By Susan Fogel
Back in the Old Country, when Labor Day passed and the tourists went back to the heartland, we would return to the beaches of the Monterey Peninsula. And the best part was that the weather was golden, warm and sunny.
Remember that oft repeated quote by Mark Twain:
“The coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco.”? The same holds true for Monterey and Carmel.
But Fall was special at the beach. The days grew shorter and Halloween items started popping up in stores and on doorsteps. The kids were back in school, and our office hours became more regular again. The rush to Christmas was on.
When my Beloved and I arrived here in August 2000, we had no idea how much we would miss Fall. We had no idea how much we would miss the crisping of the air, the turning of the leaves, rain and the smell of wood smoke in the air. We missed Fall.
September is the month I became an aunt for the first time, and I attended a wedding back in the 70s in September, where the bride and groom did not exchange rings, there was no white dress and no words like “husband” and “wife” were allowed. September was the month in 1968 when my first lover left me to drive the “Baja”. I had no idea what the Baja was. And in September 1969, as I returned to my college, the first question everyone asked was: “Did you go to Woodstock?”
But now September sings a different song for us. Today, nearly three weeks into September, Fall is almost officially here. The mornings are cooler, dark comes earlier, the threat of a big hurricane hitting increases, and the Malecon is still decked out in streamers of red, green, and white. We sometimes emerge from hibernating in our air conditioned homes. The tourists and snowbirds are starting to return. Social activities pick up, and planning committees for charity events are meeting.
Once Independence Day on the 16th of September passes, Halloween and Day of the Dead items cohabitate on store shelves. The back to school rush is over. Groups of school kids in their plaid uniforms mingle and lounge on the Malecon.
Change is in the air, I always have a sense of expectation and a sense of time rushing by. And as the song says, “…the days dwindle down to a precious few…” The year is ending, holidays are approaching.
Do you know where this is in La Paz