Chugging Along

Ah, another Monday down.

It's reassuring that there are indeed a finite number of Mondays in one's work life.

I am keeping, more or less, to my Christmas knitting schedule. I've worked on the family items tonight while listening to Fr. Corapi (as is usual, more orthodox than I, but I love him -- though he doesn't sound like his photo!). He's funny in a wryly sarcastic way I totally get on board with, he's self-deprecating, and very interesting. I love his ultra-emphatic style, and even where I disagree with him, I appreciate him.

I feel similarly about Fr. Groeschel, though his presentation is so different. He's so quiet and gentle and soft-spoken, and again more orthodox than I, but I love listening to him. He radiates the kind of peace and joy combined with intelligence that I have so often admired in religious.

Anyway, back to the knitting. The family items continue. I need to go do my requisite two repeats on the red Irish Hiking Scarf, and I need to work on the little things for my work group. They shouldn't take too long and I might just try to churn them out in a weekend, although pacing myself does seem to be the key to avoiding screwups of massive proportions.

Fall is gloriously here. I do get tired of people who say California has no seasons -- of course it does, and you might want to check in with places like Redding* and Sonora**, which go into triple digits in the summer and have snow in the winter. But even in coastal California, all you need are your basic senses to tell the seasons.

Now, the light is slanted low during the day, much more golden than in other seasons. There is a warmth in the air that is also different -- it's definitely not cool yet (consistently), but it's almost as if you can feel the dying embers, the last burst of heat for the year. It's a cozier warmth than the heat of August... which I realize is much more moderate than in many places, but even so.

And there's something else... Perhaps you have to be from here, or have lived here for years, to feel it. It's a sort of deep-seated, quietly moving nostalgia that the slanting light and departing warmth instill in me. I love the fall.

* The Sundial Bridge, pictured on this page, is very cool.
** I went to Sonora the first weekend my ex-husband lived in CA, as well as on our honeymoon, and therefore I have some bittersweet memories of the place. But it's also the first place I ever saw snow, when I was ten.