That first little nip is in the air only a scant 3 months since the Halloween displays started popping up in the stores. Apparently there is a strong market for those who are looking for tombstone lawn displays for the Fourth or fancy attending the company picnic in a sweaty Spiderman costume. My metabolism has crept to a halt and my attention turned to thoughts of blankets, making apple pies, and sipping hot cider from steaming mugs. Clearly it’s time for a bullshit fluff piece.
I’ve completed my first year of hormones and it’s hard not to see some of the more subtle differences. In years past, my early fall focus has always been on uninstalling my front yard vegetable garden, hosing down and putting away the lawn furniture, coming up with yet another time consuming and frustrating leaf disposal scheme (I have a sizable backyard and no one wants to haul that shit to the front where the town may or may not get to sweeping it up), and other aggressive activities that require sweat and muscle. I used to love doing that stuff, but this year I find myself hardly caring. I’m no rocket scientist, but the answer is pretty obvious, especially since I already brought it up at the start of this paragraph.
Everyone knows about the softer skin, the lessening of body hair, the increased emotional responses, loss of strength, and of course the breast growth. Everyone always remembers the breast growth part. It seems there are some subtle little changes as well that I still manage to find. My discovery of this week is nesting. It makes sense that it’s hormone related, but mainly because guys don’t seem to have this, or a love of craft fairs, because the two are definitely linked. I haven’t figured out how, but trust me, they are. Some things are just inexplicable, like how I used to just dump the bread back in the box, but now feel compelled to re-install the twist tie. I’m not sure exactly when that started.
For those of you who are hopelessly male, nesting is the innate urge to create a pretty and inviting home, especially for the winter, which is comfy, cozy and full of yummy smells. I think the female brain is wired for this naturally, and that the hormones provide the juice to drive it forward. I think this is an evolutionary advantage because women have always had to ready the home for children, while at the same time survive being cooped up for the foul months with a large irritable bear just counting down the seconds until backyard grilling season begins again. Or it could be as simple as “who doesn’t like baking pies, hot cocoa, and countryish wooden signs with heartwarming sayings hung upon the wall?” Yeah, I didn’t, until now anyway.
I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but up until last year I had a simple three word phrase I lived by. I don’t bake. Yeah, I’m all done with that now. It’s in the Hefty bag next to my ties, dirty sneakers, and condoms. Just shit no one is going to want to take second hand and that I have no more use for. My urge to bake kicked in last winter, but I only went as far as loading up the old bread machine. As my hormone levels slowly crept up to a natural level, I stated making pretzel rolls, sandwich rolls, pies, and other fun little treats. The only drawback is that I’m torn by the knowledge that I’m going to want to eat all these goodies and not super anxious to replace my wardrobe with larger sizes.
I’m also psyched that the Country Christmas Craft Fair is coming around again to the fair grounds. In a more testosterony time, my only motivation for going was that I knew there would be food. Now I want to go in spite of that and look at, and perhaps even buy, some locally crafted décor and maybe something pretty to dress up my bed a bit. It’s getting harder and harder to remember what it must have felt like to not want to do that, because honestly, it’s just so awesome. If only we can find a sitter, because my 5 year old is a boy, and has zero interest in quilts with double batting or lamps fashioned to look like log cabins. It makes no sense, but I guess that’s just boys.
So, as the days grow shorter, I’m looking forward to stressing less about leaf disposal or how the deck furniture might winter if I neglect hauling it back into the garage. Just give me a clean and cozy warm house, my fuzzy robe, a cup of tea, and a stuffy chair to nest in.