Summer has slipped away.  I may as well get used to it.  Most of my petunias succumbed to the end-of-August blues, the geraniums continue blooming their heads off in a last salute to the season, the nights are cool, the moon has been magnificent and I’m about to start buying pots of chrysanthemums. 

This year my daughter-in-law invited me to Idaho for my birthday.  I didn’t have to think twice.  I instantly accepted--a trip to Rathdrum would be the best possible way to celebrate. 

August is winding down.  During the past three months, the people of Edmonds have experienced a heat wave, rain showers, community festivals, minus tides, outdoor concerts and summer markets. They’ve taken ferry rides, gone on camping trips and mountain hikes, enjoyed colorful gardens and exquisite sunsets.  I wonder whether most people end the summer looking back with satisfaction.

Last week, I talked about a visit to 15-month-old grandson Adam at his daycare center where his mother works in a large nursing home/retirement center in West Seattle.  On the afternoon of this particular visit, it took me a while to get Adam collected from the baby room and into his stroller…

I visit my grandson Adam once a week at his daycare center in the West Seattle nursing home/senior residence where his mother is a social worker.  It was not easy to come up with a time that would work for both of us for those visits. (I am never keenly interested in events happening early in the day. I never suggested that I visit him during the morning.)

My maternal grandmother, a huge influence in my life, was a strong Christian.  She lived by The Golden Rule and seemed effortlessly to demonstrate that rule, treating others at least as well as she hoped they would treat her.

I think I finished planting pots on my deck tonight.  I’ve said that before—and then during a perfectly innocent wander through a garden shop encountered one more plant begging me to take it home. 

Working around the house one evening last week, I listened with half an ear to some sort of documentary on Channel 9.  I’m sure you’ve had this happen:  You realize that a program is going on at length about something you have little interest in.  You reach to turn off the TV the next time you walk past it. 

Several years ago, early in July, I wrote a column about the flowerpots on my small-ish deck.  I could substitute this year’s date and simply send in the same column again, as not much has changed about my gardening.

I cannot imagine summer will bring me any better vacation time than the days I enjoyed in Oregon last week. 

Last week I wrote about my trip to Idaho to stay with my granddaughter Annika while her mother was out of town.  I told about the “To Do” lists Annika printed, the trip to the bookstore, the silent reading and other pleasures.  Staying with Annika is easy!

It’s been a while since I drove to Idaho to stay with my granddaughter while her mom made an out-of-town trip. 

My old red Adirondack chair occupies a sheltered corner of my deck year round. 

By the time you read this, I’ll be back from a visit to granddaughter Annika in Idaho.  This visit will be different, as Annika’s mother will be in Seattle while I’m in Rathdrum. 

Grandson Adam and his parents just returned to Seattle from their trip to Florida for a wedding.  (They missed the wedding but made the reception. Ah, the wonders of flight!) I offered to spend an evening with him (Aren’t I generous!) while his parents went out.  He stood at the door howling pitifully when mama left, which was not my favorite part of the evening.

My daughter and family from West Seattle have a wedding to attend in Florida tomorrow.  She just called from Dallas. Or Houston. (They’ve been in both airports today.)

Every May I watch The Kentucky Derby on TV.  I enjoy the tradition, the color, and the human-interest stories about trainers, owners and jockeys, each one hoping to finish the day in the winner’s circle.

Some people go through life matter-of-factly accomplishing the things they know must be done each day. 

“Love, Sex and the IRS” is a silly name for a play.  I just saw the play at The Wade James Theatre, which most everyone I know calls The Driftwood Theatre. 

The afternoon sun shines through the west-facing windows of my living room. I washed the windows the day before my grandchildren visited, and now I wonder how long it will be before I can bear to wash them again.