Busy few days. Mailed my first package to W today; it contained clothing to replace the things his pen ruined in the washer…  Plus sunglasses (always important) and homemade milk chocolate peanut butter fudge (crucial). I love the idea of W receiving that cardboard carton I packed so carefully, smoothing packing tape all around its girth lengthwise AND widthwise so that the box wouldn’t break open. I meticulously covered every part of the address in clear tape so that even in a rainstorm it could find its way to my boy. I can see him hefting it, feeling the weighty proof that someone from home is thinking of him. I confess, I kissed the box in the car on the way to the post office.  Just a hand-kiss pat…  I’m not weird.

W’s doing really well! We’ve talked a few more times on the phone. He’s keeping up with his class work and liking his work/study job. He’s been invited to join a campus slam poetry group and last night he tried out for an improv group. He would love both of those things, I know! I get the sense that his life is incredibly rich now with opportunities, pleasurable activities, and friendship. Picturing this warms my hard little heart to the tips of its stoney little cockles. Apologies to however many words and metaphors I just butchered.

He told me at one point early on that he’d feared he might have missed an important bonding activity with some of his new friends  but that it had turned out okay anyway. I love that he recognizes the importance of things like bonding time. And friends. I love that he thinks about this stuff.

I have been occupied with more mundane activities. Teaching, writing tests, committee meetings, cleaning up cat puke … the usual. At the end of the summer before he left for college I had W bring in all the books from all the boxes we still had in the garage. We had brought about 40 boxes of books from our last home when we moved four years ago  and had only unpacked about half of them. I had W empty the boxes and line the books up, spines up, on the floor in the hallway leading from the garage to the living room. And, you know, around the corner, past the treadmill and the piano, around another corner, past the front door and the front windows. And along the dining room wall of course. And … piled on and around the coffee table. Thank heavens W took a few more to his room.  ANYway, they’ve been sitting there for a few weeks now. I thought I’d go through them pretty quickly, dividing into ‘keep’ and ‘give away’ piles and then actually putting away the keepers and loading the others into the car, but no. And now the abandoned and not-really-as-decorative-as-you-might-think books have become the favorite puking places for the old cat with the sensitive tummy. That too is not nearly so decorative as you might think.

Tomorrow morning W finds out whether he’s got a call-back to the improv group.

Friday he will receive my fudge-and-clothing-and-love-laden package.

My obvious next important task? Protect the books from future feline gastric upheavals.

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