According to the calendar, summer doesn’t end until the autumnal equinox about three weeks into September, but Labor Day Weekend always feels like the fiscal end of summer, even if I no longer measure the year according to school vacations, as I did when I was a child, and as many do who have children now.

In our neighborhood, the school children disappeared from the streets in mid-August, which seems unusually early, but they also get out in late May. I’m not sure why. All I know is that the beginning of their school year brought an end to the sound of laughter as they chased each other around the neighborhood on impossibly small bicycles, stopping to greet my dogs if we happened to walk down the block where they were congregating that day.

Soon, I know, other endings will come: the end of hot, sunny weather, the end of leafy green trees, the end of nearly infinite twilight, and the end of an undecorated park, because there are no holidays between Independence Day and Labor Day for the Homeowners’ Association to celebrate with kitschy ornaments and seasonally colored twinkle lights.

While summer may be over, however I don’t see fall as any kind of ending. I find renewal in the turning of the leaves, refreshment in the cooler weather, inspiration in the earlier nightfall, and comfort in cozy evening spent at home, dressed in pajamas and fluffy slippers, and sipping tea or hot cider, while a fire crackles, and soup simmers in the crockpot.

Summer is not soup weather.
Summer is for salads.

If fall is an end to anything, it is the end of the time when I happily choose salads over warmer, more substantial foods. Bring on the pot pies and meatloaf – I’m ready for meals that require two utensils, instead of merely one.

So, while this weekend may be the end of summer in some senses, it is not the end of summer clothing, iced espresso drinks, or pink hair. I drink iced espresso throughout the year, summer clothing and winter clothing overlap greatly in our climate, and the pink hair is here to stay for a while, because it also signifies an end, and a beginning.

The end of stagnation.
The beginning of creative freedom, and personal fulfillment.

The end of summer.
But not “The End.”

September:

The morrow was a bright September morn;
The earth was beautiful as if newborn;
There was nameless splendor everywhere,
That wild exhilaration in the air,
Which makes the passers in the city street
Congratulate each other as they meet.
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sleep: I went to bed before midnight last night and, except for a brief time awake when Fuzzy came to bed around 3:30, slept through til eight, then stayed in bed til nine. My head feels less spinny, my brain more focused. I don’t feel like I was skimping on sleep this past week, but perhaps I just wasn’t sleeping well.

Salon: Today I go to get my har re-pinked, and the bangs cut, but I don’t think I’m going to have her trim any length from the rest, except perhaps to keep it healthy. I’m ready for long hair again, with fall coming.

Sugar: I meant to make chocolate chip cookies last night, then decided I was far too dizzy and disoriented to be dealing with measuring and hot ovens. Perhaps I’ll make some this morning. I wonder if we have any parchment. A piece of parchment on top of the cookie sheet keeps the bottoms from burning, while the tops are browning.

Shakespeare: I caught a bit of last year’s version of As You Like It on cable last night, and have the showing tomorrow morning set to record. I like the concept of using 19th century dress for it, but while I understand that Branagh probably had all the actors affect English accents so that the accents all “matched,” I really dislike it when Americans use fake British accents for Shakespeare. It’s silly. It’s also wrong, since Shakespearian English actually sounds more like certain pocket accents in the Appalachians than it does modern British pronunciation. Repeat after me, Bryce Dallas Howard: I do not have to be English to do Shakespeare. (I enjoyed, btw, the performance of David Oyelowo, who played Orlando. Also, he’s seriously nice eye-candy, as is Adrian Lester, who played Oliver.

Stage: I’m on stage at ComedySportz tonight. Likely to be my last show for a while, as September is a weird month for us. I wish I could say I’m looking forward to it, but right this moment, I’m really not. I’m sure that will change as the day progresses, however.

All day I’ve felt spacey and spinny, as if I’m sitting on Roller Coaster Furniture – the kind that feels like it’s undulating beneath you until you realize that no, the furniture is stable and it’s just a trick of your brain making you feel as though you’re cresting hills and rocketing into valleys, and then skating along a smooth surface.

I ate lunch, and I just had a snack, so I don’t think this is being caused by anything caloric or nutritional. I don’t even feel bad, exactly, as much as I feel odd. Disoriented. Disconnected. If my ears hurt I’d suspect that I had an inner ear infection, but they don’t, and I don’t have any discernible pressure anywhere in my head.

