This is the coldest, drabbest part of the season for me…and yes, I know that I live in a state that has no seasons. The chill comes from nostalgia. A most painful nostalgia, brought on by fall and my absence from home. I should have been smelling the chile roasting, stepping on crackling leaves, and watching Zozobra burn into cinders…and perhaps watching some hot air balloons, also bursting into flames. I can smell fall in New Mexico, if I close my eyes. I can feel the air and the crunch of leaves, but only for small moments.
I had intended on heading back to New Mexico this fall, but those plans were derailed, and the boys have pre-k now anyway, so…no fall homecoming trip. We signed them up for soccer instead, and something so simple has suddenly encouraged my cynical being to pretend that it is indeed fall.
Bringing back memories of my brother’s fall soccer games, which I had almost completely forgotten the feel of. These sensorial memories were spurred on not by the fields, or the screaming parents, but by the children whom I thought were far too young for the manner of competition they have displayed.
I saw Liam make his “tough-guy” face, and attempt to out-large the other guy. This happened several times before Liam actually pushed out with both hands, and very purposefully, and forcefully leveled the other boy. I was shocked, but more shocked that the children’s already strong notions about “otherness,” than about Liam reacting the way he did.
My mother got to watch a game on her visit, and that made the memories even more tangible. Perhaps that is what my system needed. A little bit of soccer, a little bit of competition…well, that and the frozen green chile that was shipped to my door…
