I’m falling for fall again
It’s fall, ya’ll!
Major League Baseball refers to its World Series as “The Fall Classic.” This year’s series lived up to the hype.
But, really, autumn itself is the only legitimate “Fall Classic.”
I love autumn.
If I could, I’d live in Melbourne, Australia, half the year so I could experience autumn biannually.
A few weeks ago, my bride, Hedy, and I welcomed fall in with four days of blissful indulgence in California’s golden vineyards amid Bordeaux-style reds and massive redwoods. Autumn’s arrival couldn’t have been more breathtaking.
Our four days were chockablock with music, reading, reclining, repairing, writing and embracing. And, accompanying us on our journey, were Beethoven, the Mills Brothers and Hillsong UNITED. On CD.
Holed up in a cozy B&B, we were without TV, room telephones, Teleprompters and/or extra-terrestrials — just magnificent breakfasts, crisp blue skies, vines and grapes and heavenly solitude.
The fall season — if you can label it that in sunny Southern California -- is the best season of them all. When I was a kid growing up in Newport-Mesa in the 1950s and ‘60s, that distinction belonged to summer.
No longer. After decades of overexposure to El Sol’s rays, I boast acres of damaged dermis. I’ll take dappled autumn afternoons anytime.
And football!
Recently, just to put a capper on the season’s magnificence, Hedy and I went to the East Coast for a few days to spend time with our daughter, son-in-law and four grandchildren.
They live in North Carolina, where seasons are delightfully in vogue. The deciduous trees of the Piedmont were in exquisite flame during our stay. Bright yellows; screaming oranges; ravishing reds; and, finally, crinkled browns.
Unlike New England and North Carolina, our Southern California trees mostly go from green to brown to plop. Not so everywhere else.
Due to latitude — as well as its longitudinal orientation — autumn, in its multihued glory, arrives in North Carolina later than New England. New England usually hits its apex in October, North Carolina in November. And fall, when it arrives in the Tar Heel State, is glorious. Perhaps not as glorious as New England, but close.
Asheville and the Blue Ridge Mountains can be breathtaking.
If New England is Frank Sinatra singing “September Song,” then North Carolina is Tony Bennett doing the same. Not a bad runner-up, I’d say.
This year I’ve taken in fall in California’s wine country and North Carolina’s foothills. I savored it like a smooth glass of port. One never knows how many such annual observances one has left.
I’ve learned to savor. Like autumn, our days inexorably grow short and “dwindle down to a precious few.”
Ah, “September Song.”
But, to be accurate, my life’s current metaphorical calendar location is not September. It’s rather more like November!
I remember in 1966, when I was 21, I was stationed with the U.S. Army in Korea. I bought a stereo, as did many of my GI buddies. Stereo systems were inexpensive and of excellent quality.
Because of my exposure to “Ol’ Blue Eyes” as a youth, I was a Sinatra fan all the way. My dad played Sinatra regularly on our home high-fi system.
In ‘66, I purchased several Sinatra albums at the Post Exchange, including his new album, “September of My Years.” I bombarded my barracks mates with it.
I loved Sinatra’s vocal stylings despite the fact that he was of my father’s generation. True, I viewed him as aged, but I liked him. He was the epitome of “Cool.”
He turned 50 in December 1965. “September of My Years” was released in order to acknowledge that transition. Wow, I thought, he’s 50 and still “do-be-do-be doing!”
I particularly liked “September Song” from that album. It was poignant and haunting. I wondered if I would one day reach my own September? Would I make it to 50?
Well, I blew by that speed bump ages ago.
I now find myself in the “November” of my years, and the calendar’s pages are turning quickly.
Still, I love autumn.
Its precious days invite contemplation.
---
JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.