Mo[u]rning

August is when the crickets come out. Their constant bleet is punctuated by crow caws at this time of day. Otherwise, here in the wooded suburbs, things are quiet.

I left my house/home yesterday. It was hard. So many days of endless work . . . and finally, an end.

What remains is the worry about the renovation glitches . . . the washtub not draining and dripping under the sink. I hate fights, and I suppose I always suspect I have to fight for people to be fair. I'll have to call the reno guy later. Hopefully, he'll correct the problem. If not . . . well, I can't bear to think about that right now.

Last night E and I ate out at an Indian restaurant in my old neighbourhood. It was surprisingly good, with fresh vegetables and savoury sauces. We drank Kingfisher and stifled yawns. When we returned here, we sank into bed and cruised online sites for high-thread count duvet covers. We've decided a new marriage bed needs new bedding. (Thank God! What is it about men that they don't understand that any trace, ANY TRACE, of their ex-wives in their home with their new wife is irritating.) So, today we will shop for new stuff, while all my old stuff clogs the garage and the dining room.

One special thing is drying on the deck. It is my mother's hand-made Canadian provincial flower quilt. When she was making it, maybe 20 years ago now, I asked her who it was for and she said, "Maybe, for your wedding." Little did she realize how long that would take to come about. When she died 10 years ago, I took the quilt. It has been packed away in mothbolls ever since. I never used it with my ex, but it matches E's walls perfectly, so after we buy an Egyptian cotton duvet cover, we can put my mother's quilt on top. I think she'd like that.

What would my mother make of my new life? She'd probably be glad I've settled down. She was a bit of a Stepford wife, my mother, but she always claimed to be happy. I think she thought of marriage as a career. Her whole project was to be my father's helpmeet and our mother. I still wonder if she ever regretted not taking more time for herself. What would she have done? Would she have been happier?

Of course, I'm also wondering what I should do and how much time I'll have to do it. Now there will be three little kids around, and kids take time. I'll just have to find some quiet places to retreat, or take my early mornings like this to sit and think things through, then someday, someday, do.