This is how I know autumn has truly arrived:
As I write this, the husband is in the front yard planting red mums. The sedum is blooming. I have just planted yellow and purple ones in the back. There is a fat pumpkin waiting to be carved and a flat of pansies waiting to be planted. I am waiting on caramel to melt for the honeycrisp apples that will serve as dessert tonight at the football game. Meatpies, the ballgame entree, are about to go into the oven. My baby, who cheered for four years at the stadium we will be sitting in is now a senior in college. She is on her way home to watch her cousin Trey play for the Chieftains, as his brother Jon, did before him.
Soon the band will be warming up and the announcer will be doing his "testing 1,2,3.."
Much is as it has been for many autumns.
Other things are different. Some of the faces change, some are perennial.
Some of the colors, at least at our house, are different this year.
The grandbaby insisted upon yellow mums. I tried to talk her into purple. I have always favored purple. "I thought purple was your new favorite color," I said to her.
"I weely, weely , want yewwow," said she, hence the yellow pansies, along with yellow mums for the back yard this year. She also picked out a purple mum. The rabid LSU fans in our family would approve. The Boomer Sooners will be fine about it, since the front is sporting crimson.
Letter to My Birthday Girl: 8 Years Old
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