Meditations on a month in time called October
Published 10/18/05
It was a fall weekend worth framing. And by the end of this week, central Indiana, according to one forecaster, would to see “a tranquil pattern of unseasonable weather for the foreseeable future.” His foreseeable future included some upper 70s and lower 80s! If that’s not breaking news, I’m not a weakly columnist in search of a subject.
Last week it was a real temptation to walk through the house, lock down the windows and hoard the heat, what with the coming of the cold and fuel bills of apocalyptic proportions. But the heating bill collector be damned, I have thrown up the sashes to let Indian summer in. To revel in the clean autumn air.
One of the great ironies of this time of year is that it’s often warmer outside than it is inside. Sometimes, on what feels like a cool morning, you can just go to the window and tap in to the free warmth from on high instead of flipping on the thermostat. By mid October, each and every warm, blue-sky day is a gift from The Man. And another chance to stick it to The Other Man, The Owner of the Oil, whoever he is. No doubt his house will radiate this winter.
But is this really Indian summer or just Indiana fall? I won’t debate that with the almanac experts. But it is interesting to note the origins of the term “Indian summer.” A Web site called World Wide Words says that it probably originated with the early colonists who used the term “Indian” to describe something that they thought was a poor imitation of the real thing, hence, “Indian corn,” “Indian tea” and “Indian summer.” OK, so the settlers weren’t the most culturally sensitive people on the face of the New World. If anything, the beauty, the wonder and the surprise of the phenomenon known as Indian summer should restore new meaning to the term. Can you experience an Indian summer in Indiana and call it a fraud?
There’s something weird about “October.” I don’t mean the month, I mean the word. It’s an “oct” word, like octagon, octave and octopus and other words deriving from a Latin root word, meaning “eight.” In fact, October means “eighth month.” Not on my calendar. But apparently it was on the Roman calendar.
To me, October has an otherworldly dimension about it. And not just because of college football, the World Series, Halloween or an album by U2.
October in my life has been a period of new deals, re-arrangements and start-overs. I said “I do” in October—and I do celebrate the event every October 18. Every new job offer I’ve accepted has happened in the month of October. Yo!
Of course, October can also be ominous. Particularly for those who dread winter. In a time of climactic weather changes, it may be the calm before the storm. Like this October, it may be warm days sent to savor. It may be time to stock up for what’s on the horizon. A time to bring in the harvest not to mention the lawn chairs and the hammock.
Does everybody know what time it is? No, it’s not tool time. It’s borrowed time.
It was a fall weekend worth framing. And by the end of this week, central Indiana, according to one forecaster, would to see “a tranquil pattern of unseasonable weather for the foreseeable future.” His foreseeable future included some upper 70s and lower 80s! If that’s not breaking news, I’m not a weakly columnist in search of a subject.
Last week it was a real temptation to walk through the house, lock down the windows and hoard the heat, what with the coming of the cold and fuel bills of apocalyptic proportions. But the heating bill collector be damned, I have thrown up the sashes to let Indian summer in. To revel in the clean autumn air.
One of the great ironies of this time of year is that it’s often warmer outside than it is inside. Sometimes, on what feels like a cool morning, you can just go to the window and tap in to the free warmth from on high instead of flipping on the thermostat. By mid October, each and every warm, blue-sky day is a gift from The Man. And another chance to stick it to The Other Man, The Owner of the Oil, whoever he is. No doubt his house will radiate this winter.
But is this really Indian summer or just Indiana fall? I won’t debate that with the almanac experts. But it is interesting to note the origins of the term “Indian summer.” A Web site called World Wide Words says that it probably originated with the early colonists who used the term “Indian” to describe something that they thought was a poor imitation of the real thing, hence, “Indian corn,” “Indian tea” and “Indian summer.” OK, so the settlers weren’t the most culturally sensitive people on the face of the New World. If anything, the beauty, the wonder and the surprise of the phenomenon known as Indian summer should restore new meaning to the term. Can you experience an Indian summer in Indiana and call it a fraud?
There’s something weird about “October.” I don’t mean the month, I mean the word. It’s an “oct” word, like octagon, octave and octopus and other words deriving from a Latin root word, meaning “eight.” In fact, October means “eighth month.” Not on my calendar. But apparently it was on the Roman calendar.
To me, October has an otherworldly dimension about it. And not just because of college football, the World Series, Halloween or an album by U2.
October in my life has been a period of new deals, re-arrangements and start-overs. I said “I do” in October—and I do celebrate the event every October 18. Every new job offer I’ve accepted has happened in the month of October. Yo!
Of course, October can also be ominous. Particularly for those who dread winter. In a time of climactic weather changes, it may be the calm before the storm. Like this October, it may be warm days sent to savor. It may be time to stock up for what’s on the horizon. A time to bring in the harvest not to mention the lawn chairs and the hammock.
Does everybody know what time it is? No, it’s not tool time. It’s borrowed time.
posted by Jack W. Williams | 7:53 PM
2 Comments:
Freakin' narcissist Caesar! Had to go and add July and August and screw everything up!
All I know is, this is the time of year when I can slosh down teeming-tall glasses of apple cider and breathe easy on lungs full of pollen-free Oxygen.
I hate the cold of winter. The slush can go too. Dirty snow is always that unpleasant certainty we face after the "pure as the driven" blanket mates with the mud below.
Winter is just messy.
Cold and messy.
Keep it.
But I do like the apple cider and I have the feeling that the greatness of spring wouldn't seem so great if I hadn't just been depressed for 6 months before.
Bottoms up!
Cheers!
Luke
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