September

Yesterday when I was in the car with the Old Coach and his friend, they reminisced about the experience of watching reel-to-reel movies--how the films sometimes caught on fire and so you'd be looking at this lovely frame when suddenly a corner started to bubble and burn like an oil slick.  So then the projectionist would shut it all down until the problem got fixed.

I feel a little this way about my brain in September.  I had a lovely e-mail from Lisa B yesterday, asking if I was enjoying this incredible weather or if the Little Black Dog was already trotting onto the scene.

Or both.

The answer is both.

The light this morning, people!   Is there any way to describe a garden bursting with nasturtiums and anemones and potato vines bathed in amber?  No.   I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the world and of all the people I love in this world right now.

But there's also the bubbling in the corner of my brain--the old sadness announcing its encore performance.  I wish I weren't wired this way.

On the plus side, though!  A low dose of Celexa and a lot of exercise work wonders for me.  And I have a lot of experience with this now, so I know how to manage.  I'm also lucky--truly lucky--because my seasons of sadness are not debilitating.   At all.

Meanwhile, my son and his wife and their exquisite child are visiting from Houston.  And I am doing a little canning today and will perhaps ride a horse this afternoon.  All of these are pleasures to be had when September comes to visit.