Autumn for Dummies

Last night, I made brownies. Okay, not from scratch, but I still had to mix a few things and spread batter and stick it in the oven and then remember to take it out. That's baking, in my book.

Something about the sudden coolness of the evenings and the increasingly early darkness made me think of that box of brownie mix in the pantry, the box that held no appeal for me during the hot summer months. As it turns out, it was a win-win proposition. Manny was happy to have a mission, positioning himself at my feet to catch stray morsels. My daughter was thrilled to come downstairs after her shower to an unexpected treat. And I had the indescribable pleasure of licking the spoon and the bowl clean -- at least an entire brownie's worth of batter rescued from the punishing heat of the oven.

The sudden shift in the atmosphere just seemed to warrant some home made (relatively) comfort food. Growing up in an apartment in Brooklyn, I tended to be less aware of the change of seasons. Maybe it's because the treetops were below my window, the ground far enough beyond my view for me to notice the subtle changes in the terrain. There were no apple orchards nearby for annual apple picking excursions, no pumpkin patches to climb through in search of the perfect canvas for a jack-o-lantern. Come to think of it, without an outdoor stoop, there were no pumpkins at all. For years, I thought pumpkin seeds grew in bags.

And my mom was not exactly Betty Crocker. There were always fresh desserts, from the bakery, but never once was the apartment filled with the aroma of cookies baking. We owned no spatulas, no wooden spoons, no stackable measuring cups. I knew, somehow, that cookies, unlike pumpkin seeds, did not grow in bags, but beyond that I wasn't really sure how the whole thing worked.

I'm not looking for pity. There are benefits to growing up in an apartment on a city street. No skunks. No stairs to climb at bedtime. No grass stains. But if it weren't for clothing changes, I might never have realized there were four seasons. No harbingers -- welcome or unwelcome -- outside my bedroom window. No homey seasonal smells. And, in my mom's sparsely stocked kitchen, no comfort cooking. Just the basics, year round.

Who knows where the changing temperatures and shortening days will lead me this year? Maybe I'll do something rash, like make an apple pie. Doubtful, but at the very least, I'm going to stock up on brownie mix. A few well placed cinnamon candles, and we'll know, even inside the house, that fall has arrived.