Back to school

Summer is waning, but we are having beautiful weather finally. The river is as low as it ever gets, with great stretches of sandy bars exposed. Such a change from when it was swollen with all that rain.

Hubby and I went to the Loubard last night to hear the live jazz and to eat and drink and socialize. It was cool after the sun started setting, but still a lovely evening. After one beer, though, I could not keep my eyes open and we left before the music was done.

Today there was a meet-the-new-principal luncheon for university employees held outside on the patio behind the dining hall. Again it was a beautiful day. We greeted colleagues we hadn’t seen all summer, and I started telling Diane M., the vice-principal’s secretary and a woman with whom I took a painting class many years ago, about moving my mother into the home and she said that she’d been through it herself, but then her mother had had Alzheimer’s and she simply couldn’t take care of her anymore. After a while, the old woman didn’t even recognize Diane as her daughter, thinking she was her sister instead. Diane said that was really hard for her, but she came to accept that if that’s what made her mother happy, then she could live with it. She told me I was welcome to come and cry on her shoulder anytime, since she’d been there and understood. It really made me feel better knowing this.

I took Buddy Boy to Staples where we ordered a computer desk and bookcase to be delivered tomorrow. It was full of mothers and kids doing mad, last-minute, back-to-school purchasing. Notebooks are on sale for 14� apiece and other school supplies are abundant and cheap. It seemed rather strange to be beyond all that. I remember well the days I would have long lists of very specific equipment to purchase for the children. Those days are gone and I don’t want them back, but I feel that something is slipping away.

Hubby was extremely silly at suppertime. He’d come home from a less-than-satisfactory rehearsal with his trio and poured himself a glass of rum. I think his one serving equalled about four of what I would have poured for myself and he simply could not stop talking. I suppose if I had been even slightly inebriated myself he would have been pretty funny. As it was, I was not amused at all, and kept telling him to be quiet, which he didn’t. When I came downstairs to join him watching tennis a bit later, I found him asleep in front of the TV with a nature show on, fast asleep. So cute!

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