My falling out with fall

Evanston RoundTable, Sept. 20, 2023

I have a problem with autumn. And that’s too bad because for many people, it’s the nicest time of year: beautiful days, crisp nights, lovely colors. The air has a bracing tang and the light that diffused quality artists love.

So what’s my problem? Winter. Fall is the gentle foothills, winter the dreaded mountain.

Crazy, right? Just stay in the moment, I tell myself: appreciate the certain wonders of the present and forgo the possible misery of the future. My wife counsels me not to worry until I need to, adding with a laugh that she doesn’t always follow her own advice.

And anyway, Who Knows What Tomorrow May Bring? as Steve Winwood sings in one of my favorite Traffic songs. We may flit lightly through winter like a butterfly on milkweed plants.

But such transcendence isn’t my strong suit. Instead, I imagine the biting winds, fixate on the frigid temps, anticipate the snow and slush, the split fingertips and aching hands. There’s the trivial aggravation of having to pile on six layers of clothing just to take out the garbage. And the existential danger of falling on ice, which for us seniors is a very real peril.

Then the more rational side of my mind kicks in. Stop your belly-aching (as my dad unhelpfully commanded in a dream). Winter’s really not so awful, at least with global warming. The bad old days of terrible winters are long behind us.

As if in confirmation, my mind reverts to Jan. 10, 1982, when my best friend Jay and I were at the Rosemont Horizon to witness an extraordinary double bill of exhibition tennis: Ivan Lendl vs. Bjorn Borg and Jimmy Connors vs. John McEnroe.

McEnroe and Connors were tied two sets apiece when Connors, as tennismajors.com put it, “…irked by McEnroe’s delaying tactics, even stepped across the net and confronted his opponent.”

But that’s not how I remember it. Connors was just being Connors, employing his patented bullying tactics on McEnroe. There was finger pointing, shoving, toe-to-toe intimidation – and it worked, as you can see from the video. Connors won the game, set and match 6-7, 7-5, 6-7, 7-5, 6-4.

When Jay and I, marveling at the extraordinary playing, stepped outside after the concert we were met by below zero temps. How cold was it, to paraphrase Ed McMahon on the old Tonight Show? So cold the thermometer registered a high that day of minus 4, so cold the tires on Jay’s car deflated and we couldn’t make it home. Instead we got a lift from a Good Samaritan who took pity on us.

Another memory with Jay is seeing Bob Dylan and the Band at the old Chicago Stadium on Jan. 3, 1974. The original Stadium was renowned for its fine acoustics (“Remember the roar” was the slogan when they tore it down), and though our seats were way in the back under the balcony we could hear everything perfectly, even the quietly acoustic portion of Dylan’s mini-set. When Dylan sang “Even the president of the United States must stand naked,” there was quite a roar indeed.

After the concert, marveling at the extraordinary music, we stepped out into zero-degree temperatures. That was OK as long as we could get to Jay’s car quickly. Except, uhm, we couldn’t find it. (It didn’t help that we had altered our states during the concert.)

Around and around the huge parking lot we ran, huffing and puffing, without even overcoats, freezing our bunions off, until the lot had entirely emptied out leaving us … alone. We finally found the car parked on the street.

I cherish the memories with Jay, but I don’t cherish winter’s fearsome grip.

Even if low temperatures and towering snow drifts are a thing of the past, there are still the gray, overcast skies. As a victim of SAD – seasonal affective disorder – a real condition for those of us who flourish in sunlight and curl up on cold, cloudy days – winter is a downer.

What to do? For one thing, stay busy. I’m traveling to New England with my son this week. As you read this we’ll be in Acadia National Park in Maine before returning to Boston for a few days of sightseeing, munching on lobster rolls, clam chowder and cannoli and visiting Faneuil Hall, the Freedom Trail, the JFK Museum and Fenway Park for a White Sox-Red Sox game.

Closer to home, my wife and I recently discovered a great hiking trail in nearby Harms Woods we can explore. And maybe we’ll schedule a driving trip to Kopps in Milwaukee, which she insists has the best frozen custard in the Midwest.

Mostly, I’ll just try to take each day as it comes, savoring the fine weather and marveling at the flourishing colors of fall leaves.

And I’ll take comfort from the great English novelist George Eliot, who wrote, “If I were a bird, I would fly about the Earth seeking the successive autumns.”