Wednesday's Words for September 9, 2009

With each passing year, time seems to move faster and faster. Here we are into September. Already, in my part of Southern Ontario, some trees are sporting patches of yellow and red leaves. Overhead, I’ve watched several flocks of Canada Geese heading south.

“They’re just practicing,” my beloved assures me. He knows how much I detest the onslaught of winter, and he’s doing his best to keep my spirits up.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the change in seasons. And it’s not that I don’t—academically at least—appreciate winter. I do. I know how necessary the snows are to our farmers, not to mention kids riding sleds and bigger kids riding skidoos.
I just wish it didn’t have to get so cold, icy and snowy.

Or at the very least, that the precipitation would fall so that it was not on the roads.

Yes, I know. I’m destined to be disappointed in that one.

Life has returned more or less to normal in the Ashbury household. Before we knew what was happening, it was Labor Day Weekend. We didn’t plan anything grand for this three day break. We never do. My beloved likes to make his annual pilgrimage to our community’s fall fair. There, he watches whatever horse shows he’s chosen to see from the schedule that is posted a few weeks in advance; treats himself to the usual carnival burger and fries; then visits the tents of the merchants—some selling clothing such as shirts with silly or naughty sayings on them (which he delights in wearing at conferences I attend), some sporting those heavy, furry blankets we can’t seem to find anywhere else. These are the same merchants he sees every year, and most of them get their goods from either wholesalers, or liquidators.

All I wanted was some peace and quiet, and a moratorium on driving.

The former, of course, for obvious reasons. The latter because I am the only driver in the house; I drive about 100 miles a day taking my husband to work and picking him up again, and we did just have that lovely vacation that saw me driving nearly 2500 miles.

Well let me just say I didn’t do much driving this past weekend. On Saturday, my grandson came over with his friend who was spending the weekend with him, begging to be allowed to stay and play on the computer. The good news was he brought his mom’s lap top and was able to use it upstairs, as we have a wireless router. The bad news is that my daughter came by after work to play on my beloved’s computer because, of course, her lap top was busy.

But that was fine. They were reasonably quiet and there were whole minutes at a time when I could almost convince myself that we were but two here. We fed them, of course. Um, that was after a visit to the grocery store which came after our second daughter called to say how much she would love it if we had a family dinner on Sunday.

Sunday saw us with a house full that lasted well into the evening. Hard to mind that, really, even if my grandson and his friend had come over in the early afternoon, this time to play on the laptop and my beloved’s computer downstairs while his mom was at work.

Monday was the day my beloved had chosen to go to the fair. He allowed me to more or less have my office to myself, not hovering impatiently in the background more than a few times before I gave him THE LOOK and he went elsewhere to wait for the appointed hour when I would drive him to the fair.

When that time came, I happily dropped him off, swung by Tim Horton’s for a coffee-to-go, then returned home, joyfully looking forward to at least three hours of I-have-my-house-to-myself-and-isn’t-life-grand time.

I sat down, took my computer out of sleep mode, and got back into “the zone” with my current w.i.p.

The back door opened, and my daughter and grandson (minus the friend) came in, carrying baskets and tubs. “Don’t mind us, we’re just here to do laundry.”

The weekend did have a happy ending, though. When I picked my beloved up a few hours later, he announced, “I bought you something at the fair.” That something? A set of sheets, beautiful deep burgundy, 1000 thread count.
I’ll let you know how they feel.

Love,
Morgan
Are you bold enough?
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