Autumn in New [England]

Yesterday and today I took afternoon walks ("constitutionals," as the old folks say these days) on the minuteman bike path that reopened my eyes to the beauty that is fall in New England. This isn't to say that I'm just one wood cabin away from writing Walden: The Sequel. Not at all. I still love you, television. But really, Autumn. It's never been my favorite season for reasons I can't justify. Something about this time of year has always put me in a funk. My dad says it might have something to do with a discordance between the lunar and solar calendars. Any explanation past that is over my head. (Actually, that explanation is already over my head.)

Funkiness aside, the beauty of the season is undeniable. Even the name, Autumn. It's like butterscotch. And I love how the stress shifts from the first syllable to the second when the noun becomes an adjective. Autumn to autumnal. Although, I feel like Will Ferrel in his "loovvaaas" character would say, "autumn" to refer to the season.

In case you are not familiar:

Here sit the lovvaas in the hottub

Something about the imminent cold and blusteries outside seems to awaken my inner warm and fuzzies. I want to spend a day in Concord or go reaal crazy and hike out to Salem for a scare or kiss Plymouth Rock (oh, wait. I was thinking of the Blarney Stone. Common Mistake.) Maybe I'll even take a weekend trip to Sturbridge Village. Okay, no I probably won't. But maybe I'll talk about it as a possibility if someone asks me what my weekend plans are.

The advent of Halloween makes me want to go somewhere where I can pretend that the times we're living in aren't nuclear or digital, they're colonial. (So types the girl on her laptop as she microwaves a bag of popcorn.)

Unfortunately, I think this sudden seasonal enthusiasm and desire for simpler times seeped into my baking this evening. I lit a "pumpkin spice" candle and  decided I was going to make pumpkin sugar cookies from scratch. "I'll just eye it, like I did in highschool," I said foolishly.

Whoever said that baking is a science might be right. Whoever said that eggs are a necessary ingredient in cookies is definitely correct. Whoops. The cookies were on minute 4 of 15 when I had my epiphany. I was about to warn my sister about eating the raw left over dough because of the salmonella and then I realized, warning not necessary. Whoops. The result was like a crunchy, sugary, butter. (If you must know, I ate three.)

Like a rock.

Happy autumny'all. I don't care if that doesn't work.
(I'm too busy still trying to make "fetch" happen.)