The First Day of Fall!

The air is crisp, the sky is slate blue with a slight haze, the pumpkins are out, the welcome wreath with fake leaves and pheasant feathers is on the door, the garden is mulched, so it must be the first day of fall.

Goodbye to summer, but not quite yet. I’m not ready. My tomatoes are still flourishing, my flowers are blooming (not just the mums!), and I haven’t put my summer clothes away (I wore white today for the last time). The leaves are turning and there’s that smokiness in the air that reminds me that soon frost will paste the windows and I’ll need to rummage through the boxes in the basement for winter sweaters and coats. Oh no!

But before I say “hello winter,” I’m heading off to San Diego to spend five days with my family. My little brother is getting married. Yeah! It’s going to be a party (that’s what I keep telling my mom). It’s a long story, but you can pray!

When I return on October 7th on the “red eye,” I leave for New Jersey to speak at Merck Pharmaceuticals Global Network of Women, and that weekend a retreat at Wapiti, Maryland. As a speaker, October is my busiest time because it’s National Breast Cancer Awareness Month—the month of pink. And I will need to gear up for planes, trains and automobiles.

This will be one of our last falls in Pennsylvania, so I will treasure the speckled leaves that look like the back of a giraffe, the crisp mornings, and the changing of the seasons because in fifteen months (a little less now), we will return once again to my home—California—where I belong.

I feel like I’m going to break out and sing a John Denver song (and you don’t want that—do you?).

That’s what I like about fall—the first day anyway!



P.S. I will blog sporadically the month of October as time allows, but if not I'll see you in November!

"Sandcastles"

I just returned from California—the Bay Area—where my family lives. And I got to return to one of my favorite places—Santa Cruz. After a lovely meal at the famed Shadowbrook Restaurant (a must for anyone visiting Capitola), we walked along the beach—watching beachcombers, jugglers, children building sandcastles, and surfers gracefully riding the waves of the Pacific Ocean.

This picture caught my eye and tears glistened on my sunburned cheeks as I remembered my childhood in Southern California—countless hours on the beach with my sister, Mom and Dad. Now that I can count the age spots on my face, I probably would have used more sunscreen (but what did we know back then!). It was a blissful time, frolicking in the sand, jumping waves and allowing them to wash over me—threatening to carry me away. I, too, built sandcastles and watched the ocean swallow them up. Precious memories, made more special, because for the first time in eighteen years I spent Easter with my family. We all went to church together (taking up an entire row!), had an Easter egg hunt in the front yard, and shopped until we dropped. But the best part was spending time with each other—talking about the things that really mattered.

One of my favorite times was spent looking at lost treasure (not in the sand), but in the tiny back room in the garage where all my memorabilia lay: old love letters, photos from high school, yearbook albums, birthday cards, books from high school (who could forget reading Crime and Punishment from Sophomore English?), diplomas, reports cards (one from Miss Wheeler in third grade: "Connie is an excellent creative writer"). Umm . . . .

I took what was most important and left the rest. My mom is going to send me the box and I look forward to poring through all the treasure once again (cross-legged on the floor), and re-living memories of when there was just the four of us at 5018 Concord Blvd. in Concord, California (before baby brother, David, arrived!). But that's another story!

To be reminded of what's really important was so refreshing: the love of family and friends, the deep love that God has for all of us, and memories that can't be washed away like sandcastles on the beach.