It is nearly the end of September and, as usual, although I am writing the dates, I am no where near aware of the concept that Thanksgiving is nearly upon me. And, really, all that Thanksgiving means is that I have to start Christmas shopping.
But before Thanksgiving, is tomorrow. September 28 is SigOther’s and my anniversary [yay, us!]. It’s not a big year – the first, second or any multiple of five – so any revelry has been relegated to the weekend. Yes, we’re getting old and therefore cranky if we stay up too late past our bedtime on a worknight.
By the weekend, it will be October. After that, it’s all turkey dinners and perma-dusk for the rest of the year. Okay, okay, I’ve lived in true perma-dusk and, no, we don’t actually have that here but, by the time I drive to work in the pre-dawn and home in the fringes of sunset, it’s not much different.
Realistically, the shorter days are about the only means of telling the seasons in the city, as snow is practically just a rumour and, while the leaves turn all sorts of gorgeous colours and drop, the temperature doesn’t really drop at the same rate.
But, despite what I may think, I’m in fall. I get to see more of the moon, my dog is happier with the [slightly] cooler weather and before long, instead of wondering at the novelty of writing months that end in ‘er’, I’ll get to realise the oddity of writing 2006.