School days

I'm beginning to suspect the autumn is sentient–or maybe the seasons in general are, but autumn certainly. The daughter started school yesterday and it was as if someone had reached over to summer and flipped a switch. The harsh sun was suddenly replaced by cloudy skies and mists in the hills that didn't burn off until midday. The air smelled of fresh rain and the ground was moist and soft; not the hard, dusty clay. Even the plants got into the act. The brown, dead grass was giving way to green shoots, the leaves on the trees was starting to turn colour here and there, and the sunflowers were suddenly three times as large and threatening to crash to the ground under their own weight.

There was also a lot more activity than I'd expected so early for the past three months. The road was filled with excited kids heading for the bus stop, people carriers were filling with more kids, and dogs could be heard all over the place as they joined in on the general excitement. My daughter got out of bed so early and with so little complaint that I made a quick check for outer space seed pods. She'd been looking forward to the start of school and the chance to show off her new clothes to friends she hadn't seen since June that she'd had her rucksack packed for a week and we had to hide her school shoes to keep her from sleeping in them. For my part, I was relearning how to make lunches and how to face the day on nothing but a cup of tea in a plastic travel mug.

Of course, the road repair services used the occasion to show off their organisational prowess. Not only had they blocked off the valley road in order to install a new drain, but they also reduced the road through Woodinville to a single lane while they simultaneously rerouted a crossing lane, moved a string of utility poles, and trimmed the verges. That's why I had to take a ten mile detour through Monroe. How they managed not to dismantle the bridges leading in and out before I got there, I have no idea.

The upshot of all this is that for the first time since spring I have Chez Szondy to myself with the exception of Carl the Cattle Dog and Little Ann. They pretty much leave me be except for the odd demand to hang out in the garden with them and Carl's periodic attempts to kill the neighbour's cat, who hasn't caught on that Carl hates his guts and keeps wandering into the yard. That wouldn't be so bad, except that Carl keeps forgetting about the invisible fence when he's in full chase, gets zapped, and then sits in the road and cries until I go out and carry him back inside. Other than that, it's pretty quiet and now find myself actually being able to work while the sun is up and to complete various odd jobs without a seven-year old magically appearing under foot such as crawling around under the wife's car trying to figure out how to reattach a plastic fairing that should never have been included in the basic design in the first place, is impossible to put back on without removing the engine, and I then had to do the job one-handed with a cable tie that took me the better part of a very uncomfortable two hours out of my life that I'll never get back, thank you very much, Chrysler Corporation.

But I digress.