I love the fall. The excitement is remembered from childhood--getting new clothes and shoes, going back to school, the October deer hunt at Orderville and Bob Creek, then Halloween and the rest of the holidays. I don't go back to school anymore, or hunt deer, but the excitement is hardwired in.
What I appreciate more now about September is that things settle down after a chaotic summer. With John and Chris taking summers off, I don't have a regular routine until they're both back in school. I love mornings sitting in a clean, quiet kitchen with the cats, the sun edging in the south windows beneath the eaves, eating a ripe pear or a peach from our trees (my schedule allows about one day per week of doing that).
THS was out Friday, and Chris' band, Red and the Rovers (check out his Facebook and MySpace pages) played a house/pool party. He tells me that I have to sign onto Facebook and MySpace to see and hear his publicity, so I guess I will. He says a lot of kids at school recognize him from online, and some tell him he has a good voice because they've heard his samples or demos or whatever they're called.
The RS counselor over Sunday lessons came by today to give me feedback from sisters in the ward, saying that my lessons may be too challenging and leave some upset and worried about my testimony. I can see that, and I'll change what I can without saying things I don't believe or boring myself to death. It may be, however, that I'm more suited to playing the piano than giving lessons. And I haven't even mentioned the Heavenly Mother! I used to joke that if I was ever desperate to be released from a calling, I would just start an opening prayer like this, "Dear Father and Mother in Heaven." (In the end I just ask to be released, however, and then it's quite a long time before I get another calling.) This morning I felt like protesting that
I would like more lessons like the ones I give, but as Julie said, this isn't actually only about me. It just seems a shame to have lessons (as is often the case) where it is more interesting to write out the weekly grocery shopping list than listen to what's going on in Sunday School.
We had our writing group up the canyon at Charlotte's cabin tonight, and read Charlotte's memories of life with Gene and their kids. Her submissions this month revolved around house keys and cars, and were very funny. We got on a roll of telling car stories, and laughed for about three straight hours. This was after an initial 30 minute moan session about the state of American politics, so we needed the laugh endorphins. John and I took some of the bottled white grape juice from last week to cut with tonic water, and it was a very good and elegant drink to go with whole wheat pasta and homemade tomato sauce.
My SFF writing group is evolving. Isaac got married this week and is taking some time off, and Brandon is swamped with his Robert Jordan finale and says he won't be back until after the New Year. Dan is going to take a break from writing after we're through with his serial killer story. So they've invited another group member and moved to Janci's house. I just realized I haven't sent my submission yet for group on Tuesday. I guess it's too late. My goal is to work up to three half-days per week to work on stories, but so far I haven't even made it to one.
Maybe with the settled, structured, September schedule...
Brett was not feeling well and stayed upstairs, although he commented out the window occasionally. Colette was a horse for the entire time, galloping, neighing, and pawing the air, and eating grapes and baby carrots out of our hands. She had administered a haircut to herself just before they came over. 
Little blonde curls kept falling out of her hair onto the grass. Johnathan, now bipedal and completely mobile, spent most of the time making a dash around the house for the street out front. I had almost forgotten how much energy little ones require. Rob handled them good-naturedly. It will be great to see them all on Sunday for Betsy's birthday party.
and Grandma E with her petunias.
and he was not happy about getting up this morning, but it was fun once we did. 
We talked with friends--Riley was there, the biologist who did John's Utah Study Abroad program with him this May. Nicolle was Riley's student years ago.
We had eggs and sausage and pancakes for breakfast, and John and Chris rode their bikes back to the farm while I went ahead for a visit with my folks.
Chris is envious. I hope he doesn't take up guitar-collecting as a serious hobby until he's in his own place. He already has two guitars though, three if you count my acoustic guitar that Dad bought when I was 11 (which Chris doesn't actually own, even though I can't always play a C chord anymore because of arthritis in my fingers).