It must be fall. The coastal fog is retreating, local vegetable stands are selling pumpkins and the Cowboys have already played the 49ers (and beat them in overtime thank you very much!). Every single fall but one has meant school of some sort for me, since the age of five. That’s forty-seven falls of shifting from the relative leisure of summer living to the intensification of attending to details – a process that my body and brain adjust to more slowly each year, and this year in particular. Or maybe it’s a sign that the therapy is working: I am less keen to adapt.
By the grace of goddess (aka my partner Beedie) and “Jobs & Gates” (who peddled the technology that now provides the bulk of our income), I now pledge half as much time to the university. But I find it is still an acclimatization process. Long dog pack walks with Katherine and her poodles, yin yoga classes, cooking marathons featuring carefully harvested garden herbs and unhurried mornings in bed blogging with my netbook must timeshare with repetitive explanations of how chromatography and spectroscopy might be used in concert to cinch the identity of dyes in a colored coating.
I haven’t blogged in several weeks now. It must be fall.