Fabulous Fall

I must share my elation- it's AUTUMN! Glorious, festive, cozy and luscious autumn! How I adore this time of year; from now until December 25th, I am in bliss.

How do we all know for sure when this sumptuous season has begun? Not when the air turns crisp and chilly- though I adore the moment when I can finally haul out my sweaters. Not when the leaves change- though I relish the tall, East-coast-like trees and piles of multi-colored jumping leaves in our little neighborhood. No, the moment that marks the beginning of fall for all mankind is simple: it is when we go shopping and as we walk by that perennial mall staple, Williams Sonoma, we are suddenly, mysteriously drawn into their doors by the seductive aroma of wintery oven smells that make us think we have died and gone to holiday home-baked heaven. They are evil, those Williams Sonoma people. They waft those smells on purpose. And it works. Stan and I wandered in there today, drawn into the vortex like moths to a flame. They bake their pumpkin quick bread, they brew their cider, they make mouths across the nation water. Then, of course, they have the nerve to have run out of samples. But no matter; it is enough just to smell that unmistakable smell of fall and know that the ultimate season has begun!

On October 1st, all bets are off. I know I now have unofficial permission to decorate for Halloween without incurring the wrath of my neighbors, who would probably prefer not to haul out their skeletons and witches until October 15th. But my spirit will not be deterred. I stretch the spider webs across the porch railing, gleefully singing "Monster Mash" as I work. I hang the spider egg sac that Addie and I made two Halloweens ago- a Martha Stewart masterpiece of white stocking stuffed with a styrofoam ball and teeming with tons of mini-black spiders; truly creepy and awe-inspiring. I post my "Low Flying Bats" sign, turn on my Target fake Jack-O-Lantern (the real one won't make his appearance until a few days before All Hallow's Eve), and dig out my Disney's Sounds from the Haunted House CD. Oh, joy. Rapture!

I'm not exactly sure why I'm such a holiday fiend. I always have been. One of the reasons may be that my family did holidays RIGHT. My mom specialized in creating a certain kind of kid magic. I never knew when she'd surprise me with a treasure hunt around town that would end with me discovering a brand new bike or a doll collection I'd been aching for. She'd go to elaborate lengths to make the best adventures happen. Members of our family were also expert storytellers, with potent parables handed down for generations and told with such conviction and detail that you didn't just "believe"... you KNEW. Holidays were the best. The Easter bunny didn't just hide eggs at our house. He also pooped on the hearth. My mom used to wad up little pellets of mud and bunch them near the fireplace for us to find Easter morning- bonafide proof that the bunny had been there (and apparently it was always at our house where his carrots kicked in). Her dedication to the fantastical was the stuff of legend. I'm still not entirely convinced that Santa isn't real. Too many things happened in my childhood to prove otherwise. Reindeer and sleigh tracks were embedded in the snow every Christmas morning. Santa himself ho-ho-ho-ed late one Christmas Eve at my grandparent's home in Eastern Pennsylvania when I was about eight; I heard his boots in the hallway and dove under my covers with my heart pounding, a mix of excitement and fear so heady I can still conjure the feeling today.

I suppose I see Halloween and Thanksgiving as so magical in part because they are the two holidays that lead to Christmas, the Grand Poo-Bah of all holidays. I admit it: I am a bonafide Christmas freak. But aside from my brief Santa rant, I won't wax rhapsodic now; it's too early. I know I have to wait until the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade before I feel I have unofficial permission to start decking my halls.

So for now, I bury myself in the wicked fun of Halloween. Addie and I take evening walks around our neighborhood to see who has added their spooky decorations. I set my TiVo to tape those classic "Roseanne" Halloween episodes; NO other sitcom captured the holiday to such exquisite, twisted perfection, and those episodes never get old. Our annual trip to the pumpkin patch is already on the calendar; it'll be Tucker's inaugural visit. I have already researched new recipes for roasted pumpkin seeds; maybe this year I'll get it right. Last year was an unmitigated disaster. I tried a carmelized seeds recipe, with inedible results. I think I carmelized a little too long. The whole thing ended up in a glop on my cookie sheet, and had the consistency of tree sap. I may be one recipe away from being convinced there isn't a way to make pumpkin seeds taste really good. Passable, maybe. Delicious? Not so far. But I'm not quite ready to give up yet. One more Halloween.

You know, don't you, that I said the same thing last year.