It’s the beginning of football season! Born and raised in Washington State, I have been watching the Seattle Seahawks since as long as I can remember. Being my father’s daughter, I have been watching football for as long as I can remember. Sundays in the fall meant football on the television ALL DAY LONG. Since we didn’t have cable, there really wasn’t anything else to watch anyway. If it wasn’t on the television, it could be heard from the old radio in my dad’s garage while he banged and clanged on any number of cars he owned over the course of my childhood, or the 1931 Ford Model A he has been restoring my entire life. (I speak in past tense because I’m referencing my childhood, but if you go to my dad’s house now, things really haven’t changed.)
When I say I watched football, that’s a very loose interpretation. More accurately, I listened. I could never figure out what was going on, and quite honestly, I still have no idea. When I admit this to my husband, I have to stop him before he starts trying to explain. It’s no use. Outside of touchdowns, field goals, and flags, I have no clue what’s happening. I have gotten better over the years, I can at least follow it and get the general idea, but I don’t watch it because of my diehard love for the pigskin. I love the sound. Seahawks fans are known for their loud cheering; the sound of that cheering is what nearly hurtles me down memory lane. That constant roar of screams, clapping, shouting, yelling. The shrill, short bursts of whistle followed by the call of a referee echoing through the stadium. Commentators narrating each play, always sounding like the same person to me, even though there have been innumerable football alumni talking from those chairs. It never failed to make me jump when the startling cry of my dad (who rarely raised his voice) ripped through our 1200 square foot rambler in response to some intense play during the game. Later on, my brothers’ changing voices could be heard right along with his, even if I thought that they really didn’t know what was going on either. High school would add more depth to my football experiences. I went to as many football games as I could manage, usually with my dad and brothers, so I wasn’t scoring any points in the popularity department. Did I dream of dating a football player? Of course I did. Which one? My secret. Plus, it could change depending on the week. My other secret? I wanted to be a cheerleader. It would never happen. I didn’t have the guts, never even attempted to try out. However, I remember cheers. I remember watching my best friend clapping and smiling while chanting, “Be aggressive, B-E aggressive! B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E!” My youngest brother had the hugest crush on my best friend, and he would go down to the bottom of the bleachers to copy her every move, hips moving in time with hers, and the entire squad. To say that I was embarrassed would be an understatement. My senior year was the best year of my high school career. That year I was in cross country, I could drive myself to the football games, and I would stand with my teammates and cheer along to our best player who always managed to grab the ball and streak down the field to make a touchdown. Our football team wasn’t breaking any records, but we had spirit, YES WE DID! Sometimes I would sit in the stands next to my boyfriend, a trombone player in the band that would play at the football games, then I would drive him home afterwards because he was a sophomore and couldn’t drive. (I could write the BOOK on how NOT to be cool). Through my early adult life, football remained ever present. My ex-husband was always part of at least two fantasy football leagues, for church and work, and would watch all the games to keep up on stats and scores. We lived in Colorado and he was a Broncos fan as well as a Vikings fan, since he grew up in Minnesota. I refused to give up on the Seahawks and had a get together for the 2006 Super Bowl when the Seahawks faced off with the Pittsburgh Steelers. Sadly, we lost, but I was still proud that my team had made it that far. The year his work did a live draft, I was pregnant with our son Donovan. When we were deciding on names for the baby, he asked me what I thought of “Donovan”. I loved it and it was decided. I was recording everyone’s picks during the live draft when someone shouted out the name Donovan McNabb. I looked in the direction of my then husband and a sheepish grin crossed his face. That is how I learned my first child would be (loosely) named after a football player. Regardless of my personal familial situations, or who I was romantically involved with, football was watched. Men in my life must watch football. My daughter’s father was a Seahawks fan and so autumnal Sundays remained the same, the sounds the same, the traditions remained. Super Bowl XLVIII would be a game that reflected my own life a little too closely. It was the Seattle Seahawks versus the Denver Broncos. I had just recently returned to Washington after living in Denver from March to half of December. My brief stint