It's September 1.
Time to make it a September to remember.
Labor Day weekend is upon us. It was strangely quiet in the Booze Emporium yesterday. Typically on the Friday of a three day weekend, hordes of booze lovers assault the store and plunder the shelves skipping merrily up and down the aisles singing Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead.
Yesterday was relatively quiet.
Maybe it's the economy. I don't know a lot of people with money to blow. Of course I hang around exclusively with lovable losers and no account boozers.
Maybe it is the horrible stench of the New Hampshire State Liquor commission wafting out the door that drives people away.
Maybe people have opted to make this weekend contemplative and spiritual rather than inebriated and combative.
Summer is officially over. In my life it is technically over as well.
Summer: July 1 - August 31. Winter: September 1 - June 30. That's how I see the two New England seasons.
A lot of people get hyped up at this time of year. Pumped full of energy and intentions. Makes Lowe's very happy.
I see the logic. As much as I worship warmth, it is easier to move around at this time of year. And you get motivated by a sense of frenzy because you know that soon all you will be doing is shovelling snow and sliding to work.
I am a sensualist. The colors that explode upon us as leaves die is a remarkable thing. You can walk out the door and stand still in your own yard and feel as if you are part of an interactive art exhibit. You become part of the painting. Standing in awe at the base of sturdy trees, hungrily absorbing the beauty with your eyes and your soul, watching the trees sway, listening to the leaves rustle, feeling a cool and gentle wind cross your skin, mourning the leaves that fall ever so gently to the ground.
They do indeed go gentle into that good night.
I once wrote a poem about trees. It was horrific. It shall never see the light of day. But part of it dealt with the concept of the trees letting go of their leaves as if they are letting go of their children.
Do they mourn this or celebrate it?
I wish to hell I was a tree. I could handle life a lot better.
This time of year holds the promise of the holidays.
Memorial Day, July 4th, Labor Day in a sense are false respite. People feel compelled to get out there and BARBECUE. Eat, drink, run, fun, sun. They know the season is short and that we Americans do not even get close to having enough time off. Desperate relaxation.
Christmas and Thanksgiving reign supreme.
Especially Thanksgiving. I sit at the dinner table on Thanksgiving and look at my long suffering and beautiful wife, my magnificent sons, the magic and mystical women my sons have brought into my life, and on very special occasions, my brother, and I am blown away. There was no running around, no buying and wrapping of presents, no overextended budgets.
Just a family dinner and football for the sake of the sweet spirituality of being a family. Celebrating and enjoying it.
Christmas is magnificent and again, as a sensualist, I dig the lights, the candles, the aroma. Not as pure as Thanksgiving because of retail overkill, but the players are the same and the beauty persists.
New Year's Eve is contemplative for me. I have been a drunken fool many times over on that night, but it carries a different feel for me now.
A year is ending. A year is beginning. I prefer to experience it alertly. This of course is not to say I won't crazygonuts again on New Year's Eves to come. I am drawn to insanity. But overall I enjoy spending it with Carol quietly. This magical, mystical woman who has celebrated thirty four New Year's Eves with me in marriage.
New Year's Day. My birthday.
I love having my birthday on January 1. It is perfectly placed to allow me to sit back and review my life. How did last year shape up? What will I do to improve my life this year?
I used to spend every birthday horribly hung over. Now I am peaceful and contemplative.
I seized my birthday back last year. I never pushed to celebrate it on The Day because I knew everybody was tired, hung over, beat up and beat down. What started to happen was that it didn't get celebrated at all.
Unacceptable. I am 58. I will celebrate my life at every opportunity.
So last year, on New Year's Day, we held the first annual Joe Testa Open House and Birthday Bash. It was minimally attended due to lack of advertising and a short notification time frame, but it was tasty, laid back and laugh filled. I loved it.
January 1, 2013 will mark the second annual Joe Testa Open House and Birthday Bash.
I look forward to it.
2013 begins Year Three of The Trying. I have been beat around pretty good as I strived to grab a hold of my life and control its direction over the last two years. Ups and downs, possibilities born, possibilities killed.
I will be reflecting long and hard on 01/01/13. But doing that in the company of family and friends will polish the surface, make it shine and give me light to inspire my way.
In my long winded way I have tried to convey to you that this time of year does indeed hold beauty and hope and promise.
But I will take it one step at a time. I will quite seriously try to make it a September to remember.
Have a great weekend, folks.
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