Autumn Leavings

Our children gave us a gift for our fourtieth anniversary...it was an official family photography session. Our anniversary is in February, but it took us until mid-October to finally do the deed. The photographer had us meet at a local park (Clinton Reserve) at "golden hour" -- that time of day where the sun is moving down in the evening sky and everything looks magical. My daughter and three daughters-in-love commiserated and planned for months about what we were all going to wear. A color scheme was shared, "fall" colors of course. My complexion looks like the day of the dead when I wear those colors. I remember, in my past, a brown prom dress, gorgeously hand-made by my skilled Mama. I put it on and my face turned a shade of light chartreuse. Then there was an orange silk blouse, a hunter green wool sweater, a yellow bathing suit. Sad chapters in my clothing life, though I didn't understand why they didn't work. Then some brilliant person woke up in the 1980s and started giving parties where they draped you in your "colors" -- they sold you makeup and gave you a customized little color palette that fit neatly into your purse. Color Me Beautiful was the rage and we all figured out whether we were a Summer, Winter, Spring or Fall. I was a Summer, which included all the colors of the sunset that I already loved -- shades of pink, purple, blue, creamy white (not white-white), reds (with a blue undertone, not cherry, mind you), never black, but navy was amazing. All the planets aligned and I saw the fashion universe in a whole new light. I knew that I looked like a frump in that green sweater, and now I knew why. For the record, I often cheat and wear other season's colors. I've never liked to just stay in my lane, but then again, hunter green on me might deserve incarceration.  

So back to photos...I had had months to think about an outfit, and all I could come up with was some sort of denim. But my denim jacket has really tight arms and makes me claustrophobic. Two days before the big day, I strolled into Walmart for milk or something, when I happened upon a packed-out double rack of dresses and tops. When did prairie dresses come back on the scene? Because I already did that, back in the 70s, and it didn't turn out so well. Back then, we had a hippie moment and then everything suddenly went sporty. I missed the 80s, because I was getting married and raising four kids and didn't care one lick about current music, fashion or trends. I stuck to Beethoven, Dan Fogelberg and Chicago, blue jeans and t-shirts and that worked out fine for me while my main priorities were diapers and nursing babies. I blinked, they were grown, and I'm still trying to catch up. So here's this rack of clothes and I had to admit they were kind-of adorable. I didn't want to deal with the sweaty, sticky job of dressing and undressing in Walmart, so I bought two dresses and two tops and took them home to try on. I felt real fancy doing that, like one of my old rich friends used to do. Except she was shopping somewhere much more dignified than Walmart. Either way, I was pleasantly shocked that the dresses fit nice and were really cheap. I might have also figured out that I no longer have a waist, so you just kind-of make one up and that seems to work. The tops didn't fit, so I took them back the next day. The whole rack of clothes had sold out, except for one top, which was just my size. What is Walmart thinking? Cheap and cute clothes?

So for the photo session I wore the blue dress, and Papa Bear decided at the last minute to wear his overalls. He was hunkier than the Marlboro man. It was heaven, because all of our perfect grandchildren were there, along with their gorgeous, though imperfect, parents. The photographer was brilliant, coaxing all sorts of love and giggles out of everyone. Then we retired to Jon and Nakitta's house, where she had made several delectable soups. We all brought side dishes, and after stuffing ourselves, there was a bonfire, s'mores and we cut designs on our pumpkins. It was as perfect a night as I could ever imagine.  

Nights like that are like a glowing sphere in my mind (maybe it was the jack-o-lanterns, maybe it was the bonfire, but it was probably those people). They don't happen every day or we'd not appreciate them. I sat my big pumpkin, with vines carved all over it, along with Maddie and Caiden's (they're living here, with their parents, while they build their new house), on the front porch. It took two weeks before they succumbed to the elements. One of the guys threw them away yesterday, leaving a trace of moldy gourd on the porch rug. Rotten pumpkins are just tragic, no matter how much you try to puzzle through their demise. I've smiled and had warm thoughts each time I've passed that spot on the rug (you'd think I could get a warm, soapy rag and clean the mess up, but I digress...), just thinking about that lovely day that we had together and blessing God for His mercies and gifts that have nothing to do with what I really deserve. When I opened the stunning pictures from the email I was sent, I boohooed. I'm so happy that this world is not all there is...but sometimes God pulls back the curtain just enough to let us see a bit of heaven.