Meanwhile back in the Slough of Despond …

No, no, no … only kidding.

Even though, somehow, vacation is already a month in the past.

A couple of weeks ago I was having dinner with a group of people at school and one of the deans remarked that she was in a bad mood, mourning the end of summer.  By Monday, she said, everything would be all right.  But at that moment, for that night, she was sad — and fully prepared to wallow in it.  That’s kind of where I was, too.  But like her, I’m getting over it.

How am I doing that?  1) Reading, of course.  One way has been to get completely engrossed in the Millennium Trilogy.

I sort of unconsciously resisted these books for a long time; I really didn’t have any idea what they were about until one day I received a gift card to what is arguably the worst book store chain ever, so of course there is one not far from my house.  Never in my life have I struggled to spend $40 in a book store.  Lucky for me, that day there was a display of the Larsson novels right next to the front door, trade paperbacks, and I bought the first two.  Whew, $15 down, twenty-five to go.  (I also managed to come away with Richard Russo’s That Old Cape Magic and Sarah Waters’s The Little Stranger.)

2) We reprised our trip to New York for the U.S. Open, where one of the highlights was seeing RFed.  He’s the [extraordinarily attractive and talented] tiny blue dot in the forecourt below:

I need to get an actual camera; I’ve been relying on my phone for more than a year. Excusing the quality, you can see a few more pics from the Open here.

3) Exploring cocktails that go well with duck.

Luckily, I am not alone in my struggle to relinquish the summer — or, otherwise put, to shake off summer’s hold on me.  It’s not that I adore summer; as I said to a friend last night, I actually enjoy all the seasons when I am in them.  It’s more the transition, the change, and the fact that summer symbolizes (even if it doesn’t afford) great freedom. So, as with anything we love — seasons, books, vacations, friendships — it’s hard when it’s over.  Thankfully, Jean Teasdale has written about her summer and what it meant to her, which puts a delightful exclamation point on mine.

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