Here we are again. It's October. Halloween season. Election season.
Tough to say which is scarier, really.
For me, October is where I rely on other people to tell me the leaves are beautifully changing colors, because I'm color-blind. October is where I break out the comfy jacket to go along with the long sleeves I've been wearing for as much of the summer as I could tolerate. October is where I start thinking about plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and in doing so, realize I've once again forgotten my mother's birthday.
For this blog, October is always a time of anticipation and storytelling. There are conventions. There was even a Renaissance Faire, that one time. But more than anything else, October is home. Not for me, but for my absent blogging buddy, Alex. A few years back, he wrote about this time of year—"The October Country," as Ray Bradbury called it—and ever since, I haven't been able to think about it any other way.
Even though this country is the next one over from the one I call home.
Personally, I'm holding out for the turkey and mistletoe. I've always preferred hockey over football, sleigh rides over hayrides, and Classic Holiday Movie over The One Where Stupid Kids Get Killed Stupidly Because They're Stupid IV: This Time, With More Knives. Yet the earnest enthusiasm that Alex, my wife, and others have for this season starts to rub off after a while, and I find myself starting to appreciate aspects of this month that I previously thought little about or avoided altogether. I think, especially right now, October is good for my health.
I could use a change of season. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, I could use a change of season. Fresh faces, fresh side projects, fresh air—fresh baked goods would do nicely, too, but I won't beg. This creature of habit is longing for a break from his routine, which means I need a change of season.
Even if it's nothing more than an excuse to finally watch Bubba Ho-tep this year, I'm looking forward to this trip through October Country.