October!

As anyone who knows me can attest to, I am a freak about holidays.

For instance, the first cold night of October (NEVER before), I make my special chili and either cornbread or garlic bread.  I buy a new bottle of wine I’ve never tried.  I open all the windows.  I bring in the autumn decorations, both literally and figuratively, and spend the evening watching a Halloween show, cooking, and decorating.  It’s arguably my favorite night of the year.

I’ve never understood how people can lose sight of the magic still left in this world.  How they can become so blind to the beauty, whether it be fire colored autumn leaves, sweet spring breezes, or the sun reflecting off the swimming pool water in the summer.  Life is beautiful.

What a view.

I’m almost five months into working for myself, and though the road has been arduous and at times treacherous, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

(I actually get depressed when I think of ever going into an office again.  I’ll take that as a sign)

I love spending my days at my own desk, writing blogs or planning social media attacks or addressing envelopes.  I love taking breaks to pet Walden or make some tea coffee (who am I kidding, if it’s not whiskey, it’s coffee).  I love having the freedom to come and go as I please, which means my newly-retired grandmother has fashioned a list of things we can go do together.  She’s paying for my gas while I drive her to doctor’s appointments, I’m taking her to new restaurants so she can experience new things.  So far, it’s working well.

Halloween is coming quickly, and since giving Comcast another try at providing me television I’ve been watching the shit out of some Halloween episodes on the Food Network.  I’m going to the Little 5 Points Halloween Parade on Saturday, which is always crazy awesome.  I should get a pumpkin at some point, too, which means I’ll go for a medium sized orange fellow and leave with 2 large pumpkins, 3 small ones, and an array of various gourds, baby pumpkins, and other autumnal items.  I can’t resist.

omg Halloween magazines!

And, finally, with autumn comes change, a new chance to begin.  I’m all about that.  I’ve improved my Facebook page (which everyone should visit and Like, btw).  I’m planning out my blogs in advance in case I get lazy (let’s be real, I totally will get lazy and forget to post).  I’m making plans with mom and nanna to go apple picking and scenic railroad riding.

Let’s make this the best autumn yet.

I think this is older than I am…I got lots of my Halloween decorations from Nanna’s house.

Sunday Church

I had brunch with an old friend today, and talk turned to church (it was Sunday, after all).  As neither of us are particularly traditional folk, waking up for church every Sunday isn’t high on our list of priorities. 

But then we started thinking…what is “church” anyway?  It’s a gathering together of like-minded people to share time with each other.

My friend’s church: hiking through Amicalola Falls, viewing nature in its purest form, the snow still coating branches and forest floors, with friends who equally appreciated the activity.

Going to an excellent live show, where the musicians are on and the crowd is connected and you can feel everyone else in the room.

Spending time with family, recounting stories and laughing late into the night.

As for me, I haven’t figured out my church yet.  But as the last strains of A Prairie Home Companion drifted through my speakers, I found myself singing along to their last song, a tribute to George Beverly Shea.

Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder consider all the worlds thy hands have made…then sings my soul, my savior God to thee.

It was the part of traditional Baptist church I’ve always loved…the good old hymns.  It’s all about what brings you closer to what you deem most important…I feel these songs.  And I sang with the audience, and I remembered every word.

Moonlight Through the Pines

It’s a late hour, so please forgive the possible ramblings that might appear forthwith.

Let me begin by saying, I am a Southerner.  I was born here, raised here, and will, by the grace of God, die here.  My family has been Southern for 200-some odd years.  Hell, my ancestors founded one of the most Southern town in South Carolina.  I have roots here.  It’s in my blood.

Which makes working for a Yankee pretty damn hard.  We don’t see things the same way.  We don’t speak the same way.  We don’t communicate with people in the same way.  And lately, it’s been getting me down.  It’s trying.

However, this evening, while in the shower (where most pep talks seem to occur), it came to me.  I’m not leaving this job.  I’m sticking it out, no matter how much it makes me cry and how much wine I want to drink at the end of each day.  I will not quit.  I will not give up.  Does the magnolia break apart in the hurricane?  No…she stands tall, her branches strong and hard.  I can handle these two Yankees and their northern attitudes.  They’re on my turf.  And if I have to act like a crude, loud, and rude Yankee to stake my place in this company, so be it.  I will be northern during the day; I will drink Tennessee whiskey and let my accent come through at night.  I will sleep soundly, knowing I did everything I could do, and in the morning, I will get up and face the new day again.

The South might not rise again, but I certainly will.