A Good Night for Chili

About this time each year, our northwest Louisiana weather turns a tad schizophrenic. Bright, clear mornings, crisp as burnt toast give way to hot and muggy afternoons then early dark brings back the autumn chill.

Most people I know stand on principle and absolutely refuse to turn on their heat until at least November. Not me. I slip into flannels and kick that heat up without a single second thought. The dogs are ecstatic with the temperature change and the newly breathable air but I'm too old and broke down to be cold so damn the electric bill, full speed ahead. Let the leaves fall where they may, it's a good night for chili.

October always brings memories of New England, some welcome, most not. My mother and brothers thrived on the cold while my daddy and I bundled up and worried we might never be warm again. There were constant and quite fierce fights over the setting on the thermostat. My mother seemed to believe that 65 was more than warm enough while my daddy and I thought anything less than 75 was uncivilized. We heated with oil then, as did most everyone we knew, and the cost was enough to make you shiver but it was reliable as rain. Even the damp, drafty basement where I practiced piano was tolerable. Nana's house, on the other hand, for all its sprawl and open spaces, was always toasty downstairs although she kept the upstairs cooler for sleeping. In all those years - except for the hurricane - I can't remember a single time the heat failed.

October was also the best time for Sunday drives. My daddy would pack us into the back of the old station wagon and head north, sometimes all the way to Maine, just to watch the leaves showing off their Halloween colors. Sometimes I thought maybe he was a little homesick for Nova Scotia but mostly I thought he just wanted a break from my mother. She never saw any value to our Sunday wanderings or maybe she just liked the freedom to drink in peace. I didn't much care one way or another. Weekends without school got on all our nerves, especially when we were younger and there was no place to run.

Here in the south, the leaves fall and clutter up the sidewalks and streets with sickly shades of yellow and orange. There's no brilliance to their death, just a sad reminder of the cold and dark to come.

I open a can of chili, wrap up these creaky old bones and settle in. There's still no place to run.