two autumns
Thoughtful comments on yesturday's post inspired me to reflect further on the autumn that I now know compared to the autumn I grew up with in the middle of the country.
Growing up in Kansas City, autumn meant tall piles of smoldering leaves in broad front yards decorated for Halloween, the bright glow of klieg lights above high school football stadiums draped in homecoming banners, yellow rain slickers and big rubber galoshes leaping from school busses with a splash, hikes into damp woods with tall underbrush and blustery winds rattling through their vaulted branches, apples and gourds and pumpkins and Indian corn in the farmers' roadside stands, and the rush home to dinner and homework and the thick "Fall Preview" issue of the TV Guide.
In New York City autumn is like a surprise visit from a dapper gay uncle who spends his summers and winters somewhere else but in his very being personifies this City where he lived his best years. He was the reason we moved to the City to begin with. He arrives with lists of exhibition openings and new restaurant reviews. He makes us want to go to Lincoln Center or Central Park with him, even if we haven't been in a while. When Uncle Autumn is here, we feel like we have our City, and ourselves, back for a few short weeks. The summer's heat and sour baked-on smells are finally rinsed off our sidewalks and buildings. The trees that we've taken for granted for the past few months show their brilliance one last time as a reminder that they have overarched our paved streets and tiny parks another year and will return like a surprise visitor come spring. Evening descends earlier in autumn, extending the City's nightlife forward to greet us at the other end of our commute home. And at week's end, we take advantage of the final pleasant days to stroll the parts of the city we love the most before the snow and slush and holiday shopping lists take the pleasure out of it.
The difference between these two autumns is like the difference between steak and foie gras (I savor them both for different reasons) and the difference between childhood memories and adult longing. As I write this, as I prepare to move back to Manhattan and reflect on the disappointment I feel at not having moved in time to be living in the City for this season, I realize I am my own gay uncle or at least I want to be again.
Growing up in Kansas City, autumn meant tall piles of smoldering leaves in broad front yards decorated for Halloween, the bright glow of klieg lights above high school football stadiums draped in homecoming banners, yellow rain slickers and big rubber galoshes leaping from school busses with a splash, hikes into damp woods with tall underbrush and blustery winds rattling through their vaulted branches, apples and gourds and pumpkins and Indian corn in the farmers' roadside stands, and the rush home to dinner and homework and the thick "Fall Preview" issue of the TV Guide.
In New York City autumn is like a surprise visit from a dapper gay uncle who spends his summers and winters somewhere else but in his very being personifies this City where he lived his best years. He was the reason we moved to the City to begin with. He arrives with lists of exhibition openings and new restaurant reviews. He makes us want to go to Lincoln Center or Central Park with him, even if we haven't been in a while. When Uncle Autumn is here, we feel like we have our City, and ourselves, back for a few short weeks. The summer's heat and sour baked-on smells are finally rinsed off our sidewalks and buildings. The trees that we've taken for granted for the past few months show their brilliance one last time as a reminder that they have overarched our paved streets and tiny parks another year and will return like a surprise visitor come spring. Evening descends earlier in autumn, extending the City's nightlife forward to greet us at the other end of our commute home. And at week's end, we take advantage of the final pleasant days to stroll the parts of the city we love the most before the snow and slush and holiday shopping lists take the pleasure out of it.
The difference between these two autumns is like the difference between steak and foie gras (I savor them both for different reasons) and the difference between childhood memories and adult longing. As I write this, as I prepare to move back to Manhattan and reflect on the disappointment I feel at not having moved in time to be living in the City for this season, I realize I am my own gay uncle or at least I want to be again.
4 Comments:
This was beautifully written, Jay.
I actually had a surrogate gay New York uncle. He was the uncle of my first college roommate and was (I think he's retired now) a make-up artist. He left his native Arkansas back in the early 60's for NYC and never looked back. I used to imagine him going to fashion shows, shopping at chichi stores, having cocktails at swanky bars. In my imagination he had equisitely manicured hands and he wore an ascot.
Every gay uncle in New York, needs a neice named Dorothy some place out West.
well, if you have an uncle, I hope you also know that fantastic aunt who lives at Beekman Place, who loves the bright blue October weather, who will buy you chemistry sets and go on stage to keep you from a ruffian banker's arms...
It's odd that you conceive of a relative in New York, when the city itself is the ultimate relative. The sheen of chrome buildings, the turn of color in central park, the NYU boys in Washington heights, drunk and cock-splayed in youthful splendor... the city sucks these things in and spits them back out as atmosphere, as exhaust-tinged air...autumn is a state of mind, a New York state of mind, when the city gathers itself in and wraps itself in mist and mystery... you have captured the sensibility beautifully...a city on the edge of seasons...let the wind blow...the leaves fall...the fashionistas parade...walk the streets and breathe the city...it's yours...alive and amazing...
Jizz-man, I enjoy your poetry, like the second verse of the autumn ditty I had begun in this post. Thanks for your comments.
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