As the holiday approached, I found myself looking back to the past years’ Labor Days and came across something I wrote seven years ago. Very little has changed except that I am no longer alone . . .
I’m laboring today. Appropriately, it’s Labor Day. Some will barbeque. Many will shop trumpeted sales. And a few will honor the original vision of the holiday, founded in the late eighteen hundreds to celebrate the achievements of workers.
In my long-married life, I, too, grilled chicken and crowded into shopping centers for the sales, before Amazon Prime delivered to my door. As a widow the past few Labor Days, I have spent the day alone. Not necessarily a sad holiday for me but it is impactful. The ending of summer and the beginning of school triggers my nesting urge. Today, I begin that process.
My ritual begins with the closet.
“Honey, it’s time to get out your fall cottons,” my proper mother ordered just before the Labor Day weekend throughout my school years. Crisp dark fabrics, solids, plaids and small prints, replaced Bermuda shorts and the pastels of summer wear in my Dallas, Texas teenage life. “And be sure to put away your white shoes,” mom reminded.
The embrace of the autumn season is ingrained in me.
I will gather the soft hued linens, light weight dresses and my sandals and bundle them up for the winter. The sweaters will come out of the cedar closet. I may purchase a new pair of flannel pajamas. I’ll definitely stash the apricot lip-gloss in favor of a warm russet tones shade. I’ll replace my go-to light scent of summer, Jo Malone’s Orange Blossom, with a slightly heavier fragrance to fit the season—English Oak and Redcurrant, perhaps? Is it possible for a perfume to smell cozy?
Autumn colored candles, napkins and placemats—aubergine, copper, gold—will come out of hiding; I’ll relegate the crisp white alternatives to the back of the linen closet. Each year at this time, I move the large plant from in front of the fireplace so that the pleasant glow of the flames can fill the living room with warmth, unobstructed.
As I muse over the change in this season, Labor Days of the past surface—family picnics on the sand, beach volleyball games and the last of the watermelon wash through my mind. Moving freshman students into dorm rooms far away. My son’s last drink of alcohol that Labor Day weekend so many Septembers ago, my husband’s undying passion for the NFL, my son-in-law's dove season fervor, and little kindergartners starting to school loaded with backpacks as big as they were…
My menu choices change with this season. The crockpot and the soup tureen will rise again to serve chili and beans, pot roast and hearty minestrone soup; the smell of apple cobbler or pumpkin bread will waft through my home. Red wines will replace the sparkling Proseccos of summer. Oatmeal instead of Raisin Bran in my morning bowl. My soy latte treats at Starbucks will be all things eggnog or cranberry flavored and my favorite Trader Joe’s Harvest Blend herbal tea will fill my cup late afternoons. A nice glass of Port will often cap my evening. The choices on my playlist will go from breezy and light to warm and sultry. Diana Krall comes to mind…
A variety of furry or fuzzy throws will cover the sofa, my favored chair and the end of the beds, perfect for snuggling up with good books. Instead of lingering outdoors for long sunsets, my television will get a workout. I’ll hang an autumn wreath on the front door and place some pumpkins and gourds on the steps.
Company will come frequently between now and the end of the year. My nesting ritual embraces guests—plans dinner parties, holiday gatherings and family reunions. I ready my home for its role as the season’s sanctuary. But I nest for myself. I spend a lot of time alone in my retreat.
Being alone in my sanctum is not so bad. I take time for thinking and daydreaming and being quiet and unconnected. From my bedroom, I watched a black mama bird sit for weeks on her nest this spring before she birthed three little chicks. Perhaps if I light one of my candles, plump a velvet pillow and sit in the warmth and comfort of my nest long enough, I’ll birth something meaningful.
One last note which seems quite appropriate for this "Nesting" piece...just finished an extraordinary book by Helen MacDonald, the highly acclaimed H is for Hawk. I'm way late to the party on this one, but found it finally and found it so good at times, it hurt me to read!
One critic wrote:
Heart-wrenching and humorous, H is for Hawk is an unflinching account of bereavement and a unique look at the magnetism of an extraordinary beast, with a parallel examination of a legendary writer’s eccentric falconry. Obsession, madness, memory, myth, and history combine to achieve a distinctive blend of nature writing and memoir from an outstanding literary innovator.
I love this piece. It is written with a lifetime of experience and knowledge about moving forward at breakneck speed enough for two lifetimes. In the fear of being exposed (covid)… life gave birth to….. having no demands outside of oneself and living in a sacred space…...in silence and flow that came from the stress and fear of letting go …i as you am loving more flow and less gogogo……beautiful piece. You are such a wonderful writer …..and have developed in ways I could not have foreseen.
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