What Not To Wear In Faux Fall. (Pumpkin Bread)

Yesterday -- just one week into the school year -- we pried open our sleepy eyes to greet a cool 57 degree morning here in Charlotte.

And wonder of wonders -- same thing today.

This is noteworthy because our city's average low for September is 63. And we’re a mere three days into the month.

Mind you, both 57-degree-mornings days – as predicted – wound up climbing into the upper 70s. Nevertheless, Chez Wiles, we are reveling in these practically chilly temps. The dip was sufficient to have me hefting open windows in our 85-year-old house and send all of us scrambling for sweatshirts and jumping into jeans.  Makes you wonder what we'd do in 40-degree weather, right?

Of course, we’ve been programmed to believe that as students return to school, the season follows a parallel path on its return to cold weather. Television shows, commercials and back-to-school signage support the premise, splashing autumnal leaves on any and all promotional materials, which also inevitably feature trendy teens wearing fleece-lined boots and woolen earmuffs.

I know. It is possible autumn really has arrived.  It's also possible my kids will prepare chateaubriand for dinner tonight.

C'mon.   It may be autumn in Maine right now. Or in Wyoming. But here in the Carolinas, we all know we’ve got plenty of oven-like days ahead.

Still, consider me guilty as charged. I’ve already been eyeballing the sweaters in my closet – the very same sweaters I hastily shed back in March when the temperature warmed up to – you guessed it – a toasty 57 degrees.

A long time ago (but well after the Renaissance, thank you), I celebrated my 16th birthday by traveling to a Commodores concert in Columbia, South Carolina. Last week, as I reminisced about the event, a friend teased me, saying, “I bet you even remember what you wore.”

You bet I do.

First, I remember because like so many women, my favorite memories are ensnared in memories of favorite outfits and favorite meals. (Wanna know what I had for dinner the night of my Senior Prom? Click here.) Second, I remember because my birthday falls in September – the Faux Fall month.

So yes. I remember clearly that, in 1978, as Lionel Richie crooned, “Three Times A Lady" and we all boogied to "Brick House," I wore a long sleeved, high-neck blouse made of material that was only slightly more breathable than a shower curtain. Or maybe slightly less breathable than a shower curtain. With that ill-chosen top, I wore tan, cuffed, wide-wale corduroy slacks, with a leather-covered fly button. Hey, I knew what I was doing.  Since it wasn’t yet October, I opted not to wear the matching jacket.

There’s no story here, really. As my friends and I got dressed that night in our room at the Downtown Holiday Inn, I looked fabulous. I could’ve passed for 18. Or at least, 17 ½ . But by the time we rode the elevator downstairs and crossed the street to the Columbia Coliseum, I wasn’t just sweaty. I was slimy. I was awash in my own au jus.

So yes, I remember what I wore.

And I remember Mom advising me not to wear it.

What did she know?  Thirty-one years later, I remain as susceptible to Faux Fall as my kids. The instant I opened the door to let the dog out yesterday morning, and that less oven-like air billowed in to meet me, my mind immediately skipped to fall fare.

OK. I'm not quite ready to get going on a kettle of chili – not even chicken chili.  But Cranberry-Pumpkin Bread with Pecans? Twist my wooden spoon.

It was, after all, 57 degrees outside.

Cranberry-Pumpkin Bread
Makes two 9 x 5, or three 8 x 4 loaves

3 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
4 large eggs
1 16-oz. can of pumpkin (not pumpkin pie mix)
3 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 cup dried, sweetened cranberries (e.g., Craisins) (optional)
1 cup toasted, chopped pecans (optional)
2/3 cup warm water

Preheat oven to 350. Beat oil, sugar, eggs (one at a time) until well-blended. Stir in pumpkin. In a separate bowl, stir together dry ingredients (except cranberries and nuts). Stir dry ingredients into pumpkin mixture. Fold in cranberries and pecans, if using. Slowly stir in warm water until mixture is consistent. Bake in greased and floured loaf pans until golden -- about one hour. After allowing to cool 15 minutes, remove from pans and cool completely on racks. Freezes well.

