Faux Fall: The Fifth Season

Looks so real, and yet... 

Oh, how I love to hear from my petite yet devoted SJG Squad regarding my daily musings on this, that and whatever strikes my fancy. The other day, I shared a delicate transition I'm in the midst of that isn't going all that well. In my angsty quest to move from summer to fall, to know the joy of donning a sweater, to bid adieu to my shorts and flip-flops, to welcome back the jeans and the ankle boots, not one, but three of my peeps shared their wise reflections, as their A/C's blew, dramatically in the background, creating the crisp chilly conditions we're all desperately missing.

Jan Holmes, a lovely gal from my high school days, chimed in from Monterey: "Everybody knows Fall doesn't really start in California until late October. Anything before that is Fake Fall!"

My reply: "Fake fall! You nailed it!"

Cathy Hamilton, my co-conspirator in all things silly, the co-author of Broadway-Adjacent "Brushes: A Comedy of Hairs," weighed in from Kansas: "Ditto. My sweaters keep calling my name and all I can do is plug my ears."

My reply: "I knew you'd understand." Let's face it. This tall lapsed Catholic just gets me.

Stephen H. Lantz, my former editor, the man who got me through my years at the illustrious albeit bankrupt, Pulitzer Prize-Adjacent Century City News, shared this from his hilltop manse in the Palisades: "I rather like the alliteration of Faux Fall, especially as we wait for the Santa Ana winds and fires to wrestle the final leaves from our trees."

My reply: "It's a new season." Not to mention, is he a poet, or what? I mean, come on. "Wrestle the final leaves from our trees." It's so Walt Whitman-Adjacent, I could cry.

In conclusion: Fake Fall. Faux Fall. Whatever the eff we call it, this needs to happen. Think of all the merch! Think of all the marketing! Think of the expanded calendar. Let's add another season. Let's get an amendment passed. Let's do this. How hard can it be? Toot toot, everybody on board. Who's with me?