Summer classes are crazy. My students sign up, thinking that the classes they’ve feared the most will somehow be easier in a shorter amount of time. And then I explain that we have to do the same amount of work in six weeks. And then we struggle together. And then a few complain that we’ve done so much work. Sigh.
Last summer session, which ended a week ago, I had three classes running. At the same time, I was coming off Spring, off the London wedding, had that fractured tailbone, and was working to get the Prized Writing edition off to the printer.
I’ve survived. I told myself that if I did, I would reward myself in some significant ways. I would go to Ashland with V. I would have an amazing birthday weekend. I would do a little less work in summer session 2–reading more for pleasure, trying new recipes, getting some of the sillier stuff off the to-do list (eye doctor, finally printing out pictures, etc).
So now I have a trip to Ashland scheduled. This week, I’ve made four new recipes already. I’ve dusted most of the house for the first time since my Spring surgery. Went for a short walk and read a short section of a book this morning.
And my birthday was awesome. The winery I belong to, Kenwood, threw a paella party on my special day. The paella was amazing, the pours were generous, and the band serenaded me. And then I got to see friends who live near there.
Alex and I have been surviving together now for 20 years. And sometimes there are problems, but they’re fixable (except the ones that aren’t). And sometimes there’s wine and paella and music and friends.