My eyes are heavy as though I needed sleep, however, and even though it’s 90 degrees outside, I’ve been freezing all day.

If I didn’t have things to do, I wouldn’t mind the spinning feeling, but since I do, it’s a bit frustrating.

It’s mid-afternoon…

Rana shared this link in her blog.

http://www9.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/wildcamafrica/, and I’ve quickly become addicted to it.

It’s a live feed from the webcam at a watering hole in an African game preserve.

Check it out.

Appetizer
Who is the easiest person for you to talk to?

It depends on the subject. Fuzzy, sometimes, my mother, others, specific friends for specific things.

Soup
If you could live in any ancient city during the height of the quality of its society and culture, which one would you choose?
Venice. Or Rome. I like the architecture, and Italy speaks to me almost as much as France does, but in different ways.

Salad
What is the most exciting event you’ve ever witnessed?
It really depends on the definition of “exciting.” I was less then fifteen feet away from a student who was gunned down on my high school campus when it happened, which was exciting in a bad way. I ran into Richard Lewis in a cafe in Greenwich Village once, and he invited me and the friend I was with to share his table (largely because we all got there at the same time, and there was no other space). I’ve stood in a doorway and watched plate-glass windows gently crumble one after another during an earthquake, and I’ve had a couple of people (authors, composers) comment on my blog.

Main Course
If you were a celebrity, what would you do for a publicity stunt?
Pink Creative Zen Stones with my website listed on them for everyone. Or I’d convince a busy Starbucks to let me pull shots for them for a few hours.

Dessert
What do you consider the ideal age to have a first child?
I’m 37 and have yet to have a child, so I’m not the best person to answer this. I think it’s not so much a matter of age as stability though. I think the ideal time to have a child is when you and your partner have had enough years in your relationship that you’ve worked through really grim times, and come out stronger, and are financially stable enough for one of you to take a significant amount of time from work, and when you’ve both decided you’re ready. And if you’re a single person wanting a child, you need to have worked out the grim times within yourself, and have some kind of support system, because you will need one.

When I’m writing, even if it’s just a piece of flash-fiction, I have to know where a character lives. Or at least where she spends her time. I know that my barista character lives above her cafe, in an apartment with exposed brick walls, a Franklin stove and 19th Century furniture, all of which was rescued from estate sales, garage sales, and old lady aunties.

I know that Kat, the OFC in the ST:TNG fanfic I’m writing has a desk a lot like my actual desk – glass and brushed steel, very clean lines, and that her kitchen is all shiny black and cobalt blue, and that she likes to be barefoot on plush carpeting.

I know that Zoe (named after a character in a movie I saw in college), the lead in my first NaNo novel, Illusions of Motion that I really should edit, lives in a bungalow with hardwood floors, and lots of cabana stripes and teakwood, and that her favorite mug is purple with stylized daisies and fits the curve of her hand in just the right way, and that her lover, Joren the jazz musician (named after a guy I knew in junior high school) has a ratan rug in his studio, because the texture of the fibers under his feet inspires him to always move with the music.

Having this mental set dressing, knowing the space they inhabit, is as important when I’m getting a feel for a character, as when I’m describing their clothes or their facial expression, or figuring out their tone of voice.

It’s also kind of fun.

Earlier this year, as Fuzzy and I were preparing for our two week sojourn in the midwest, I got a call from a cousin I never knew I had, inviting us to a competing family reunion, two weeks after, in Pennsylvania. Unlike my great-aunt’s 90th, this reunion would have involved a visit to the town where my grandfather and his sisters and brothers actually grew up.

I knew, almost from the moment he called, that we wouldn’t be able to attend my cousin’s event – the timing was just bad – but I started looking at Pennsylvania bed and breakfast websites, and directories of expensive hotels. I don’t camp, but I love the personal service of B&B’s and I have a great affection for froufrou hotels. Either one will do.

I’ve never spent much time in Pennsylvania, and I still kind of want to visit – we have other family nearby, and friends on the way, and Fuzzy’s never really been to the east coast at all.

For the moment, however, it remains a trip we’ve yet to take.

Few things are as entertaining as watching a chihuahua attempt to capture, bite into, chew, and swallow an errant cherry tomato that fell from the refrigerator and landed in front of his nose.

That is all.