It’s definitely fall in Texas, complete with one of those colds snaps that hits in the middle of the day, usually catching me unawares at work with no jacket. But today I fooled old Jack Frost, and I’m working from home, and about to put on a pot of tortilla soup. I wish I hadn’t forgotten the taco chips at the grocery, but the wind’s already started to kick up, and I’m not getting back out in that mess. It also means that there’s football in my house, and since my main appreciation for the game is that my husband loves it so much, fall means that I’ve become a little bit crafty in warming up our cold, bare floors.
Fall is my favorite time of the year. I love the cool weather, the way the slant of the sunlight seems to change every day. Last fall went by in a blur of wedding plans, commuting, pondering the enormity of the decision I was undertaking, and being incredibly anxious about whether or not some terrible thing was going to happen to take all this magic and loveliness and amazingness out of my hands before I ever got to hold it and feel its weight. With ten days to go before the wedding, I was sitting on the cusp of an anxiety attack pretty much every day, with tingling palms and lips, reminding myself in the mirror every morning not to die. I know that sounds morbid. It’s so strange to admit it, but it’s true. And in hindsight, seems so silly. But it’s true.
And this fall is much different. I’m ten days before my first anniversary. The last panic attack I had was over a totally real thing. Instead of being so afraid I’m going to lose my partner in life (this singular creature who loves me with a love that leaves me incapable of coming up with a good metaphor for the depth and breadth of it) I find this one star I can actually see in the city sky, just outside the window above our bed, and I thank God that I didn’t die, today and neither did he.
And last night, I finished this rug.