Kids Are In School, But I'm Still Learning. (Pork Fried Rice.)

Darling Daughter and Sensational Son (“Sensational” only because “Awesome” would result in the initials AS, and other than a snarky 14-year-old, who wants that?) finally got back to school last week.  As always, certain universal lessons have already emerged:

• The art teacher is awesome.
• Backpacks come in only two sizes:  too large and too small.
• Homework will never again be as manageable as it is the first day.
• Every morning, someone (everyone) is going to forget something (if not everything) until someone (OK, me) lays down the law.

At the beginning of every school year, we hold these truths to be self-evident -- as predictable as hairbows on kindergartners and slouches on middle-schoolers.  Truly.  My kids were in school three days last week.  How many days do you suppose they forgot stuff?  Well, including all three days, the answer would be, let’s see … three.

Embarrassingly, that meant three roundtrips to school for me.

I know -- hardly the norm for "The Worst Mom Ever."  (It's official.  I earned it.  Click here for details.)  First of all, school isn’t exactly across the street. It’s four Starbucks away, for Pete’s sake.  In Manhattan, of course, that would be something less than five city blocks, but here in Charlotte, it’s about 10 miles.  In the time it takes to get to school and back, I could fit in a workout at the Y.  A good, sweaty one.

Second – and the kids know this -- I’m all about doing things right.  Nevertheless, we always struggle to get back in the groove these first few days.  I try to be patient, but I know I'm going to have to have The Talk –- the one about organization and responsibility and planning and respect for other people.  While I’m on it, I’ll likely throw a few side sermons about saving for a rainy day, being a good friend, appreciation for the many blessings (i.e., many iPods) in our lives, and the necessity of turning off lights and making beds.  But then, I'll get back on point and finish strong, promising to provide each child with a morning checklist.  And threatening seizure of iPods and cell phones should they fail to comply.

The situation is dire.   I’ve got to schedule The Talk quick, fast and in a hurry.  I need to make it clear that Mom’s Delivery Service – like so many other businesses as of late – would like to thank its customers, but is shutting its doors (FOREVER!)

Unbeknownst to DD and SS, I plan The Talk for Sunday dinner.  While they unwittingly finish up their homework, I cook, building my case by mentally re-creating Friday morning’s chaos.  I've got plenty of examples.  I recall the kids packing up their lunches, water bottles and extra food to tide them over between school and cross country practice.  I see them loading up books and binders and signed syllabus forms and medical insurance permission slips and homework assignments fresh from the laser printer – not to mention the oft-forgotten USB key.  I remember them stuffing their sports bags with shoes and running clothes and PE clothes.  I can see SS gathering his stuff for an overnight trip with his cross country team, which required him leaving straight from school. Finally, both of them packed bags to spend the weekend with their Dad.

Then it hits me:  Should I really be casting stones here?  Three times out of four, I can’t remember to take my grocery list to the store.

Yes.  DD and SS need to be more responsible and organized.  But I can cut them a few days' slack.  Under the circumstances, they're doing just fine.  I go ahead and set the table, deciding to postpone The Talk and only briefly mention that they may want to start loading their backpacks at night.

Lo and behold, Monday morning goes off without a hitch.  Or if there was one, no one was bold enough to text an S.O.S. my way.

We all need at least one part of our life to be easy and predictable.  That may be my most important job right now -- just greasing the tracks as DD and SS ease into the school year.  That, and preparing plenty of comfort food -- like the Pork Fried Rice we had this week.

