The End of September

I have today and tomorrow off work (Rosh Hoshannna). So, today I ran some errands. Then, I cleaned my nightstand of its cache of "stuff" - mostly back issues of School Library Journal, American Artist and Writer magazine. I found weird things in there, like a bag of pretty, smooth stones from Lake Michigan (I had considered doing a still life with them), some furry little bears from a side trip to the Vermont Teddy Bear factory one February (we went there to ski and it rained), books that people gave me as gifts but that I didn't like yet felt guilty discarding, an assortment of bookmarks, pens, ideas for stories that looked as though I'd jotted them down in the middle of the night (and probably had). I sat on my bedroom floor for two hours sorting through all that stuff. Now I have a box of donations.

This afternoon I ventured out in the backyard to cut back my daisies and settle into some serious weeding. I filled up two lawn and leaf bags with cuttings and weeds. I plan to spend a few more hours out there tomorrow, pulling up more weeds. These past few years, my garden has been plagued by some obnoxious, viney thing with purple flowers that entwines itself around everything. It smothers the life out of its victims.

So, tonight I'm relaxing. I've been reading Donald Maas's book, Writing the Breakout Novel, and it's taking me ages to get through. He makes many good points but, still, it's a little overwhelming and is going to take some time to soak in. Like maybe years. Or a decade.

At work, my new books have arrived at my main school. Yay! I've been having fun reading all the new picture books. I always read every single one of those. Some of the new nonfiction is so stunning - Nic Bishop's Frogs, Nic Bishop's Spiders, Living Color (by Steve Jenkins), Families (by Susan Kuklin). And of course I can't wait to read some of the new fiction.

For me, the end of this September is filled with the chirpy song of crickets, with the color of leaves changing from green to yellow, orange and crimson, with the sad yet joyful knowledge that my children aren't mine anymore. As I sit here writing, my oldest is out hiking part of the Long Trail in Vermont with some friends and my youngest has finally moved into his own place in Long Beach where he's busy carving out his own life. I applaud that, yet still I miss the days when we were all here together, curled up snug and warm. I miss reading my boys their bedtime story, attending their concerts, their soccer games and Boy Scout meetings, their music lessons and concerts. For a while I truly believed I was raising two aspiring musicians -- one a violinist and the other a cellist.

For me, September is a wistful time of inevitable transitions. This year is no exception.