At least I think it is 3.6 that I saw in the red typeface at the top of the page, nagging me to update. So, finally I did. Once it was done, which was almost immediately, a page popped up touting some of the new features to make your blog more interesting. Uh, who is going to update me? This is one of those moments when I purse my lips and my eyes shift from side to side as I ponder this question. Is there an answer somewhere? I’m taking a wild stab and saying no, I don’t think so. Well, maybe I could go scrub my face.

It is almost six in the morning and I do not see any lightening of the sky to the east. In June it was there, but not now. Of course, I knew this would happen, but still I have to brace myself for it here. Fall, unlike January 1st, has always seemed a new year to me – probably going back to my school days when we sat for that first day in our new school clothes. And it was not an unwelcome feeling and the shorter days brought more comfortable temperatures and then festive times such as Halloween and football and Thanksgiving and, of course, Christmas.

I just looked a a fall catalogue sent by The Yankee Candle Co., complete with scratch and sniff pictures of candles named Brown Sugar and Spice and Autumn Woods and advertising phrases, such as Wreaths of Welcome and The Joys of Autumn. It is a potentially cozy time of the year.

So why must I brace myself? Because as I grow older, I miss more than before, the early dawns – the day that calls out like a Horton’s Who: I am here; I am here. And then there is Kendallville, just a small town in Indiana. For some reason, and there is no good one, I have never been partial to towns ending in “ville” . . . but here I am, thinking, again for no good reason, that fall settling in would be more acceptable in a place named Oak Park or Bedford Falls or Terre Haute . . . or San Francisco.

Well, I could think not of Kendallville; I could think of fall at my alternate place. That would be Shipshewana. Oh, yeah.