My husband and I used to celebrate our relationship on the first day of every month, with a larger annual celebration on April 1st. But then we got married after 25 years of testing our cohabitability and confused ourselves about which dates to honor. All of them, you say? You're probably right.
For my pooch, the first day of a new month means taking the dreaded heartworm medication.
But today is the first day of a special month: September. For many children, it's the end of freedom and the beginning of school. (When I was a kid, I could hardly wait for summer to end and homework to begin.) Here in the Midwest, today marks the onset of a new and colorful season. (The tree outside my sunporch window already bears swaths of yellow leaves.)
Autumn is the season I can't get enough of. But I fear that this year, more than previous years, the atypical weather we've been having is going to strip the trees of their leaves early and we'll have extra snowless, gray days to stretch out our Winter.
So I have to make every outing with the pooch count: Make her go to the park instead of walking around the block, try to catch each change of hue as it happens, notice the shifts in sunlight.
Of course, this is a moot point if she whines and groans me awake at 4 o'clock in the morning as she did today, in which case I keep my eyes peeled for smarmy characters in the shadows. However, if we end up headed west on one block, we pass a large bush of "moonflowers." The intensely fragrant blossoms open only at night—and only once. I'm many decades into my life and this is the first moonflower I've ever seen. I try to savor it whenever I can.
Happy September 1st to you, dear reader!
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