Excuses, excuses. I know I’ve missed posting a couple of months this past summer. I’ve been busy! You know the iconic movie line, “If you build it, people will come.” ? Well, it’s not a cornfield in Iowa and I didn’t build it, but about a year and a half ago I did move from the only place I’d ever lived (Atlanta, Georgia) to my idea of heaven, a condo at Flagler Beach FL. And people have come! I love having family and friends visit. A few people asked wasn’t I concerned I might be lonely moving from my lifelong home to a place where I didn’t really know a soul. Truly, it never crossed my mind. And yes, people have come. A constant stream of company this summer definitely ensured I wasn’t lonely, even if it meant less time for writing. So that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy my company, so please do come and visit!
Lonely? There’s a significant difference between being lonely and being alone. Going from living with my Mama, Daddy, and little brother to living with my husband, eventually adding in three sons, and then my Mama again later in life, I’ve never minded being alone. In fact, it was quite pleasant! My husband was always obliging and recognized I needed such times.
A true INTJ, I treasured my alone times. The reflections, insights, revelations and spirituality I gained during such times often sustained my sanity in the midst of chaos. I never actually lived alone until my husband passed away in April 2022. Although different in many ways, I still safeguard my time alone. I rarely feel lonely, but it does happen on occasion. Recently, at a family wedding the DJ called for a couples’ dance. I have to admit I felt a pang of loneliness. It was a piercing reminder that I am no longer part of a couple.
In my alone time I’m making headway on my two works in progress. The working title for my next novel is Dear Daughter. Told mostly in letter format and based on true stories like my previous novels, it will reveal the inextricable links between five generations of mothers and daughters, including myself. Talk about not being alone! I am constantly in the company of these ancestors.
The other work in progress, a memoir, has the working title Becoming No One. Sometimes in trying to become someone, you actually end up becoming no one.
It is hard to believe September is already here. I’ve written before about how this time of year can be melancholy. Check out these links:
The best and most popular piece I’ve written about September is an essay titled Something About September. This essay was written back in September of 2016. It struck a chord with many readers. If you read it then, enjoy again – if it’s new to you, enjoy it too.
Something About September
There was a time when I did not think of September as sad. In fact, I looked forward to it. September meant returning to school. As a kid, I loved school. It meant being with friends, having things to do and places to go. It meant the weather would be cooling off, and in those days of no air conditioning, at home or school, that was a good thing. It meant an annual trip to the mountains to see the leaves in their splendor and glory. It meant Halloween was just weeks away, and an unlimited bounty of candy would be mine to devour.
There were no leaf blowers in those days. Curses on those loud horrid-sounding machines! The scritch-scratching of raking leaves was made worthwhile because we could jump into the piles as a reward. Then, like a cherry on top, we were allowed to burn the piles. What could be more pungent-pleasant than the scent of fall leaves burning? And, if we were very, very, fortunate, and our mommas and daddies were in a good mood, we might even get to roast marshmallows on straightened-out wire coat hangers. Sitting at night, watching the orange embers fly away into the darkened sky like some kind of strange fall lighnin’ bug born of the flames, was truly a child’s purest fancy.
When I’d outgrown trick-or-treating and raking leaves was an odious chore, I still did not mind September. It meant high school football games! The delicious excitement of hoping for a date to the game, then ending up going with a bunch of girlfriends and having more fun anyway. September meant pep rallies and snake dances, buying programs and spirit ribbons. Those were the days of trying different routes from one class to another, sometimes a whole floor up or down from the shortest, quickest path, just for a glimpse of him, whoever he happened to be that week. Passing notes with girlfriends in class, faking hall passes to get out of class, claiming cramps in order to miss PE. Nothing really bad, just basic teenager mischief.
September also meant finally getting to wear new school clothes. The standard was a pleated plaid skirt, sweater in a coordinating color, knee socks the same color as the sweater, and saddle oxfords or penny loafers. I can remember exactly the combinations I had. The navy and green Wexford plaid with navy sweater and socks was a favorite since blue was one of our school colors. The cream, brown, and rust Burberry with brown sweater and socks was a bit different because the skirt was straight instead of pleated. The yellow and gray Cologne plaid with yellow socks and sweater made do for the gold and white colors of Georgia Tech, the hometown college team. The black and white Hathaway Glen plaid with black sweater and socks, was the most adorable with the black and white saddle oxfords, but the red tartan plaid with a red sweater and socks was cute with the saddle oxfords too and was perfect around Christmas time. In early September, it would be cool enough in the mornings for these outfits, but by afternoon in our three story 1920s era brick high-school building with no air conditioning, it was entirely too warm. No matter, teen aged girls will suffer heat or cold in order to look “cute.”
There was not much to look forward to that September of 1970. Suddenly, high school was over and I had no idea what was coming, having skipped my senior year by attending summer school and being handed my high school diploma in the school office with a handful of other students. I had no frame of reference for what September would be like without school. As it turned out, I ended up going to a local college, living at home, and working part time. I kept a toe-hold in the high school crowd, but it was not the same. As the college quarters droned on, with no break in the summer, September lost its significance as a positive experience for me.
