Lauren & A Setentón Fights MelancholySaturday, September 01, 2012
The day after a birthday can be one of melancholy. I am now 70. In a few years I will be able to use that Spanish deprecating term setentón (in my 70s). The day after a birthday, that happens to coincide with a long weekend, can be a pleasant one if one decides, as I did, to do nothing. And yet my eldest daughter Ale told us that Lauren (10) wanted to have a picnic today and when her aunt (Ale) suggested she have it in our garden she was all game. Both Rosemary and I were disappointed with Ale’s call in the afternoon when she told us that both Lauren and Rebecca had decided to stay home. “They did not want to come,” was added by my daughter with some emphasis. It is understandable (although it still hurts) that both girls want to squeeze the end of their summer holiday as much as they can and they want to see their friends.
With secateurs in hand I snipped at some of the leaves of my recently pruned laurel hedge that I had missed with my electric hedge clippers. I watered some of my hydrangeas which need water and stepped on my hollow tine (three tines) tool to punch holes in those parts of the lawn that were compacted and rain or watering will not penetrate.
It is seven in the afternoon and the NY Times (the Sunday edition) has yet to crash on our front steps. I have scanned four pictures I took of Lauren a week ago with my Mamiya and that splendid 3000 ISO Fuji b+w instant film. I have given them my albumen print treatment with the help of Corel Paint Shop Pro-X2. I have a feeling that this 10 year old (with the example of her sister Rebecca who is 15) is going to grow up more quickly. I have to take advantage of what little of her childhood remains and while she still does not object to me taking her photograph.
In today’s sunny afternoon Rosemary, Casi-Casi (her cat) and I sat on our metal garden bench. Our beautiful garden surrounded us so I soaked as much contentment (a happy contentment that is not just that simple contentment not quite happiness kind of contentment) as I could and told Rosemary that life was good.