no school

Since I was three (meaning, for the past 58 years), there was only one year in which I was not a school girl, or teaching at an academic institution. (It was the year after I graduated from law school.) All other Septembers, for me, have triggered first day of school thoughts and preparations. I lived my life by the academic calendar! Until I switched to online datebooks, each year I bought one that began with September. This is the way I think of a fresh start. It starts now, today, with the first day of school.

So you would think it would be immensely hard to transition to a time when the beginning of school holds no meaning. That, after 58 years, I'd be so rooted in a fresh start in September mentality, that I would lose my grip on life with the elimination of the academic calendar.

Not so!

I had no trouble readjusting to a new perspective.

I was not amused, however, that Isis chose this day to get me up even earlier than a school-targeted alarm clock.
Isis, what is the matter with you??

It was the earliest cheeper wake up ever.






Barely a glow on the horizon.





Dismal, dark, buggy time of day. Makes you feel like some animal will lunge at you from behind the bushes. For company, I have four crazy cheepers and an antsy cat, who cannot sleep when a rooster crows (Oreo starts his song significantly before dawn -- I'm guessing that this is the reason Isis wakes up).


Ah well... All other roads point to a splendid day! Seventies! Cool! Sunny! The kind of day you wished for yourself when it was your first day of school.

Breakfast on the porch. For a change, Ed takes the photo -- of me bringing the usual tray out for us.






We have errands to do, but we do them together and there is never a better time to ride in the back of a motorcycle than on a day like this. We pass our neighboring truck farmer and I pause to pick up a bundle of Chinese lanters from her.





And of course, I work on various aspects of my writing project. And tennis! Yes, we do that, too.

I'm still convinced that this freedom to read and write is too luxurious. Decadent. Irreverent. That pensions will be cut, that unforeseen circumstances will place me in the employment circles again. That I'll have to write not essays or memoirs or novels, but jingles for commercials, or Hallmark greeting cards. I send this card to you, my dear, to wish you all the best next year.  Scary thoughts. Push them aside. Focus on the day before me -- a beautiful breezy day of yellow sunflowers and orange Chinese lanterns.





And I hope a wonderful day for all those who, in one way or another, did start school today.