ruminations on autumn living

It’s gotten cold at nights, now. So cold that, this evening when I swept our front entrance hall, I hesitated before sweeping a small, skinny spider out into the darkness. I hate spiders, but I figured he (or was it a she?) should at least have a fighting chance. It was braving the cold or the bottom of Kyle’s shoe and I decided that, had it been given the alternative, it would have chosen freedom. The shoe may have been the swifter and more merciful death, however.

We’re in the throws of autumn, here – red, gold and amber on all the trees, and I’ve been feeling a little bit panicky because the leaves seem to be coming off far too quickly this year. It’s unfortunate that my favourite season also happens to be the shortest one – at least the gorgeous part of it. I suppose it continues on for some time with bare, colourless trees and biting wind before winter officially arrives.

I guess I’m feeling guilty because I’ve got all these adorable fall sweaters for Oliver, colourful mittens and matching toque (which are actually too warm to wear by the afternoon) and warm trousers and overalls so that he can play cosily outside, but I never seem to have the time to take him.

Today, when I tried to put him in his pushchair to walk to Starbucks for a quick meeting, he flipped out. He wanted to walk, and not just to Starbucks – he wanted to go where he wanted to go, which was probably Wolsey Hill, a few hundred yards from our place, where he likes to cross the red bridge back and forth, crawl up (and down) the little mound of a hill and collect stones to leave outside the front door. Like most days, though, it wasn’t on our agenda. He had another freak out when we got home, after I caught him trying to escape down the driveway, toward the park, toward freedom, while I occupied myself unlocking the door.

I remember when days were like centuries and the colours of autumn were low on my list of passions. Funny how it’s become the reverse.

Oliver is only 16 ½ months old. We’re still defining our family style – our combined approach to living. I want it to include long afternoons of playing on the swings and the monkey bars, while I sit on a park bench with a hot drink and a book – or maybe a laptop, tapping out my own story. Or maybe baking things back at home, or doing crafts or having friends over to play. What it seems to consist of in reality is me on my computer on one side of the child “friendly” gate and Oliver on the other side, taking the contents of his toy basket and then his book shelf and tossing them over, one by one, the second child “friendly” gate and onto the stairs. It brings to mind a caged animal, in a pet store or zoo.

Perhaps one of these days Oliver will visit the Nilsen kids and live dangerously for awhile. In the meantime, I think I owe him a trip to Wolsey Hill tomorrow – while there are still a few leaves around to throw.