Blue Horse notebook/Fat Boy paper/#2 pencils/Crayolas

New booksack—(the red one we saw)

Dark Shadows lunchbox—PLEASE!

Milk money—5¢/day (teacher prefers nickels to pennies)

Snacks (teacher prefers things without crumbs)

All accomplished, and she is fast asleep with tomorrow’s clothes on the chair by her bed! Jeff wanted to sleep in his clothes so he’d be ready early, and I gave in and let him.

The entries in this envelope are all from the same year in our Newton house. Can’t decide if I should keep or burn. I am inclined to burn. What is there to gain?

May 13, 1981

It’s a clear, beautiful day (at last), and I am finally seeing green in the garden. I love the cleanup, pulling away all the old, rotted dead to make room for the new. I added four peonies in the fall, those reduced for final sale, 50¢ for a pot of roots, because who knows what color they will be. Something to look forward to, because Frank is so agitated these days. He gets agitated over little things (maybe I forget to turn down the thermostat or to buy milk). And he jingles whatever is in his pocket (maybe that old badge from his childhood or one of his flattened pennies). “So sue me,” I say.

He may not think it’s a lot to direct a stageful of children, but I have bad days, too. If one dancer vomits, three more will follow, or if somebody whines about not getting the part she wanted. I’m doing “The Four Seasons,” and they all wanted to be Spring or Summer, because they love the bright colors, so now I also have pink snowflakes and purple leaves.

I certainly don’t bite his head off if I find his socks beside his chair or little shaved hairs all over the sink. I’m the one planning Becca’s graduation party, and I’m the one helping Jeff move out of his dorm; freshman year barely behind him and he’s already saying he wants to transfer somewhere warmer. It’s just the two of us, so shouldn’t that make life easier? People say “empty nest,” and I for one am sick of hearing it. Everything has a name now—a label or diagnosis or definition or little slot to get filed away. As if I don’t hear enough about labels and classifications for anything that gets dug up. Frank is obsessed with the plans for the upcoming Big Dig, which they say might take years of construction, bridges and tunnels that will help city traffic but might also send rats looking for new homes. I listen to it all. I listen, and I don’t jingle my pockets and huff and puff. I listen, but let’s just say, my mind is occupied with other things.

October 18, 1981