I love autumn. Love love love it. Spring may mean renewal for some but for me, it is autumn. The smell of the air, the clothes and the colors. One way I know that autumn is on its way is that my birthday rolls around. A couple of days ago I turned 29 again. (38 in the real world) Apparently there was quite a bit of confusion when the boys were putting the candles on my cake. Angus looked at his father and said: “Mommy was Twenty Eight last year? I thought she was Twenty Nine.” The age thing started as a joke and I will have to set the boys straight. I love the age I am.
One of my local yarn shops gives a birthday discount. Shop within a week of your birthday and get half your age as the percentage discounted off your purchase.
The third week in August is a season all on its own in our household. As I said the 22nd was my birthday and next week is our wedding Anniversary. It is a time of assessment, reflection and excitement. There is of course the celebratory excitement and there is also the excitement of the upcoming change in season and the possibility it offers. There is also the excitement of having the kids out of the house and into to the yard more as it is really too hot and humid for them to be outside as much as they like during the summers here. Scavenger hunts, playing tag and general boyishness.
The lure of autumn seems to bring out the nesting instinct in our household, at least with the adults. We are cleaning out, hiring movers to rearrange the furniture in the house (we have some very large, heavy pieces), looking at paint colors and I have completely redecorated the house (at least in my head). Autumn crops are being planned, canning has been done with more to come. Some chutney was put up, which should be ready in the middle of November bringing the lovely tastes of summer to a leafless and chilly landscape. Recipes are being consulted and the pantry is being stocked. French canning jars were ordered. The biggest project currently is turning the sewing and knitting laboratory back into a tidy and usable space. My mind is reeling with projects and possibilities that a tidy well stocked space affords me.
Meet Mr. Figgy. He is only a two year old and I thought I had killed him last winter. Clearly I misjudged the situation. A good number of the figs are headed for this Nigella’s Figs in Rum Syrup. (Found in this book.)
Thank you for all your lovely comments about the log cabin blanket. Truly appreciated. Mwahh!