the end of august

I drove home late tonight, window in the roof of the car open, just because I can, and because it's such a sultry, beautiful night.

The Avett Brothers sang first in the dark, and then the Beatles, "Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner, but he knew it couldn't last. Jojo left his home in Tucson, Arizona..."

I turned into the shadows of the pines, the crunchy driveway, the quiet dark, and sat there for a second.

Then I slipped into the house and discovered a house full of people awake, not in bed, not tired, even as it approached midnight.

But I can go to bed anyway. Jay sprawled across our bed, told me bathwater had been saved for me.

Aaahhh, yes it had.

A bit later, after the TV show they were watching ended, I heard footsteps creaking all over this big, old house.

I heard Sidney barking away, far in the distance.

She's got that Cujo Rat routine.

One night she went all Cujo Rat on Tim and this is what he said in his deep Timothy voice, with the very round vowels, "Yeah, she acts like that, but actually she's a really good dog. And nobody could get in this house with her."


Okay, Tim, that's all probably true.

As she's threatening those who pass by Maria's door in the night, okay.

Waking the grandbabies up from naps because that same old mailman put letters in the mailbox? I want to wring her tiny neck.

But I never would.

And tomorrow begins September, which though it heralds fall, is usually a beautiful month.

Oh, summer, how could you leave me like this? And you won't be back for such a long, long time.

But tomorrow it's forecast to be over 90 degrees, so we'll pretend.



Love you, Sweetheart. Oh August, honey. I'm trying to be strong. love, Val