Autumn, popularly known as fall, is almost here as I write this, and the signs of it are all around. Leaves are falling even as I speak, and that doesn’t compare to the catalogs that descend upon an unsuspecting populace this time of the year, seemingly from nowhere. Still, they do sustain the United States Postal Service, which would be in terrible shape without them.

I like catalogs. Since I am too old to get out and shop, and too dumb to do it over the Internet, I depend heavily on catalogs to do my Christmas shopping. You don’t have to carry anything back from the store, and nothing aches afterwards, except the shipping charges.

Another sign that a new season has arrived is the annual appearance of the fall fashion shows in the newspapers. These are probably the closest thing to denial of reality that the business world ever produces, a sort of generally accepted mass delusion. Nothing that goes down the runway in the fall ever appears in showrooms in the spring, and thank goodness for that!

The women’s fashions these days strike me as a little more sensible than usual, dumping last year’s vampire, zombie, and alien looks for what appears to be a genuine woman walking down the runway, for a change. Maybe our high school girls will begin to look like real teen-agers next year, instead of — well, never mind. You don’t want to hear it.

On the other hand, men’s fashions have gone off the deep end. I saw a picture from a men’s fashion show in which a male model looking like a terrorist, complete with huge mustache and shifty eyes, came out dressed in what looked like a little chiffon number that couldn’t hide a grenade, let alone an IED. Just where is dignity when you need it?

Another big autumn comeback is the moths. I have become a killing machine for moths, and I hate that. Even apologizing to each one as I kill it doesn’t make up for being a moth killer in the first place, especially when I suspect that they fly so close to my face all the time simply because they want to say “Hello.” Courtesy’s so rare these days, you hate to just automatically kill anyone who shows it.

Then there are the new autumn television commercials. The one I hate most these days is the latest Comcast one in which a young man watches football with his mouth in a permanent state of “open,” making him look like a natural-born nincompoop.

I don’t much like the new Pizza Hut one either in which a young guy goes ballistic about the band of cheese that they’re baking on top of a new pizza, which otherwise looks just like the old pizzas. To me,”Jackpot” means a lot more than an extra band of cheese, which they used to hide decently away inside the crust anyway.

And, speaking of television, after all these years, isn’t it about time Ugly Betty lost her braces?

Autumn this year has been a bitter disappointment for one thing that I used to see regularly, but I don’t anymore — Monarch butterflies. I still remember when we first moved here 35 years ago watching the butterflies by the hundreds lifting themselves over Bel Air to fly to Mexico — and then come back the next spring. It was a sight never to be forgotten, and I never did.

But, as the years went by, the numbers dwindled. In 2007 I saw about six Monarchs flying south over Route 51; in 2008 I saw four. This year — a total of none. An aching reminder of what we are doing to our environment, and how little we care about what’s happening. Wouldn’t you think more people would cherish something like the gorgeous Monarch butterfly, and want to work to preserve it and its habitat?

Sneezing is another feature of fall, and in this regard there is definitely a new twist. Suddenly we are being bombarded with the message: Don’t sneeze into your hand — sneeze into your elbow. Now, I understand the reasoning behind this: next thing you might do with that hand is shake hands with some vulnerable person. But I can’t imagine that filling up your elbow with a whole day’s worth of sneeze effluents is any better. At least, you can wash your hands, from time to time during the day, or throw handkerchiefs in the laundry. Anyway, if you’re an elbow-sneezer, make sure no one hugs you, or pats you on the shoulder until you change clothes.

Sneezing into your elbow reminds me of the he-men who use the sweaty T-shirts they’re wearing to blow their noses in. I always thought this was OK only at baseball games, or track meets. Now it appears to be socially acceptable to wear your handkerchief to church, symphony concerts, and the Junior Prom.

Oops, sorry, that’s a spring thing. By then we should be past the H1N1 event, if we can just think of something else to talk about. I’m sure we will: I have infinite faith in the resourcefulness of humankind. In every season of the year.

Meanwhile, a happy, colorful, sneeze-free autumn (fall) to you both.

Maude McDaniel is a Cumberland freelance writer. Her column appears on alternate Sundays in the Times-News.