I counted the days I have left of Summer. Do you know how many are left?
Eleven days before I have to end this bliss I’ve been living called ride-my-Cannondale-as-much-as-I-can-in-90+-temperatures, read-as-many-books-as-I-can-while-I-have-the-time, grab-a-moment-with-the-heir-apparent-between-when-he-gets-up-and-when-he-goes-to-work.
Soon I’ll be sweating-to-death-in-the-classroom, going-to-meetings-and-collecting-data-ad-nauseum, and asking-Jerod-to-get-out-from-under-the-table. Wait. It’s a new year. This year, Jerod won’t be under my table.
I loved July. Did you love July? Did you read and read and read? Did you read anything for Paris in July II? I did! I read A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway, The Paris Wife by Paula McLain, Night Flight by Antoine de St. Exupery, and the first story in Mavis Gallants’ collection Paris Stories. (Not enraptured or else I’d have read more.)
But, it’s not over yet even though July is over. As of 11:59 p.m. today. I am still going to read and review Tout Sweet, a book about a fashion designer from London who “hangs up her heels for a new life in France”.
Don’t tempt me, Karen, I just may have to hang up my chalk and come join you.