this time of year, when daylight is at its shortest. Any time we get to spend in the sunlight becomes precious, or maybe we are just more inclined to realize how precious it is.

sunset (3)My post about it today is poignant. Over the past couple of days. I’ve learned that three people I knew have died. The first I knew as a high school boy who was my partner in chemistry lab. He passed away suddenly at his home a few days ago, according to the online obituary I learned about on Facebook. I remember him for singing the Doors classic “Light my Fire” every time we got the Bunsen Burners out. His memory always makes me smile.

The second, a co-worker of mine for decades, was one of those people with whom one has continual clashes in the office. He wasn’t a bad guy, we just never resonated well. He retired and I just learned via social media that he died peacefully at home in September. Now I wish I had said something kind to him before he left the company, to wish him well.

The third was Brian Rush, a more experienced online writing buddy who was in part responsible for my diving into the self-publishing world like I did. He was kind and helpful to me, and I enjoyed his books. The best I can do to thank him now is to provide a link to his work.

In spite of the odd news that came in threes, the last couple of days here have been unseasonably warm and sunny with a bright blue sky. I can’t say whether it was the news of the deaths or the season’s relative lack of sunshine that kept me sitting on my porch, feeling the warmth on my face while a host of Christmas-related chores went undone.

Because the winter solstice is part of the plot in z2, when I went searching for bubblegum music for my hero Alex to enjoy, “Seasons in the Sun,” made famous in 1974 by Canadian singer Terry Jacks, was an easy choice to include. I though of it as a schmaltzy fun song, and I suppose that it is. But today I played the video that I link to in z2, and let myself shed a tear or two in spite of Terry Jacks 70’s hair and background props.

We do all realize that our seasons in the sun are short and to be savored. We really do. We just forget it sometimes. So please, enjoy the video, and find yourself some sunlight to appreciate over the next few days.

 

 

This year October 10th lasted almost all month

I’ve taken a lot of classes in creative writing, but only one in writing poetry. The class gave me two things. (1) It firmly established that I am not a poet.  (2) It gave me Oct. 10.

Rather, it gave me a poem called “Oct. 10” about the bright blue sky of autumn and the importance of wrapping the memory of that sky close around you to bring comfort on a white winter day.  For whatever reason, that phrase stuck with me and from it I created my own personal holiday.  Every year, on or around Oct 10, wherever I have lived and whatever I have been doing, there has always been one of those gorgeous cool clear autumn days. I’d call in sick. I’d ignore household chores. It was my own personal day off, a celebration of all things beautiful, and every year I found a way to take at least part of the day and make it mine.

autumn crop for blogUntil this year. I’ve moved to a location with colder weather and far more trees. October started out cool and rainy and I was worried that my special holiday might not even happen here. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Once the rain passed, the daytime sky settled in to bright blue while the leaves around me danced from golden to orange to burgundy, and I went into holiday mode. And couldn’t come out of it.  I mean, I knew it had been over two weeks since I started celebrating, but it still felt like Oct 10 and so I spent day after day on my front porch staring at a deep blue sky. I intended to be writing, I really did. I had plenty else that needed to be done. But damn, it was Oct 10 and I needed to enjoy every bit of it.

The rain and cold finally came back of course, and today I made a nice detailed list of everything I have got to get done.  It felt good to get organized again; I’m one of those people who likes that feeling. It’s November, and time to move on. But what a great Oct. 10! I hope it lasts as long next year.

(If you like the idea of declaring a personal holiday, check out my post for 2012, when Oct 10 didn’t come until Oct. 28.)

Spurning spring?

pat polacco 1I have it in my head that this time of the year is about small children, and baby lambs and tiny chicks and new shoots coming out of the ground. It’s about being young, very young, and those of us past that phase of our lives are just supposed to look on in wonder. It’s all about cute, and honestly its never been my favorite time of the year.

