Earlier this week, when Allison asked about the title of a song (and--shocking!--I couldn't locate the answer in my cranial file cabinet), my eyes and hands returned to once-familiar territory--our dusty and fairly massive collection of CDs. Running my fingers along the edges of those CD cases, I felt a great longing for the many years I'd spent deejaying my way through our musical library.
As much as I love iTunes and the ability to buy the one good song off of a new release, I realized how much I miss all those other hidden jewels waiting patiently on grooved discs of hope.
Fall is the perfect season for reflection and nostalgia. Ever since the autumnal equinox made it official, most of us (at least, most of my Midwestern brethren) have begun scouring the 5-day forecast, dreaming of the first 40-degree low so that we can again don blankets and flannels, socks and shoes. And, as I ponder this week's menu, I'm half tempted this morning to add a few soups and quick breads to the list, just to push the point a bit.
And, even if our new-found focus is on "silly" things like crock pots and lined pants, this cyclical impulse is nothing to be taken lightly. To deny our urge for three-bean chili, closed-toed shoes or a functioning CD player is downright foolish, like no longer caring if we fully empty our bladders or build up our retirement funds. And Midwesterners, if nothing else, are genetically practical people.
Thank God.
Heaven help us if our collective memories ever fail us. If we wake one morning unable to recall the magical crunch of fallen leaves underfoot or the crackling pleasure of initiating the fireplace once again. We will be truly lost if we ever shove aside our ancient desires to slow down and nest, to turn our focus inward, where long neglected family members and music collections await us. Woe to us if we choose to ignore the quiet walking trails and crisp air awaiting us just outside our well-insulated walls.
Today is a perfect time to explore "out there," to reacquaint ourselves with the patient worlds of crockery and fleece, sleepy crickets and low-slung clouds quietly signaling change.
How grateful I am that Allison loves the music from "Cider House Rules." And how apt that something with the word "cider" in it again draws me towards an ancient cycling where all things old are made new again.
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