I haven’t written about the hay bales and how they glow like giant golden random bocce balls in the fields. Or how the fields themselves have gone from rippling oceans of thigh-high grasses to overturned, churned chocolate earth. I haven’t written about how time has speeded up again and thrown me full-speed into autumn even though the trees have yet to turn. I haven’t written about the rosy color across Karin’s cheeks from days spent on the soccer field and the funny conversations Martin and I keep having.
I haven’t written about how upset I was over the hackity haircut Karin got from the hairdresser in her neighborhood and how I embarrassed both my children by calling up and complaining and insisting she go back to have it evened out. How American!
I haven’t written about my friend Camilla’s visit and how many times we’ve gotten together and how much I’ve enjoyed it, especially considering I only get to see her 2x a year and we realized recently that if we go home to the US for Christmas, I probably won’t see her again until February or even NEXT SUMMER.
I haven’t written about getting serious(er) with Spotify, and how fun it is to look up old music and find new music and steal music from my son’s playlist and put funny things on my daughter’s (Thorsten Flinck! Björn Ranelid! Youngblood! Justin Bieber! hahahaha!!) or how I want some new music recommendations to keep my playlist a little more current than 1978 or 1987 or 1995 where it alternatively seems to stick.
I haven’t written about the bird in the backyard that makes the funniest high-pitched screeching sounds in the late evening, that I can’t figure out the species of. It’s not a pheasant. I suspect it’s actually the cockatoo next door, but I was hoping for something more exotic. I haven’t written about how pretty the roses are this year. Or how the clematis that my mom and the kids planted on my willow is blooming.
I haven’t written about what’s going on with my Wonders friends, even though some of it occupies a lot of my mental space right now. And I haven’t written about the fact that the kids have started school and are telling me each day about their new teachers and their new classes and how interesting I find it all. Martin is a NINTH-grader! Imagine! Karin started SEVENTH. The mind boggles.
I haven’t written about what happens each day as the minutes slip away and I won’t be able to remember the details if I don’t. I haven’t written to say I’m sorry I haven’t written. Since I get exasperated sometimes when others do that, I keep on not writing. There’s a powerful urge in me to observe, to make note, to put down for posterity, but obviously an even stronger current that keeps floating me away from that urge despite all my best intentions.