Monday Moanin’
By David Smith
November 13, 2006
Greetings from beneath my brim,
November is a bully, stomping into autumn, elbowing aside the more gentle seasons, scaring trees into hibernation. Cold air pushes in, unsympathetic, indifferent to what we would choose. Scattered showers, random snow assaults. The wind pulls at the last leaves, impatient to have fall done with. The sky has pulled on its gray fleece to ward off the November chill.
We know by the calendar that winter is coming; we don’t need this dramatic introduction, this preview of freezing rain and snow squalls and numbing cold. But this is the sample November brought us this past couple weeks.
Thursday we were granted a reprieve of sorts. The sun, even in its slightly less friendly position over our latitude, boldly pulled back the November curtain and poured a little June into our lives. It was so welcome. I thought of a song by Corinne Bailey Rae: “Summer came like cinnamon, so sweet…”
My grown up side had heard about this warm weather forecast and immediately started a list of late season outdoor chores. If you’ve ever been in my kitchen you’ve seen these wish lists on my refrigerator: Clean gutters. Finish painting trim. Organize garage. Rake pine needles. Invent perpetual motion machine.
I was awake for five minutes on Thursday before I knew this list was an exercise in futility. My destiny does not include chores on a day like this. No matter what else didn’t happen, I was going for a run.
I went out twice wearing too many clothes, stripped off layers until my attire matched my mood and the weather. Shorts, shirt and a hat. The hat was not really necessary, but I like it. The kids gave it to me for my birthday; a running hat to keep the sun from baking my head. It’s a pale gray, lightweight, with a brim to keep the sun out of my eyes. I like to think it makes me look cool, but I’m naïve; I like to think anything I wear makes me look cool.
I ran along the road for a couple miles, and then peeled off along the path that traces the river in town. I ran along until I got to the footbridge that crosses the river into the county park, and stood there in the sun.
I soaked in the warmth, admired the last bits of colors in the trees. Spider web trails fluttered in the soft breeze, as if the spiders were fly-casting. Under the bridge the river seemed cheerful, flush from some of the recent rain, it bounced along the banks like a puppy.
I leaned against the rail and felt the pressure of my chore list ebb away. I took off my hat and wiped the sweat, and thought: I love this hat; it’s perfect. I never want to take it off. It is a nice hat. Nike.
I left the bridge and jogged up through the park, passing a few other people out enjoying the morning. After a while, though I was not looking at my watch, I sensed it was time to head home. I ran through our little town, waving at the few people coming out of the coffee shop, ran across the river and back along the two lane roads toward home.
As I jogged down the last block to my house I thought: I want to build a life that includes this hat. Actually, I want a life that is centered around this hat. Somehow I want every day to be spent in my running shorts and this hat. It is not a profound philosophy, but it does get to the heart of what makes me happy.
That sounds pretty silly today, sitting at the same desk where I pay the bills and write out my long lists of chores to be ignored. It felt silly until just now when I went and pulled my hat out of the closet. Even with my old ratty sweatshirt, a layer against this morning’s chill, it makes me look cool.
I know it’s not really the hat that makes days like Thursday special. It was the time of recharging, the warmth of the sun, having the choice to run, all of that rolled under one hat. I’m lucky because I have been able to plug into days like this when I need it most. When a cold gets me down, when work is too much, when there is more stress than laughs. I can’t always get to a sunny day, sometimes I have to rely on friends, or a good book, or a bowl of ice cream, or prayer. Or a hat.
I don’t plan on changing my life in any dramatic way; I won’t be moving to Tahiti to live in some hat and shorts community. But I’ll hold the warm memories, and when winter is piling snow up around my windowsills, I’ll pull on my hat and relive that bit of June. November, do your worst.
Hope this finds you insulated against the winter,
David
Copyright © 2006 David Smith