There was frost the second week of October in Cambusbarron. One of D’s coworkers took some lovely photographs, and we felt both envious and relieved that we have not yet had to resort to myriad layer. Autumn weather here has been ridiculously spoiling – mild sunshine, cloudless skies. T. visited her favorite stand of ginkos at the library, and photographed them to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating the effect of their very yellow leaves, viewed against the bowl of blue… they glow. All of the autumn color this year has just been the best. And, except for the endless raking involved, we’re really enjoying having a maple tree this autumn as well.
And, D. would like to point out, except for the endless sneezing involved with whatever autumnal spore/dust thing is going on, he’s enjoying it, too. (We think it’s the raking.)
Sometime last night, we heard the series of arrhythmic pops that signaled fireworks. We looked at each other in bewilderment — fireworks are generally illegal within city confines, and though it was a foggy night, it has been a fairly warm day. “Bonfire night already?” D asked, and for a moment, that seemed to be a perfectly sensible answer… except, no one here has any antipathy against Guy Fawkes, Catholics, or the memory of such, and the wee neds in this neck of the woods are more likely to be blowing up toilets than setting off bottle rockets.
We chalked it up to a surfeit of high spirits, or, lacking that, someone’s significantly big birthday, and went back to reading. But, when we woke this morning we realized: The Giants won the World Series.
OH.
Sometimes we are amusingly out to lunch.
It’s been a weekend of remembering — we’ve been digging through things we haven’t seen since the beginning of May, after all — but more than that, the relentless reporting of the storm reminded us of what some of the last few years were like in Glasgow. Remember the indelicately named hurricane which received international attention? We remember our first winter — and having to plant a foot against the side of our building to yank the door open with both hands — and then having it flipped out of reach to slam against the building, and then being unable to shut it again. We remember the first building we lived in, swaying, one night. We remember hearing pings as hail hit the lovely stained glass windows in the church where we lived — and T remembers seeing the tops of D’s shoes as he fell down the icy stairs in front of that church.
One year, T stood in the cloisters at the University and leaned into the wind… and leaned some more… and leaned some more… until she was literally supported only by the wind. That was scary-exhilarating. We loved the thunder and lightning and the gale-force… until it dropped the mill building in Cambusbarron. And then we realized what could have happened to us.
And so we’re thinking of our friends back east today. Remembering what it feels like to be safe in a storm, and praying that for them.