in Denver ended when I was forced to find a new place to live near the end of the year. I decided I would pack everything into storage, spend the holidays in Washington and stay an additional month to save money, find a new place in Denver, and then return. Spending time with family made me homesick and I decided I was going to stay in the northwest. By the time Super Bowl came around, I was still wrestling with this decision. I’m not superstitious and don’t see things as “signs”, but the Seahawks’ extreme demolition of the Broncos that game seemed as clear a sign as any. Seattle was home. Within the last few years, a new family tradition has emerged; games at the Chalet. Originally built to house the American Legion, this aging theatre is rich with history. Legally they can’t charge to watch the games, but we gladly play for concession popcorn, freshly grilled hot dogs, and the occasional candy treat. Two years ago, the first time I introduced my now husband to my dad, we were at the Chalet. Kramer is a huge football fan and when introducing a new guy to my dad, I always try and find something that I know they mutually enjoy. This time it was easy. Soon they were chatting about the game in ways that are impossible for me to follow, but were still familiar in their sound and cadence. Last year I was pregnant the entire football season. When we would manage to get to the Chalet to watch the games, I would watch other couples with newer babies and imagine bringing our baby the following year, wearing his Russell Simmons jersey/onesie. Dante would make his grand entrance during the halftime show of Super Bowl 50. We had the game on during the delivery, a welcome distraction between the uncomfortable contractions. Much of the family that wasn’t in the hospital room with me, was at the Chalet a block away, awaiting the go ahead to come visit the newest addition. The first preseason game this year, Dante was with us at the Chalet for kickoff. Now my dreams include watching Dante play football. I wonder if Nat will become a cheerleader. Poor Donovan is stuck between a football turf war between his mom and dad and when asked what team he likes he says, “Honestly, I don’t even like football.” Haha! My family will always watch football. Someday I will hear Dante yelling along with his Dad and Grandpa at the screen at some bad call by a ref. Maybe Nat will bring home a guy for us to meet and Kramer will ask him if he watched last night’s game, and Natalie will have bet on this and chosen a guy that will be able to hold his own in football talk. Knowing her, she’ll be talking right along with them about how well so-and-so played. Autumn is my favorite season, and one of the reasons why is because of football. The imagery, the sounds, the smells. The memories that it invokes only bring me joy, and I imagine that many more happy memories will be made around our love of football.
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While browsing Pinterest, I stumbled upon this infograph and was instantly inspired. Immediately, I printed it, (or attempted to, then realized I had to reinstall the printer software because my computer was recently reformatted, etc. blah blah blah, and so on). Autumn is by far my favorite season, and I know I'm not alone. Once August hits, I often see Facebook posts about sweaters and bonfires, apple cider, changing leaves, and the infamous Pumpkin Spice Latte.
Autumn to me is about appealing to all the senses. Red, gold, and orange, of all shades, is such a beautiful palette, whether displayed in changing leaves, wardrobe choices, or decorative touches. Smelling cinnamon and nutmeg, the sweet and loamy scent of late blackberries and rotting leaves, and the familiar, woodsy scent of a newly sharpened pencil. Warm and soft fibers of your favorite sweater, or the crisp, cool air against your skin. Spicy pumpkin bread with sweet cream butter melting on your tongue. Finally, the sound of school bells, soft rain, and crunching leaves. This upcoming season I'm challenging myself to experience as much of this list as possible. With me and my husband celebrating our first year of marriage in October, and our first year with our newest addition, Dante, this autumn is ripe full of opportunities. I'm hoping to document and share as I go through and check off the various items on this list. Some will be easier than others, such as anything to do with cooking or baking, to the more difficult task of knitting a fall scarf, because that requires me to learn how to knit. I look forward to taking the kiddos to a pumpkin patch and getting lost in a corn maze. I welcome you to this challenge! Let's go on this adventure together. Let's slow down this season and not rush too quickly into the winter months. Retail shops tend to gloss over autumn and throw us right into Christmas once the kids start school. Let's take back September and enjoy each day before we're swept into the snowy whirlwind of December. Follow me on Instagram for daily updates and I'll write the highlights here! |
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