At some point many years ago I decided that I was in the summer of my life. Natural enough. Life was full and I was as physically fit and attractive as I was ever going to be. Those are summer kinds of things to me. However, I’ve lived in the south most of my life and, well, summer has never been my favorite time of the year either. I always was one of those odd kids who liked it when school started, and dark came earlier so I could come inside to read a book. I didn’t seem to belong in summer, even when I was there.

Recently, I’ve realized that it is past time to acknowledge that I’ve moved on through August and September. There is a cool breeze blowing through my soul these days, and it carries the scent of earth and leaves and fires and I feel like I’m finally where I belong. Autumn, my favorite season. I’m strong here. It is where I am at home.

springSo I was a little surprised to find myself sitting on my front porch this week-end, mesmerized by all the spring beauty around me. The azaleas are blooming here in Texas right now along with the wild flowers of April. The leaves are all a shade of bright lime green that dazzles. Youth. Okay, it definitely has it’s charm, I thought. Then I took a closer look at the source of the shimmering green in front of me.

I was in fact staring at an old tree in our yard. That tree was surely past the summer of its life, just like me. Yet there it was, covered in shiny green shoots that spoke of newness and beginnings. I swear, its half-uncurled little leaves were even cute.

Isn’t nature clever? New beginnings aren’t just for the young. They are for new parents and new grandparents and those starting projects and changing jobs and moving and retiring. New beginnings are part of living, no matter where you fall in that old cycle of life thing. I knew that of course, deep down where I know all kinds of things that I often forget. Today, I am thankful for an old tree in my yard for taking the time to remind me about the new growth in all of us.

 

 

Nature calls it even

wavesI’ve been thinking recently about the concept of a tie, or draw in a contest. (See my post about ties on my x0 blog here.) I’m on vacation, relaxing. I am also realizing that I let myself relax all too seldom. There’s work, a necessary evil. Family. Relationships. Joyful but not effortless. Writing. Blogging. Both my passions but not effortless either. And then there’s that damn kitchen counter that always needs a wipe down.

This week I am at the beach, on a screen porch that overlooks the ocean, and captures the sea breeze and the sounds of waves. I think maybe I should get off the porch and do something and then I think, why? This is my vacation.  So I sit here and ponder the tides. It is low tide now, so the sea has receded and paused. It rests in equilibrium, a perfect tie between the pull of water as it follows the tug of the moon and the sloshing back of the water as the moon looses its grip.

moonThere is a full moon tonight, another wonderful resting point of nature that will be shown in all its spectacular glory, sparkling off the waves. For two weeks the moon has waxed, growing ever larger. Tonight it will pause, caught between expansion and contraction. Tomorrow the forces of waning will begin to win, for two weeks or so at any rate.  Then a dark moonless night filled with the wonder of a million stars will accentuate another temporary draw in this battle of the waxing and the waning moon.

Although I call work a necessary evil, the truth is that my profession in geophysics is born of a deep fascination with the earth and sky and physical forces that shape the universe around us. It shows up in my novels, where I have gotten to describe earthquakes, tsunami, and storms at sea.  In z2 I made the path of the sun overhead part of my plot. That is a place where nature reaches a different kind equilibrium. Here the night grows longer and darker, until the point of greatest darkness, when like the tides or the moon, things pause.  But this pause, called the solstice, is not the “tie” but merely the turning point. Days will grow longer now until for one single moment the powers of light and darkness are equal. We call it the spring equinox, and it is the moment when nature grants a tied score. Then the day grows still longer, and that brings us to now.  Late May, with the summer solstice approaching. Me sitting on a porch pondering nature and equilibrium and thinking that at the very least I ought to go inside the wipe down the kitchen counter, left in quite a mess after the lunch that faded into the nap that faded into these seaside thoughts.

I get as far as opening the door into the house when I see that my son has not only wiped down the counter, he’s loaded and run the dishwasher as well. My my. All things have cycles don’t they, and it appears that we have reached some sort of equilibrium point regarding kitchen clean-up. I love it when nature allows for balance. I smile my appreciation, and head back to the hammock for a second nap.

hammock2

For a few later thoughts on the merits of a close game please visit my y1 blog here.