Somewhere in the course of getting married, working, and raising children, September just became a symbol of the passing years. Even after I became a school teacher it held no special appeal. Gone were the carefree days of summer, sleeping in, days by the pool, and going on vacation. Eventually it became more than a symbol of passing years, it became a symbol of sadness. Children left home for college, signifying a monumental change in my role as a parent. A few years later, my health declined and I was no longer teaching. September was just a reminder of what should have been that was now a hollow emptiness.
September, the beginning of the end of the year. Getting older, the year as a metaphor of life, entering the autumn of numbered days. The full richness of summer that I love so much, time spent with family and friends. The pool, the beach, the warmth of sun on my back, riding with the top down. Warm nights outside, lightnin’ bugs and butterflies, all topped up with the bliss of air-conditioning.
There is just something about September. Those first few leaves that fall in the pool, the different slant of the sun’s rays, the shifting shapes of the shadows all announce the coming of the end. The end of the year, and possibly the end of life. Yes, there is something about September. I see it. I feel it in my bones and in my heart. It is, and I am, sad.
j. chapman
September 2016
Finally I will leave you with a playlist. Even song lyrics about September avow its mournful demeanor. Before you settle in to listen please take the time to scroll all the way down and share your thoughts in a comment. What situations have you experienced that may be similar to my own? Do you like to be alone? What makes you feel lonely? What times of the year do you feel melancholy? Is there a particular reason why?
September by Josh Steely and Chris Daughtry
How the time passed away, all the trouble that we gave
And all those days we spent out by the lake
Has it all gone to waste? All the promises we made
One by one, they vanish just the same
Try to Remember by Tom Jones and Harvey Schmidt
Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow
Try to remember and if you remember
Then follow
September Morn by Gilbert Becaud and Neil Diamond
September morn
Do you remember
How we danced that night away
Two lovers playing scenes
From some romantic play
September morning
Still can make me feel that way
Here are a few other September songs for your playlist:
Wake Me Up when September Ends
September When I First Met You
To see Neil Diamond’s face . . . September Morning . . . what a reason to write to you. LOVE this months words that touched my heart since Fall is a favorite time of mine.
Keep writing!
Sending smiles from Arizona
Trudy Wells-Meyer
Thank you Trudy. Hope you are doing well. I got to see Neil Diamond way back in my college days over 50 years ago. What a talent! I am writing! 🙂
Janet,
My first day at Brown I wore a long sleeved shirt and I thought I would die before I got home. The third floor of that school would have baked cupcakes it was so hot! Thanks for the memories-
My sad time is October because that’s when my son started getting really sick. I have to try very hard not to get depressed during that time.
Yes, that third floor was an oven! I can understand how October is sad for you. My other sad month is May as it was Jay’s birthday and death date. 🙏❤️🙂
Janet, Nice to have you in our writing workshop.
Thank you Stan.
Janet,
That brought back so many great memories. Although Brown was difficult for me, I still cherish it. I remember you dressing the way you described, thinking you were so stylish and I a good lol. Thanks again!
Marty Cook
Janet, I meant a goob not good. Couldn’t edit it
Marty
Thank you Marty. I added your comment about editing here. Our years at Brown were indeed a mixed bag.
Thank you for reading and subscribing.
Dear sweet, Janet….
Please know, with all my being, how much I appreciate your insight, and true depth of reaching one’s soul and inner voice. There are not enough words to express what your words mean to me. I went back to the most cherished memories of my childhood as I read this. I felt love and contentment . My heart is yours….thank you. PS Is the picture Roosevelt High School????
Thank you so much Jill. We truly are kindred spirits. The picture is Joseph E. Brown High School, located in West End, Atlanta. It’s a beautiful historic building constructed in the 1920s. It’s been remodeled several times and is now home to Herman J. Russell West End Academy, a middle School.
I have a moving experience to share; a reminder of the simpler times in life.
My good friend teaches special needs children at the middle school next to our house. My husband and I volunteer at the food pantry at the school and always stop by Kerri’s classroom before we leave. Some of the children have come to know us and will speak or even give us a hug; others are too withdrawn.
Well, it’s the beginning of the new school year and we stopped by for a visit. One of the boys came up and I noticed his new school shoes and told him that I liked them. His face lit up. Another student then stuck his foot out so I could see his shoes. Soon almost every student was showing us their new shoes. One particularly shy little girl stayed at her desk but I noticed she was shaking her foot. I walked over to compliment her new shoes and for the first time got a hug from her.
There was such a special connection with these children and it surely made my day.
Here’s hoping that your readers get to experience that “new shoe” joy every-so-often in their lives.
Oh Susan, this is so sweet. Thank you for sharing such a simple yet poignant moment. I’m sure those children will always remember the day they showed off their new shoes.