By Charlotte K. Jarmy
Welcome to October, our first real taste of autumn. Every morning, feeling the chilly air as I read the morning paper, I wonder if I should break into my heavier sweaters or jackets. To my surprise, the afternoon sun brings a reminder of summer heat. I decide it’s not worth being cranky about the weather. There are still hundreds of people who don’t have a home to live in or a job that pays the bills.
On a happier note, the trees here at home and in other places on the Peninsula started to drop off their dried, tired old leaves and many morphed into lovely versions of middle age, all golden and ruddy without needing Botox. Every year I am amazed and heartened by nature’s transformation and offer up a silent prayer of thanks that we are so lucky.
Speaking of prayer, we just joined fellow congregants in celebrating the High Holy Days in a crowded Flint theater packed with joyful worshippers. All around us, we heard “Shanah Tovah!” (Happy New Year). Many of the audience were children who, like the trees, had left their old jeans and T-shirts behind and won approval for their amazingly docile behavior and good looks. Proud elders nod their heads.
The first evening of the weeklong observance gave us the needed opportunity to listen to words of hope and kindness in a time when that same nature rebelled and caused much misery. I particularly enjoyed the old melodies, few in a language that I could understand, but all having the power to move me to tears and to a spiritual feeling that my mother would have been proud of. The many years of singing those melodies as a member of the choir gave me the joy of singing along even now with my beloved high notes gone forever! I will not feel cranky about the talents of youth long lost, but revel in the warmth and pleasure of being among 2,000 people all letting music affirm an ancient faith.
There’s a different beat in our lives these days, as if we want to make amends for any mistakes or unintended injuries we have caused others. This is the time between the new year and Yom Kippur, the Days of Awe, that we may want to say “Forgive me” to those we care about. It is the time to attempt “to heal the world.” I am not a religious person, but I feel a compassion for those who need my help.
We are all part of the mad dash toward future celebrations: the orange and black of Halloween, the green and red of Christmas and the blue and gold of Chanukkah. We are moving past the lingering summer heat, absorbed in our own efforts, but still upset about the daily need of a war far away that holds American lives in its ugly grasp. Bush says, “We will win.” What does that word mean to him?
But, hey, this is October, a time of nature’s last burst of energy before the chill and rain of winter. Our garden still pops open lovely pink roses, though Howard’s prize tomatoes are almost gone. Our liquid amber trees tease us with a slow crimson change in their attire. I stare at them and resist the desire to dress myself in scarlet and wear a red and purple hat. There can never be enough times to wish one and all a happy new year.
