The fall that hasn't been

Today the meteorologists are forecasting that we will either tie or break a record in high temperatures, reaching the mid 80s by this afternoon. The "normal" temperatures this time of year in Ohio hover around 68 degrees.

While I'm not complaining, and I rather like being able to open my windows wide and enjoy the breeze inside our tiny apartment, this fall hasn't been much of one. So instead of taking a picture of the non-existent colors outside, I've chosen one of my favorite pictures from last fall, one I took on Oct. 19 last year, when all of my small college on the hill was afire in hues of canary gold, bright orange, and mint green.

This fall has been very dry, so the trees look shriveled and ready to drop their leaves, and many have been dropping them even before they have fully changed color. It's chilly in the mornings, which is what helps the leaves along their color alterations (that and the shortening and lessening of the sunlight), but the days have been balmy and very, very dry.

Still, the nights are lovely, and one of the things I like most of living in these hilly latitudes (as opposed to the flat city), is that the stars are visible to the naked eye and the indigo sky, when it's not cloudy, puts on a show of tiny sparkling diamonds against black velvet, almost every night.

At my small college on the hill, we had two days of break this past week, Thursday and Friday, and I took advantage of the "free" time to rest up, watch my favorite TV shows, and take it relatively easy after a busy first half of the semester. My goal is to emerge from this short break tomorrow a little more organized and ready than I've been, and today is the day to achieve that goal.

In the home front, poor Geni was diagnosed with diabetes, and against my most secret wishes, I've had to learn to give her two shots of insulin a day. I hate needles but I'm now handling them on a daily basis. And I hate the thought of pricking her, but I'm also doing that twice a day. She's such an amiable dog that she doesn't even seem to notice, although she's starting to figure out that something weird is going on when I start grabbing folds of her skin, looking for the best place where the needle will go in easiest.

I try to cultivate the art of being a woman warrior, so when, after her diagnosis last week, the vet's tech ask whether I was ready to practice on Geni with a syringe filled with saline solution, I didn't hesitate. And neither did my husband.

Of course, my every fiber was screaming that this wasn't what we'd like to be doing (or should be doing, even) but when I asked the tech whether we could board her until she was stabilized for fear that I'd kill her with an overdose or some mishandling of the injection, the tech was adamant, "The dog will be happier at home."

Well, yes, I thought, but she might be dead a lot sooner, and I thought the whole purpose of this was to extend her life! Oh, well. What I've discovered is that while I'm not the most skilled nurse (I dropped one syringe twice and bent the needle on a second one so I had to discard it), I haven't killed her yet, and may actually not kill her at all. I guess, as with quilting, I have hidden talents that I only have to put my mind to them so they make themselves known. (Still, I'm not angling for a change in careers into nursing any time soon, mind you.)

The good thing, I guess, is that I can steel myself to do almost anything unpleasant that needs to be done. And that's a good skill to have and to cultivate. In that spirit, I'll stop wishing for last year's fall and try to make the most of this one, even if the leaves aren't worth taking pictures of, and even if the weather outside is good enough for beach time.

At least I have last year's photos to help me along.