Pork Fried Rice
3 cups cooked rice (brown is best), cooled
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
12 baby carrots, cut into matchstick-sized pieces
1/2 medium onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger
2 cups chopped fresh pineapple

2 cups leftover (cooked) pork roast, chopped

1 tablespoon soy sauce, or more to taste

½ teaspoon kosher salt, or more to taste

generous grinding of black pepper

In a large skillet, sauté carrots and onion until slightly soft and brown.  Stir in garlic and ginger, stir frying another minute or so, or until very fragrant.  Stir in rice and pineapple.  Stir fry, gently tossing the ingredients, over high heat for another 3-5 minutes, until combined and very hot.  Stir in pork and remaining ingredients.  Heat through, adjust seasoning and serve.

The Memory Game. (Curried Couscous with Cranberries and Pinenuts)

If I were still married, today would be my 24th wedding anniversary.

But I’m not, and it isn’t.

Not that today is particularly difficult or regretful for me. (Truly, there’s no pity partying Chez Wiles. I don’t need Kleenexes – or even sangria.) Today is just ... different.

I’m 46 years old, which means that for over half my life August 24 has held special significance. True, I’m now divorced, but none of those fiercely-contested -- or more nicely put, "not-coolly-discussed" -- court documents can spackle that particular groove in my memory.

Part of what I’m dealing with, of course, is simple emotion. Today's date evokes memories of both failure and success. The failure is obvious -- the demise of my marriage; however, severing that tie didn't obliterate the success came from it -- most notably my two remarkable children.

I won't ever be able to think of August 24 as just another day. Consequential dates aside, though, I believe other numbers can take on special significance, too, sometimes clogging and slowing the synapses of our minds.

How else to explain that I still remember the number of my PO box at the University of South Carolina in 1980? (81355, in case you wondered.) I also recall my college checking account number – 1107 4820 – at C&S Bank (which begat NationsBank which begat Bank of America.) I’m now a BoA customer, but when face-to-face with the teller at my neighborhood branch, I struggle to recall my current account number. More than once, I’ve proffered my outdated number. Why does this ancient information continue to occupy valuable brain space a quarter of a century later?

Smokey, my childhood cat, succumbed to feline leukemia before I went to college, but I remember her birthday still -- July 13. To be precise, Friday the 13th. (It was also my next door neighbor Dow’s birthday.) From high school, I remember Karen’s, Kellie’s, Lisa’s and Sharon’s birthdates. And Greg’s and Thomas’s. I feel badly that I can't dredge up Joan’s.

I can also name every single one of my grade school teachers. Unless you’re willing to pay up, don’t test me, because I’m not the slightest bit shaky. My first phone number was 795-2074. The last four digits of my current phone number are 4278, which I first learned by memorizing that four times two isn’t seven, it’s eight. I know. Whatever.

Wouldn’t my mind be better served by being able to recall useful information? Every August, I need to supply the kids’ social security numbers to their school. And every year, I have to look them up. And what about health insurance numbers? Wouldn’t I be better stashing those in my mind? Perhaps replacing the measurements for a perfectly proportioned quiche? After all, who eats quiche anymore? (Other than me.)

We can’t “pick” our memories, of course. Who knows what will stay and what will wash away with tomorrow’s wave of events? And who’s to say that, 20 years from now, one of the kids won’t say, remember that night we had lamb and couscous right before school started? Remember that stupid thing you said?

Time to get started on some new memories, I suppose. But first, I need to get the lamb on the grill. And put together a batch of cranberry-pinenut-couscous, which may be the quickest sidedish known to mankind. Or, at least, to me. So far as I can remember.

Curried Couscous with Cranberries and Pinenuts

1 cup uncooked couscous
1 ¼ cup chicken broth
¼ teaspoon curry powder
1 handful dried cranberries (Craisins), coarsely chopped
1 handful pinenuts, lightly toasted
handful of fresh parsley, minced

In a medium saucepan, bring chicken broth and curry powder to a boil. Stir in couscous, cover, and remove from heat. Let stand about five minutes (until broth is absorbed). Fluff with a fork, and lightly stir in cranberries, pinenuts and parsley. Ta-dah. You’re done!