9/5/04
Anticipating my upcoming internship, I was doing some scintillating reading this morning (How to Assess Program Implementation) when Daughter #1 phoned. In her characteristically bubbly way, she invited me to "guess what today is!" Turns out that today was a number of things, including 99 degrees outside by 10:45 am where she lives, due to the Santana that was blasting in from the desert. Like a couple of desiccated tumbleweeds, D#1 and her son were already on their way to the coast when she phoned. The winds made her think of how much I always hated them. That parching, unremitting heat that feels like the air rising from an oven. The skin cracking on your lips. The nosebleeds. The static electricity shocking you every time you get in or out of your car. Your hair standing at 90 degrees to your head. This was the time of year when I used to wake up in the morning, look out the window, and mutter gloomily to myself, "Damn. Another nice day." Since leaving I certainly have regretted the absence of certain people I left behind, but I cannot claim to miss southern California in September.
I'm not sure how I feel about having my memory evoked by those miserable winds. D#1 reported that the Santana triggered another flashback for her as well, though, that of having just purchased a pile of warm, new clothes and eager to wear them that first week of school following Labor Day, which never once obliged by failing to be swelteringly hot. She wore her new wool and corduroy outfits to school anyway, of course. Didn't we all?
This weekend is the one where everyone seems to want to wring the last remaining drops of juice from their days/hours/minutes before their freedom dries up and snaps like a dead stick. Thursday I spoke with Grandson #1, who attends school on a year-round schedule and already started third grade a couple of weeks ago. He and his family are into motor sports, and they spent as much time kicking up as much dirt as possible before their summer braked to a sudden halt. Grandson #2 (son of daughter #1) starts kindergarten on Tuesday. Friday they went to Belmont Park.
"Please, Mom, please, can we go on the bumper cars just once?" he implores, dancing on alternate pairs of toes.
"Sure, buddy," she responds lightly, as she takes their ride passes from the cashier and pockets her change.
Sensing an advantage, he pipes back, "How about TEN times?"
In three weeks Grandma (um, that would be me) starts back to school in a master's program that will provide much wanted and needed job training. I'm excited, but the anxiety dreams have already been making their nighttime appearance. Mostly I know it's going to be ok--better than ok!--but we're talking old dog, major changes. Just the other day I was puttering around my garage and feeling the first twinges of sadness over summer's end. Then I considered the implications of a never-ending summer and realized for the bazillionth time that I really, really like living in a place where the seasons change.
