Tomorrow Joseph goes to school for an all-day orientation. And Monday it starts.
What starts, exactly? That’s the question. Our life in Fresno starts, in earnest. We just aren’t entirely sure what it is that we’re starting. Joseph and I and the dog, Jazz, will walk to the bus stop in the morning. Joseph will get on. I’ll pray that he likes his new school and meets some friends quickly.
Silas will be riding his bike to Fresno Pacific to teach medieval and early modern civilizations classes. But when not teaching, he’ll be speculating about what other sorts of jobs he might get. Jobs that actually pay a decent amount and give benefits.
I’ll be helping Peter do his independent school work, and getting him to the school to meet his teacher once a week. And teaching lessons. It feels very odd not to be starting a school year myself. But I like it.
So today, on the last real day of our summer, I’m going to do some yard work. Hello yard, nice to meet you. We’re going to become very good friends over the years. Sorry, this might hurt a bit. I have to prune you because, quite frankly, you look like a jungle in places and I’m not even sure what parts of the tangle originate on our side of the fence, and what originates on the neighbor’s side. There’s some sort of monster grape vine that seems to be everywhere. I better tell the boys that if I don’t come back into the house within an hour, they should come rescue me. It would be nice if they would come face the monster grapevine with me, but that would be asking for a miracle . . .
Maybe I’ll find Igor, the tortoise, who escaped a month ago. Maybe he’s been living in the jungle, held captive by the monster grapevine, struggling to get back to us, subsisting on grape leaves and morning dew, longing to call out to us for help but, alas, being a tortoise, all he can do is hiss quietly and wiggle his little legs.