I love autumn. I love everything about the season.
Being born in the middle of July, you’d be forgiven for thinking that summer was my favourite season but for as long as I can remember, it’s been autumn. For me, it’s the most interesting time of the year. It’s also cooler which most menopausal ladies (like myself) will appreciate having spent the summer loitering in the chilled section of the supermarket.
This summer has been hot. Too hot for some and not hot enough for those with asbestos for skin.
But we’re Brits and we do love a good whinge about the weather. If whinging about the weather was an Olympic sport, we’d win gold every time.
But summer has taken her final bow. The flies have buzzed off and it’s time for autumn to take to the stage with her flamboyant style.
I could bang on about autumn until, well, winter but I’m on a word count so I’ll keep it brief (ish)
If life can be divided into seasons, I would say that the childhood years are spring – a time of birth and growth. Then with the child producing years comes summer, so the natural menopause must mean autumn. I am 44 and post-menopausal. I feel deciduous, as in, there is more hair on my brush than on my head.
The winter years are the home run. If you’re lucky, you will have remained compos mentis. I wouldn’t mind reaching a grand old age if I can hold onto my marbles but given that this week I tried to give the dog Cheerios instead of Bakers and used gravy granules instead of coffee – I’m not holding by breath. I will be the old dear who flashes her support tights on an hourly basis and thinks that Thatcher is still prime minister.
Menopausal women have a lot in common with autumn with their own hues mirroring the season.
Browns (the hair dye which covers the rapidly greying hair)
Reds (the face during a hot flush),
Yellows (a flogged out liver due to excessive gin consumption)
Orange (overdoing the fake tan – but this applies to summers as well, and maybe springs if their crazy mama’s enter them into a beauty pageant at the age of three).
I’m joking. Sort of.
Like the menopause, autumn is a time of great change.
Mother Nature invites you to pull on your walking boots with the promise of an awe inspiring display of colour.
The wisps of smoke coming from chimneys make me stop and sniff the breeze like demented Meerkat. It makes me think about ‘ye olde’ pubs with a roaring fire and a decent pint but I mostly have to make do with tea out of a flask.
Then there’s the rustling sound as my boots plough through the piles of newly fallen leaves.
Here I must add a cautionary note about kicking leaves…
I was having an autumnal kick about in the leaves the other week. The fun police (aka other half) said to me, “I’d be careful if I were you, you don’t know what’s under those leaves!”. I snorted and carried on kicking with abandon. Within seconds my boot came up and with it a huge mound of dog poo. My autumnal walk was marred by having to scrape my way along the grass for the next few hundred yards – much to OH’s amusement. Oh how he laughed. Git.
Let this be a lesson to you. Think before you kick!!!
Autumn is the most exciting season. Aside from Mother Nature doing her thing with the trees and stuff, there is Halloween – the most charming of celebrations where one’s sweetie stash is massively depleted by little monsters threatening vengeance if their buckets are not filled with cavity inducing confectionery. I’ve taken to answering the door with no make up on – that trumps any scary costume they can come up with. Muhaha
Then there is Bonfire night, though it should be called Bonfire Nights as it is spread across the entire month. Most children love it and most pet owners hate it because BANG BANG BANG SQUEAL WHOOSH BANG equals doggy bodily fluids all over the lino.
As a child, I associated the smell of smoke with Bonfire night. As an adult, it’s shit.
After Bonfire night, we’re on the annoying countdown to a visit from the fat man and his huge sack. *coughs*
But for now, it’s just lovely to admire the show.
To stand in the woods and watch thousands of leaves float down like snow is a wonderful experience. There is beauty everywhere, so get out there and enjoy it. Unplug the kids (and yourselves) from electronic paraphernalia and go out into the countryside and explore!
Metaphorically – my life is in this beautiful season, or at least that’s how I see it. Autumn is a time of reflection and reaping the fruits of your labours. I delight in the success my grown up sons are making of their lives and as for my little man? Well he’s my Indian summer. Time will tell where his talents lie but all I know is that he brings sunshine to my days. All of them do in their own special ways.
I’d love to see winter but only if I can still appreciate it’s beauty, if not, I’ll settle for autumn, forever.
“Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.”