Fallen leaves and other priorities

In second grade, I was not the most organized child, so my teachers and parents instituted a means of daily communication via a notebook that I brought back and forth between school and home. Sometimes it included explanations of my assignments and other times it was for short exercises to be done at home. It was my "Brain Stretcher Notebook." One of the first activities was a list of "words about fall." Since I'm visiting Minneapolis and enjoying the fall colors (if not appropriate fall weather), I was delighted to find the list yesterday. It's pretty much the same as what I love about fall now - only my spelling has changed. (And if any of the words are confusing, say them out loud, as though you, too, were a second-grader.) I think this list explains a lot about me.

1. Fallen leaves
2. Chilly wether
3. Racking*
4. Jumping in piells
5. Migeration
6. Voting
7. Coats jackets exet.....
8. Heaters
9. Storm windows
10. Shorter days
11. Begining of school
12. End of sumer**
13. Pants not shorts
14. No more DQ
15. Rain
16. (if in MN) snow
17. Hibernation
18. Apples
19. Punkins***
20. Flowers dyeing
21. Halloween
22. Harvesting
23. Caning****
24. Scareacrows
25. Jack-o-lantern

*That would be raking, not racking the spoils of some hunting excursion
**It is so sad when civilizations come crashing down
***The n is definitely the result of dad's North Dakota accent
****I'm fairly sure this is canning, caning not taking a large role in my childhood

I have adored having this time here in the Cities this week. It is bizarre visiting a place that has always been my home base. I hadn't realized just how much there was to do in a short time! I'm getting done most of it and seeing a lot of really great people. I'm reminded why I can so easily choose that this would be my permanent place. It is lovely that people here seem to understand that Suchi is also, in a different way, becoming a home for me as well.

One thing I've noticed is that the people here and the people in Suchi must be of the same batch. Some of the other volunteers over the last couple months have mentioned that people in Suchitoto are remarkably friendly and helpful. This is absolutely true - so much so. But it's never seemed out of the ordinary to me, more just what people do for/with each other. Now that I'm here for a bit, it really is coming clear that it is familiar because it is the culture I grew up in, too. You do just stop and talk with your neighbors and with strangers (which is how you turn strangers into neighbors).

Anyway. I am incredibly blessed to have had this time here with family and friends and places. The surprise held - Ella had no idea I was coming until I was here. The wedding was beautiful and joyful. I went to the farmers market and walked down the Greenway. I'll return with new books and new underwear (!) and having voted. It's not tidy, by any means - there are so many people that I have already missed the chance to see while here. But it's been good for my soul to be here for a few days and it will be good for my soul to return. There are two new volunteers who arrived the day I left and I am so excited to meet them. And I can't wait to see the other three CAPsters and the rest of the community.

I went for a run yesterday down along River Road and it was glorious. Sun overhead, shade from trees, leaves underfoot. I saw a handful of runners with their ipods in and couldn't help but think "My God! Why would you run with headphones when there is such a limited window to hear the leaves crunching as you run?" For some reason that struck me as a reminder about perspective. For someone who has the whole fall ahead of them, why bother worrying about missing the sound of leaves? But for me, in this time of acute enjoyment of my favorite segment of the year's cycle, those sounds are gold. I want to be more aware of the times when I am the headphoned runner, tuning out what I ought to be enjoying and giving thanks for. Otherwise I am at risk of missing the beauty of the simplest yet most important entry on my list.