The garden is covered in leaves. Covered. I need to get out there and rake them, but have not adjusted to that responsibility and it’s been raining the last few days. I’m not supposed to rake wet leaves, right? Ed was out in the garden at dusk and was surprised that it was positively raining leaves upon him. All around, like large yellow and orange rain drops. Suddenly, he said, I understand why someone might call it “fall.”

The leaves are falling. And Ed is leaving. He’s on his way to Montreal for a conference. When he returns, he will have his parents with him. There’s some grand plan of meeting them at the airport when he flies in and they fly in so that they can come here together.

I’m planning menus and yawning. I’m not really a plan ahead kinda gal, on the whole. As I said once to a friend, I do not read ahead in the knitting pattern of life. Which sometimes throws a large wrench into the works. But this time, there will be five adults all over 65 in the house as of Wednesday (my parents, arriving Sunday; Ed’s parents, arriving Tuesday; my aunt, arriving Wednesday lunchtime) all of whom need to be fed. And who will not be happy if I offer them cold cereal and beer. And Ed’s going away. So tomorrow constitutes the last few free hours I have. I’m thinking I have to go to the supermarket and make it count! Thus menus. I’m thinking of making lots of soup and freezing it.

I also think I’m planning because I’m scared. These visits are hard, and I’m not really that robust. There is only a thin crust over the seething lava of my upheaval. It’s getting thicker, but it’s not there yet. Ah, well. It will all be fine, no doubt. Mostly because no matter what days are like, they end. And then there are new days.

Still, time to get in more wine.

Last year, oddly enough, I was also thinking about wine. Mulled wine.

Similar Posts:

• Back to School
• Blueberries, rehearsals and resolutions
• The Many Merry Days of Christmas