The spiders I loved dearly

Yesterday AJ and I went to buy croissants from the patisserie run by an order of French nuns and came home with a jar of honey. When I showed the octagonal jar of clear, amber liquid to Mr. Spy later I said, “Look! It’s honey made by nuns.” And then added, after realizing the first part of the phrase sounded odd, “And bees.” I put the jar in the cupboard that holds tea and vitamins and medicinal herbs and other things that are good for you. And since then, each time I’ve opened the cupboard for tea, I’ve found myself with a spoon of honey in my mouth. There’s something very August about spoonfuls of sweet golden honey made by nuns and bees.

AJ went back to school this morning and practically ran all the way there. He and his friend O. arrived at opposite ends of the long sidewalk that runs down the side of the playground at the same time and waved at each other the whole way up the sidewalks that run up the hill, eventually meeting at the top. They ran together to line and took turns saving places next to each other while the parents humiliated them by dragging them out of line to take pictures. Their teacher was there with a camera too, and was running up and down the line photographing them. The girl next door showed up in a neatly pleated plaid skirt and a white blouse with a navy blue argyle vest. It was just the kind of outfit I would have chosen for a first day, one that looked a little like a uniform, which I desperately wanted. J. came later and stood in the back looking nervous and unhappy, despite the fact that he was in class with almost all of the kids in line last year, summer-struck shy. His mom had to help her younger daughter at her first day of kindergarten, so J was on his own. I gave him a quick hug and took his picture, which got a smile out of him.

Soon the bell rang and all the kids and teachers raised their two fingers in the air for silence. They stood that way for maybe three minutes, although it seemed like an hour. Mr. Spy leaned over to me and whispered, “What is this? A military funeral?” And then, just as silently, the lines marched inside, one by one.

Back on the street, I headed to the pool to teach and then home to clean up and squeeze in a few minutes of work before I had to leave to get AJ. I met my friend J. pushing her youngest in a stroller about halfway up my driveway (her middle child is in AJ’s grade) and we walked together the rest of the way up to school. It was funny to return to the clutch of parents hanging at the back of the playground. It gave me the weird sensation that no time had passed since the last time I’d been there back in June. But before we had time to hear about everybody’s summer vacations, the kids were barreling out the door and into our arms and then were pestering us to play on the playground. We stayed long enough for one of the girls in AJ’s class to chase him and his friend C. around the playground a few times and then AJ and I walked home to get the car and meet friends for our annual first-day-of-school lunch at the local diner.

And now, after an afternoon of playtime, the last for a while, AJ is getting ready for football practice and I am finally sitting down to work. But tomorrow — six and a half hours, all to myself.