Autumn

The trees are dying, the flowers have wilted. It's Autumn

I couldn't figure out why, but I felt very mellow this past weekend. By all signs I should not have felt that way. The weather wasn't great. Fifty degrees, cloudy, rain at times. Four years ago in Florida, that kind of weather would have been disaster. Now it didn't bother me at all. In fact I was running around outside in a light jacket, where as when I lived in Florida I'd have been bundled up like it was the end of the world. Still, I felt good even though the trees are shedding their leaves, and many of the flowers have died off. Just three days until November, the time I used to say winter started, yet it's not bothering me. And then it hit me, I know why I'm enjoying autumn and just might enjoy winter. My Florida blood has been replaced by thick Chicago blood, like one of those so called Chicago pizzas. The cold just doesn't bother me that much anymore. Oh, and there is another reason. I'm retired, I don't have to get up and go to work in the cold. Other than letting the dogs out I don't really have to go out there. Goddamn, retirement is pretty good.

I Bought a Lotto Ticket and Lost My Shirt

On my way to bowling Tuesday night, I stopped at the Seven-Eleven store to use the ATM. I was surprised to find that there was no line at the lottery machine, so I succumbed to the lure of the Mega Million Lottery and bought one ticket. I'm no idiot, I knew that there were better things that I could have done with that two dollars. But what if... ? Well, I got one number out of the six. I have no idea where my two dollars went. Schools, politician's pockets, I don't know. I just know they now have my money.

When I got to the bowling alley I encountered a Chicago peculiarity. Overheating. In the winter Chicago businesses overheat their stores, and in the summer overcool them. The bowling alley was hot so I took off my shirt and hung it on the back of a chair. Don't worry, no man boobs hanging out. I had on a very nice tee shirt. Wednesday morning, while shaving, I thought about my shirt. The shirt that I hung over the back of the chair at the bowling alley. Son of a bitch, I loved that shirt. I called the bowling alley but nobody had turned a shirt in to lost and found. So somebody is now walking around in a very nice, red flannel, Eddie Bauer shirt. Probably a bowling alley employee.

I was going to wear that shirt to the doctor's office Wednesday afternoon. I had an afternoon appointment with the gastroenterologist. I had used one of those  home tests where you mail your poop sample off to see if you have butt cancer and it came back positive for blood in the stool. So my doctor sent me to the specialist for a colonoscopy. I have to admit, I walked in there in a sour mood. I had waited three and a half months for this appointment. What if I actually have something wrong up there? So I was already pissed that it took that long to get in to see the doctor. I walked up to the receptionist, told her my name, and she asked.

"Do you have your reference?"

Son of a bitch. No, I did not have the reference to see the butt doctor. I forgot it at home.

"Can you call your doctor's office and have them fax it over?"

Well sure I could, if I knew the doctor's phone number. I could have looked it up but I don't know how to spell his name. I know it starts with the letter 'C' followed by about twenty five other consonants and one vowel. The truth is that I simply did not want to have that colonoscope snaked up into me and I didn't want to go through the preparations the night before. So I used the excuse of not having the doctor's reference and stormed out of there in a huff. Oh, and I cursed a little as I walked to the elevator.

It's Over

It started back in February when I stuck a bunch of tiny seeds in those little fiber planters. I put them in the basement, right next to the sunniest windows and watered them as needed. Shortly little green sprouts popped up and before I knew it, it was late April and time to introduce them to our yard. Over the months of summer I watched as green things, flowery things, and edible things took over the place. It was so lovely. Dahlias across the back of the house. Nasturtiums along the north fence. Tomatoes in the garden. Raspberries, grapes, roses, marigolds, and plenty of volunteer plants. Morning glories were everywhere. That all ended this past weekend. Sunday morning I got up and checked the thermometer. Twenty nine degrees out in my backyard. Below freezing. Sure enough, by the afternoon most everything had wilted. Nasturtiums had faded along the fence. The dahlias were hit the worst, they completely gave up. The impossible to kill morning glories drooped in defeat, even though the temperature soared to fifty degrees by two in the afternoon. However, one resident of my backyard did not give up. One group of hardy flowers said screw you sub-freezing temperatures and raised their colorful heads towards the sun. The mums, they look better than ever. 

Short Stuff

I keep saying that the only thing I miss about Florida are the two live oak trees that I planted in the front yard. Okay, that and January and February. I miss Florida during those two months. But now a drop in the temperature here in Chicago has made me realize I miss one other thing. My shorts. As of this week I have retired the shorts until next spring, until the temperatures stay reliably over fifty degrees. For twenty seven years I lived in my shorts. Oh, I had long pants for special occasions, but ninety nine, point nine percent of the time, I wore shorts in Florida. It's a sad day when they get put away at the bottom of the drawer, covered up by the long pants I'll be wearing for the next six months. I hate wearing long pants. If the dogs want to go outside I have to wrestle to get them on while Chandler and Scout dance at the back door. If I have to go to the bathroom in a hurry, it's another wrestling match getting the damn things off. Yes, I can't go number two with pants around my ankles. Long pants are too binding, and for some reason make me feel fatter than I am. Not that I'm not fat. I am. It's just that long pants make me feel obese. So with a tear in my eye, and a pain in my heart, I bid goodbye to shorts until the good weather returns.

Table Scraps

As usual, I climbed in bed around ten or so on Saturday night. And as usual, Scout jumped up on the bed to hang out for a short while before retiring to her bedroom. Also, Chandler took his place on his bed under the window. Five minutes into our evening a bit of dog fart wafted by Mark and he started yelling for Chandler to get out of the bedroom. He refused. In fact Chandler barely moved an eyelid to acknowledge that somebody was speaking to him. A minute later the room smelled like a tire fire. Chandler was in full fart mode. I turned the ceiling fan up to its highest setting. This only moved the noxious fumes to all corners of the room, and sent Mark into a screaming tizzy. Still, Chandler wouldn't move out of the room. After a bit the smell subsided, or maybe we just got used to it, and then he blasted another one. Now it was a tire fire aroma on top of that smell you get when you drive down to Northeast Indiana. Not very nice. So I got the box fan and aimed it into the bedroom. This stirred the smells out of the corners of the room and along with the ceiling fan mixed it around nicely. Mark whined and cried for me to get the dog out of the room. That's when I asked Mark if earlier, when he was making a large bowl of chicken salad, did he give any of the chicken scraps to Chandler?