Ghosts of Septembers Past

My thoughts are full of Septembers past.  Let me capture some of those thoughts here.

--Today, the insurance adjuster arrives.  We have already begun making nebulous plans about what must be done to preserve and restore the cottage.  Even though we're not sure what we want to do with the space, we need to keep it as a cottage, so that our property value doesn't take a hit.

I am reminded of September 2013, when we raced towards a November date where our friend would move into the restored cottage or find another place to live.  In September, I wasn't sure we could get it done.

--This is a week where some of my friends are away on vacation--and I am thinking of past Septembers when I took quick trips to the mountains to do retreat planning.   I would return with apples and jars of jams and honey.  I miss the apples and the time away, but I'm glad not to be driving.

--Last year we'd be getting back from our trip to Arizona--what a wonderful trip.  A year ago today, I went for an interview that ultimately led to my current job.

--In 2009, we went to Indiana for my spouse's family reunion.  The reunion itself was overwhelming, with all the family members assembled.  But I really enjoyed the smaller reunions that happened throughout the week-end.  We finished around a fire pit on a cousin's property, watching the sun drop, feeling the temperature drop too.  The Indiana contingent talked about their dread of winter, and I was reminded that eternal summer, with its drawbacks, might be preferable.

--Even longer ago, in 1998, when we first moved down here, we rented part of a triplex. One September morning I came outside for my morning run, and my landlady, who lived in one of the other parts of the triplex, was enjoying her morning cigarette. She smiled at me and said, "The weather is changing. Can you feel it?"

I had to confess that I didn't. She said, "It's subtle. Once you've lived down here awhile, you'll see it."

One morning last week the air was slightly cooler and slightly more dry, and I thought of that conversation.  But the next morning, the air was back to humid and warm, like the inside of a mouth.