The First Day of Fall

Yesterday was the first day of autumn. I’m not talking about the autumn equinox (which fell on the twenty-second of last month) or some date on the calendar, but the first real, manifest sign of a change of season: it was cool in Hacienda. For those not in the know, Hacienda Heights is part of the SG Valley, which means two things: a) it is very hot there in the summer; it is swarming with Chinese ppl year round. When I left work at 6:30, the cool, crisp air was a palpable manifestation of the new season.

We don’t really have seasons here in Los Angeles, at least not four distinct seasons as experienced by most of the world, or for that matter, most of our country. There is basically rainy season (December-April), during which there is maybe a 20% chance of it raining on any given day, and non-rainy season, (May-November), during which there is a 0% chance of measurable precipitation. Rainy season is colder than non-rainy, but the former is not unbearably cold or miserable, nor is the latter intolerably hot or maddening.

(A spectacular sunset I witnessed just after getting off work)

Our climate is so temperate, in fact, that we need to remind ourselves of what is so apparent at most other latitudes. For example, at Ralph’s this week, I saw a salesclerk putting up a display of pumpkins, and decorating it with fake orange and red leaves. The majority of our leaves don’t even turn color, much less drop to the ground.

In noticing these changes, I was excited at the prospect of drawing some association between this seminal event (the first real day of autumn), and a comparable, concurrent event in my own life. Sadly, I can’t think of anything interesting or profound—and this I blame in large part to my receiving less than a satisfactory amount of sleep last night.

Last night our youth fellowship went to Anaheim Ice (the practice rink for the Anaheim Ducks hockey team; it's only 2 blocks from church!) for a rousing game of broomball, which was followed by a lock-in at church. A "lock in" might carry penitential overtones to some ears, but really, it's just a big sleepover, guys in one room, gals in another. (Here's a photo of my two best friends and me at the ice rink):

For the lock-in, I was assigned to a position I have dubbed "Commander of Security, and Defender of Chastity." (Doesn't it sound like a title from a British peerage? .) All other chaperons (Barons and Baronesses of Social Order and Curfews) were assigned to sleep in a room with students of like gender; I was given the couch in the open space which seperates the rooms of the two sexes. As my illustrious title implies, my position is associated with two main responsibilities: 1) defending the students and other chaperones against potential attackers who might wander up the stairs in the middle of the night; and 2) preventing any untoward consortions between the sexes.

Though this seems relatively simple, but every time someone got up to go to the bathroom (and these occurances were many), I also woke up to see who was up-and-about and to what purpose. There was also the nasty little experience of being driven from my slumber very early this morning by shrieking from the boy's room. It seems one of the campers has taken to wrestling his peers at inopportune times, and one of his "opponents," ill-tempered at being woken so early, fought back a bit too enthusiastically, hence the first boy's shrieking.

Whence did this digression come, if this entry was supposed to be about the first day of fall? I don't know, but I will blame it on my sleep-deprived state. (It's not as though I manage to avoid such digressions when I'm fully rested, but it's nice to have a scapegoat on which to blame this digression today). Time for a nap.