Labor Day, the traditional end of summer, is almost a week behind us. Soon our noses will tingle with the scent of burning leaves and our ears will be filled with the papery rustle of dry corn stalks. It’s time to trade the seersucker for flannels and put away those white shoes for another year…<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Whoa, for a second there it looked like I was trying to channel Lileks<\/a>. Or maybe Garrison Keillor<\/a>. But as fun as it is to imagine that I live in the sort of world those guys glorify — a long-lost (if-ever-it-was) time of genteel manners in which people lived on quiet tree-lined streets or in bucolic farmhouses, and no one ever locked their doors — I don’t. I live in a world where the government forbids the burning of anything without a permit because our air quality sucks, so fallen leaves get stuffed into black plastic garbage bags that turn into bladders of stinking compost sludge if they’re left too long in the sun. In my world, traditions are dying out, no one wears seersucker anymore unless they’re Thomas Wolfe, and the white shoes you most commonly see aren’t Gatsby-style bucks or even canvas boaters, but are instead overpriced, overdesigned, ruthlessly marketed athletic shoes that make everyone’s feet look round and puffy, just like Mickey Mouse’s.<\/p>\n If that last paragraph has you thinking, “Wow, ol’ Bennion’s in a mood today,” well, you’re right. I am in a mood. I am in several moods, actually. I am annoyed to realize that I’ve been working as a contractor for over two years and that the grinding insecurity is getting to me. I am frustrated that the Democratic Party seems intent on proving once again that it is a pack of incompetent boobs that can’t muster enough of a coherent message to win an election. I am peeved that the expensive Teva sandals I wear constantly during the summer months still look new after three years of use, but will probably get tossed shortly because they’ve acquired an unkillable stench that is somewhere on the offense-o-meter between fresh cowflops and hot road tar. I am bummed that the number of Americans killed in Iraq topped 1,000<\/a> this week and that the Genesis space probe piled into the West Desert<\/a> on Wednesday and that the only new movie this weekend that looks remotely interesting is Resident Evil: Apocalypse<\/i>. (Oy.)<\/p>\n But mostly I am unhappy because summer this year came and went before I even really noticed it was here.<\/p>\n Now, for the record, my favorite season is autumn, so we’re actually just starting into my personal Best Time of the Year. I love warm afternoons followed by crisp evenings, and the way the sunlight seems to sparkle around noon and how the shadows grow long as dinnertime approaches. I love the colors of the leaves. (It looks like we may actually have some good color this year, for a change. The last few years have been pretty drab because of the drought and the crushing heat of recent summers.) I love wearing sweatshirts and sweaters and jackets. I love Halloween, my favorite holiday as far back as I can remember, and all the things it brings with it: rubber fright masks and cotton cobwebs and searchlights scanning the skies on October nights to draw attention to the various “haunted attractions”<\/a> around the valley. And I love the sense that I still get, even though I finished college some twelve years ago, that it’s time to go back to school. (Yes, I was one of those freaky kids who actually liked<\/i> school. Even high school, which is described by popular culture these days as “hell on earth” instead of “the best years of our lives” that it used to be.)<\/p>\n But I like summers, too, and it troubles me that I let this one get away so easily. I’ve been constantly busy over the past few months, but at the end of the day I couldn’t tell you what I’ve been doing. I know what I haven’t<\/i> been doing. I haven’t traveled this year or gone hiking or on a picnic. I haven’t visited Liberty Park or the zoo or the Farmer’s Market. I haven’t attended an outdoor concert. I don’t own a bicycle anymore. There are no cafes with quaint outdoor seating within ten miles of my house. I haven’t even seen many movies, at least not compared to years past. Not that it was any great loss to miss The Day After Tomorrow<\/i>, but I do feel some regret about not seeing the latest Harry Potter<\/i> flick, or I, Robot<\/i>, and I definitely feel bad about missing Before Sunset<\/i> during its brief Salt Lake run. Good thing I can see them later on DVD, I suppose. One of the few good things about living at this particular moment in history.<\/p>\n There is no DVD that allows you to recapture lost time<\/i>, though. The coming of fall always reminds that time is passing — in part because my birthday is coming up, in part because of all the metaphorical stuff about the coming of winter and death. Not that I’m worried about dying anytime soon. But I am aware that I’m getting older, and certain opportunities are either no longer there for me or they’re much harder to obtain. As much as I wish I were still a college kid looking at the start of a new semester, I’m not. I’m a soon-to-be middle-aged guy who needs to find a steady job and maybe stop following the political blogs so closely. The thing that really bums me out is that I missed the transition from one to the other; I really have no idea how I ended up as the man I am or when I stopped being the boy I was. I missed it as surely as I missed the summer just ended. And that, more than anything, is what has put me in a mood<\/i>.<\/p>\n Sorry to get so maudlin on a pleasant Friday afternoon. It’s just the change of season, I think, and the fact that I don’t care much for the new picture on my wall calendar. I’m going to go outside now, while the sun is still shining. I recommend you do the same… and have a good weekend, everyone.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Labor Day, the traditional end of summer, is almost a week behind us. Soon our noses will tingle with the scent of burning leaves and our ears will be filled with the papery rustle of dry corn stalks. 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