Cozy Coffee and Sombre Sweaters: A Playlist for Fall

Fall is here! Well, I mean officially here. I’ve personally been celebrating the season since September 1, much to the dismay of those who find my already baking Halloween cookies and lighting pumpkin candles a little too much too soon.

Anyway, in an attempt to be less oppressive with my joy for all things Autumn, I figured I’d compile a little cool weather playlist for you fine folks, curated to ring in the most wonderful time of the year.

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Happy Birthday, Mama

428739_360408770727707_147603603_nIt’s easy to write about my dad. His abrupt dying makes him the subject of nearly everything I write, in one way or another, because it’s how I force myself to remember him. It’s the only thing I can really do anymore.

I get lazy about my mom because I have the amazing good fortune of being able to text her every day, call her when I need something, cry on her couch, fight with her in person, eat her cornbread, walk with her through the garden, drink wine out of mason jar on her back porch.

It’s a luxury that I forget is a luxury.

That’s how it goes though, I guess. We take for granted our ability to remember the people we still have, right here, right now. We throw away dinner receipts and birthday cards because they take up too much space in the drawer or purse. We decline phone calls, promising to ourselves that we’ll call them back in like, 15 minutes, because we’re trying to get through this ridiculous episode of True Detective.

But then, one day, for no reason and a million reasons, they aren’t there anymore. We scramble to find something we can touch, something we can smell, something tactile to remind us that they were here, they belonged to us, we loved them.

So instead of waiting until that day to remember and appreciate my amazing mama, I’m gonna do it here, today, on her birthday.
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Blueberry Pickin’

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A lot of things come to mind when you say blueberries. Cobbler. Muffins. Clear, overpriced, plastic cartons at the grocery store.

But when I think about blueberries, I think about summer, and I think about Mama’s.

The heat wave billows into Georgia long before summer actually gets here, but to me, it’s not really summertime until I’m able to go to my mom’s for fresh, fat blueberries, picked right off the bushes. And this past Sunday, I rang in the season with a basketful.

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