September, to me, is the airplane that takes me to Disneyland, the dinner of beef stew that leads to the dessert of cake, or the socks that go on under a beautiful new pair of boots.
It’s the transitional phase that bridges the hellish heat of the summer and that glorious sweater-clad nip in the air that is fall.
In the spring, young men’s fancies may lightly turn to thoughts of love, and mine may turn to thoughts of love toward my birthday cake in April, but in the fall, my thoughts turn to all kinds of things.
The red pickup: You’ve probably seen images of this 1950s red pickup truck in every collection of Christmas decorations from Hallmark to Big Lots. That truck decorates trees, cards, sweaters and even front lawns. Then a full-size truck became a prop in insta-worthy pix of girls with perfect hair and makeup, colorful felt hats or cashmere toboggans, and boots.
Now, that everyone is expected to decorate their homes for every turn of the calendar page, the stores are full of decorations full of fall colors and images. Guess what’s been cropping up at Michael’s, Walmart, and the like, Gentle Reader?
Yup — that blasted red pickup.
So next summer expect to see them flying flags and loaded with children in old-timey bathing suits.
When the spring rolls around, I fully expect to see one of those scarlet pickups full of birthday cake, just for me.
The N.C. State Fai
One huge reason why I love the fall so much are those 10 amazing days in October, the State Fair. I love every darn thing about it. It turns this wrinkled old lady into a hyperactive 3-year-old. It just makes me so happy. The smell of fried meat and cow manure is in the air, and the weather is almost always crisp and cool adjacent.
I am afraid that this year, for the second year, because of the COVID spike, the fair might be canceled, or scaled back so that it resembles a small stock show.
I know our Agriculture Commissioner Steve Troxler and canceling the fair last year, the annus horribilis that was 2020, was a call that hurt him deeply. Canceling again would break both our hearts. It would almost be too much to bear.
So, if you are hesitating about getting a vaccine, I have a plea: please for the love of smoked turkey legs and doughnuts as big as your head, to save the bruised hearts of me and Ag Commissioner Troxler, roll up your sleeve and get it poked.
Estate salesA few weeks ago, I went to an estate sale with my friend from work, the only other female salesperson, Darby and The Kid.
I thought an estate sale was held in houses like Downton Abbey and sold things like solid gold frying pans and 6-foot-long strings of pearls. Or at haunted-looking Victorian houses selling creepy dolls and cauldrons full of body parts.
But it ain’t like that at all.
I’ve been to three of them now, and they’re all in neat suburban homes in new subdivisions. Instead of designer ball gowns or pointy hats, it’s the kind of things that are in my house, your house and your Aunt Tillie’s house. Furniture, art, kitchen stuff, Christmas decorations, books and some clothes.
But I did see a genuine mink coat today for $100. Of course, I had to try it on, I wanted to feel like Sophia Loren, but the vibe was more Granny Clampett.
So that’s what’s been rattling around in my brain pan for the past couple of weeks.
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