By the time most of you read this, the month of October will be gone. Last year’s autumn was slow and gradual, culminating in the most glorious color. I remember many Indian summer days where the temperatures were in the high 60’s and 70’s. I went walking on those blissful afternoons, the spicy scent of the leaves under my feet rising up to greet me as I went along.
This year was different. We had a chilly September with some premature leaf color in some places, but the leaves on other trees stayed green longer than usual. Then a couple of weeks ago, all the trees on our street turned a brilliant color all at once. Overnight, they also all decided to drop right into the street. They’re still there, sodden and rained on, their bright yellow contrasting with the new blacktop streets in our subdivision.
Last Sunday, the sun was shining and the skies were a lovely blue. “How about driving to the lakefront and taking a walk?” Tom suggested after church. It was a splendid idea, so we set off to drive east to Lake Michigan. It was windy at the lake, and there were white caps as far as the eye could see. We walked on the beach for a while and watched the parasailing on the lake. At least, I think that’s what it’s called. These people were wearing wetsuits and were being lifted over the water by these large sails. It looked terrifying to me, and pretty chilly with the wind blowing across the lake.
After a while, the wind got too cold on the water, so Tom suggested we drive north into the village of Whitefish Bay, park and take a walk. I love Whitefish Bay. Every block of houses is an interesting mix of architecture, with large old trees, white picket fences and lots of pedestrian-friendly sidewalks. There are cute little cape cods, vine-covered brick colonials with white trim, grey saltboxes, comfortable clapboard homes with big porches and sturdy brick bungalows, with dozens of variations on those themes.
The wind was better away from the lake and the sun felt warm on our heads as we walked along, enjoying the remnants of the autumn color against the blue skies. We walked and walked and walked.
“You do know where we parked, don’t you?” I asked Tom at one point. When I’m with him, I rarely worry about things like that because he’s good with directions. I did ask, however. He blithely assured me that he did.
I was enjoying the day so much, I forgot how far we had gone. Because I am still recovering from low energy after Emily, I am like a jet with no fuel. No glide capacity. When my fuel runs out, it’s a quick crash. I realized we had gone quite a distance, so we turned back before I ran out of steam. We finally made it back to where we thought our car should be. But our car wasn’t there. I saw an uneasy look on Tom’s face. “We’re a block too far west still,” he said. But he didn’t say it with a lot of confidence. We walked another long block east. No car.
Now we were really perplexed. “I think we’re too far south,” he said. But this time, I got the feeling that it was a shot in the dark. My strength was flagging fast. I hated to sit down on the curb. The neighbors would wonder who the vagrants were, sitting on their street corner. We walked a block north. No car. By this time the lovely homes didn’t look so charming anymore. They all looked alike. Block after block after block of white picket fences, and maple trees and brick cape cods with cute shutters, laughing at us. I was growing so tired, I wondered if I could go another block.
“Stay here, I’ll go find it,” Tom said.
“I’m not standing on a street corner by myself,” I protested.
“Fine.” We kept walking.
By now I was not thinking poetic autumn thoughts at all. “This is so us,” I thought to myself. “Here we are, wandering around like a couple of yahoos. Imagine explaining this one to the police at 2am when they find us, shivering and hungry, wandering through Whitefish Bay.” I could see it now.
“Yeah, we’re looking for our car. We’re not from here, but we just park and walk around–we’ve lost our car. Honest!”
“We’re hauling you two shady-looking suspects in to the station, pronto!” the officer would say gruffly, handcuffing us. William and Emmy would have to post bail, I thought, enlarging on my imaginary scene.
Tom stopped when we saw a man playing ball with his children in his front yard.
“Can you tell us where the library is?” he asked. Tom knew where that was and figured he could find our car if we knew where the library was. The man pointed vaguely off at an angle and gave a convoluted explanation that involved lots of twists and turns. Fuzzier than ever, we trudged off again.
“He’s going to think that was a little suspicious,” I said. “The library isn’t even open on Sundays.” I still had the criminal scenario on my mind.
“Well, at least I asked for directions, take note of that!” Tom replied.
We were looking despairingly down streets and up streets when suddenly Tom said, “Isn’t that the house we admired right after we got here?”
He was right. Then we spotted another, and another. We were on the right track. Like Hansel and Gretel looking for the breadcrumbs they had dropped in the forest, we looked for familiar houses that would lead us back to our car. There it was, at last, like a gleaming mirage in the distance. That vehicle never looked so good. I collapsed into the seat and put my head back. We were silent for a minute and then looked at each other and started laughing. Just another memorable Schlueter adventure for us.
Of such comedic moments, life and marriage is often made. I wouldn’t trade that wonderful day for anything. Being with the man I love on that brilliant afternoon, lost in Whitefish Bay, will stay with me long after the pretty leaves are all blown away to dust.
It’s finally the weekend after quite an incredible week. I am sitting here enjoying a French love song with a concertina in it, imagining myself at a little cafe in La Ville-Lumière at night…no crackpots harassing me (I have several at the moment)- doing their work in Christ’s name, no children issues, no laundry, no telephone, no email, no political outrage. Just for a moment, I’ll daydream…
