Eighteen days until Labor Day

I make my way home each evening, always an hour later than I have the energy for, half-listening to History of Love because I am still thinking about books. Wondering if my apartment will be cool or stuffy, because I left the AC off today. Hoping that there’s anything there that can pass for dinner, because I cannot bear to stop and buy anything.

I am worn to a nub by readers, sometimes well-meaning readers, who want me to tell them what to read. Or better yet, who want me to tell them what “everybody” is reading. Or I must hand them the exact book they are looking for (you know, the one that was reviewed some time in the past week no month no year in the Times no the Journal no Vanity Fair, and of course they can’t remember the author or title or even what the book is really about, but why don’t I know what they are talking about?).

This too shall pass. In eighteen days the road west will be filled with Summer People returning to their regular lives. We’ll return to ours, too.

Until then, I am grateful for rows of easy knitting, yards of meditative plying, for all the blessings of a life that is quiet when I need it to be. Like now, tonight, while the night things chirp and the moon is near full, and September is just around the corner.

5 thoughts on “Eighteen days until Labor Day

  1. I know how you feel. After work I had to pick up the Oreck vacuum (in for maintenance), 2 thank you cards, cranberry juice from the grocery store and a quick jaunt to the lovely Pennsylvania liquor store. All I wanted to do was go home and knit.


  2. Oh my. I will be sure to be kinder to my librarians. They always sound as though they are really happy to hear from me, or anyone, actually, since the library downtown gets so few actual readers in these days. It’s a good thing summer ends soon here, too. Then the beaches will be quiet and the sea sounds will be more like winter. Knit happily Jane… lella


  3. we get that up here with the city peoplebut we have them ALL year round…..cause there is too much for the tourists to do hereski, ballon races, OTB, outlet shopping, them tacky heart shaped jacuzzi’s, you name itvi


  4. Oh, do I remember those “purple book” comments. And the writers name was something like John, maybe.One of my favorite moments was when someone came in and asked for the best seller of the week, and said “it must be good”… to which I responded “well, no. People are buying it, that doesn’t mean they like it.”He acted like I had just solved the meaning of life for all the brilliance that comment held.Ah, customers…


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