Fall Rituals

As a child, three words could immediately strike fear in my brother and me—fall leaf drive. Yes, it was probably one of our least favorite aspects of autumn in Iowa. It was less popular than raking an acreage or dealing with no electricity and water when the first ice storm—nearly always in time for trick-or-treating—hit.

Despite our trepidation, we always knew the dreaded day was lurking, and we were destined to be a part of it. The family activity always seemed to be decided upon as we drove away from church when there was no escaping the moving vehicle. My father would startlingly veer off course, and my mother would turn to toward the rear seats with a mischievous grin. “It’s time for our annual fall leaf tour,” she’d say in a sing-song voice. This pronouncement was immediately met with a stereo set of groans and reasons why we youngsters should escape the excursion. The protests were pointless. We were never excluded.

Eventually I had a change of heart. Of course, it was not until after I’d left the four truly distinct seasons of the Midwest that I discovered how much I actually do enjoy the annual foliage tour. I regularly reminisce about mornings with dancing sunlight and crisp temperatures, where each breath is a rush of white air. Those mornings set the stage for the millions of leaves in all shades of crimsons, golden yellows and oranges, swaying in the breeze and sparkling with morning dew. When you actually stopped to soak in the scene, you quickly realized that it was breathtaking.

Because my husband also loves the fall foliage (and was probably tired of hearing how much I missed it), last weekend we decided to detour from our usual route home from Missouri and venture through Arkansas. On that trip of curving, rolling roads, I was surrounded by miles and miles of vivid hues. The tall, full trees greeted me in such a way that I nearly cried with happiness and homesickness. With another fall leaf drive under my belt, I now feel as though fall has arrived.

Happy fall, y’all!

RSVP—The Polite Thing to Do

I have to believe that anyone who has ever planned a function, tied the knot in front of witnesses or hosted a dinner party knows the significance of an RSVP. It takes some of the unknown out of the equation and allows the host to actually prepare for the guests.

For those of you out there under the impression that RSVP means “regrets only,” rethink. The acronym actually comes from the French phrase—répondez s'il vous plait. In Western culture, this translates to respond…yes or no, with an occasional maybe. Truly, this undertaking is not that difficult. While I know some individuals are under the impression that RSVP means “regrets only,” this is rarely the case. If a host wants to take that route, he/she will actually say “regrets only” on the invitation.

It’s much more frustrating as a hostess to worry about having too much or too little in terms of food, beverages, space, seating, etc. If you have a conflict, just articulate it upfront. Personally, I probably won’t even ask details of the conflict. You may just have a much-needed date with a book and glass of wine at home. After a demanding week or deadline, I can understand that temptation. And I won’t hold it against you. However, if I later discover you stayed at home with literary and tannin-filled companions without giving me the courtesy of a response, you will officially be entered into my inconsiderate database. And one too many of those entries will probably encourage me to not even bother with an invite in the future.

One friend recently suggested that when hosting events where responses are quite necessary for planning, I should always provide personalized favors. When an unexpected guest is relegated to returning home empty-handed, perhaps they will get the hint. While I am intrigued by the idea, I foresee two issues: 1. Most people who don’t bother with an RSVP and show up anyway are probably too clueless to understand why they don’t have a personalized favor. 2. When I do provide takeaways, I can’t help but prep extras for the unexpected.

Now mind you, I’m not perfect. I’m sure I have waited too long to respond to an invitation or occasionally forgot all together. But this tirade is for all you serial non-responders out there. The occasional lapse can easily be overlooked. And since I should probably brush up on my decorum while venting about it, perhaps today is the day to go out and buy that Emily Post etiquette book I’ve always wanted… (Or perhaps today is the day it goes on my gift idea list, Mum!)

Happy day, friends!