Then there are the miscellaneous photo memories: We came home from Maine and took an evening walk in pajamas, because that’s what you do in the summer. Grandma and Beatrice enjoyed Grandpa’s concert in the park together. A new skirt was sewn for my dancing girl. Mornings were started on my side stoop, soaking in birds and leaf-whispers and the scent of a new day. Evenings, too, were savored. My gardens, though dry and weed-covered after one week in Maine, continued to provide blooms for the kitchen table. The CSA is again a wonderful blessing, adding color and freshness and surprise and health each week. I love it. Sour cherries were the prettiest they’ve ever seen, and hours of pitting and freezing was rewarded by the prettiest jar of pink ever. Little girls, in their last month before turning 3 and 1, were adored and snuggled and loved on. Little boys, growing bigger and sweeter each day, played hard and worked hard, loved me well and were elated every time Daddy said, “Wanna come to work with me today?” This last week, I read a book and remembered why I don’t do that very often: I can’t put it down till it’s finished. Self discipline, out the window.
Monday morning dawned, and there was fresh grace. After not having a “real” (read: paper) calendar for two months, I sat down with my coffee and sketched out August.
A few more weeks of footloose and fancy-free. Some more family time, beach days, visits with friends.
Two girls will have birthdays. I’ll create a chore routine, and we’ll get it in motion. Pencils will get sharpened, books will come in the mail. And then we’ll turn that calendar page and be ready to start a whole new season.
My, how it flies.