September first
"Bear one another's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." — Galatians 6:2
Dan called this morning at seven-fifteen, the way he does on Tuesdays.
I was already up. I had already had my coffee and read my verses and let Biscuit out and brought him back in and sat down at the table with the second cup. The phone rang and I picked it up and he said good morning and I said good morning and he asked how I was and I said I was fine and he asked about the garden and I told him the truth, which is that the garden is giving me what it has left to give and I am taking it.
He told me about Olivia's new teacher. He told me about Jack's soccer practice starting up again. He told me that Beth was painting the hallway and that he had been told to stay out of the way, which made me laugh because Earl was the same. Give that man a paintbrush and he would find a way to make the wall worse. Earl could fix a fence and hang a door and wire a light switch but hand him a brush and a can of paint and the wall would end up with streaks and the floor would end up with drips and he would stand back and say it looked fine and I would not argue because arguing with Earl about paint was like arguing with the weather.
It was not a long call. It never is. Dan is not a long-call person. He is a Tuesday person. He calls because it is Tuesday and because I am his mother and because the calling is the thing, not what gets said during the call. I have learned this about my son over the years. The content of the conversation is not the point. The fact of the conversation is the point.
September. The first day. It does not look different from yesterday, which was the last day of August, but it feels different the way a room feels different after you have opened a window. Something has shifted. The air has moved.
I hung up the phone and washed my coffee cup and stood at the kitchen window and looked out at the yard and the morning was good and ordinary and September and mine.
Lord, thank you for the ones who call.