ANNIE MOURNS THE LAST WARM DAY
Sometime around the first week in October Annie begins the mourning litany of "Annie's Last Things." Rick knows this well, giving a brief smile as I begin with: --"This is the last day we shall eat lunch on the deck." --"This is the last day for taking in the water feature from the garden." --"This will be our last swim as the nights are getting colder." --"This is the last drive with the sun roof open." --"This is the last time I will wear shorts." --"This is the last time we walk up the road by the beaver pond with our dog." And on and on and on. It is a damn wonder he still loves me! You could ask--What is the point of all these "last" markers? Here are a few thoughts: --I don't want to be caught unexpectedly past the time for an observance, as in a sudden frost before all is tidied up in the garden. --I like to feel in control of things, esp. in my life now I have had cancer. Talk about
