Today is the anniversary of my father’s birth. I wonder about him more and more and I so miss him. He died relatively young, 68. My dad had several medals from his military service. He never spoke of the details of those medals, and I find myself wondering about them now. I’ve been told recently that there was a fire in Washington DC in 1973, and all the archives prior to that time were destroyed. It sounds very strange to me, but that is what I have been told. What I do know is that my father was an extraordinary man, and I am proud to be his daughter.

Today I noticed at least 8 birds enjoying the new birdbath in my garden. It was quite hot today, so they were in need of refreshing. I’ve been working and working to get my yard ready for the fence—I’ve done all I can and the rest is up to the contractors.

Today I went to the big downtown farm market. While there, I met my daughter, carrying her market bag that I made for her. I was carrying the bag I bought from LLBean, the largest canvas bag they make. In China, I used it to carry books, and the students’ work, and I used it for market. Where I lived, the ordinary market is what we would call a farm market. I used it in class as an illustration of the ideas of “form” and “content.” The bag is the form, limited by size and shape. The content is what we put into it. So, I wanted them to write a three paragraph essay—that was the form. The content was up to them. It was a difficult concept for them. As a market bag, it can certainly hold far more than I am able or willing to carry in the heat.

Today I had a lengthy phone conversation with my son. We spoke of many things, but it wasn’t the content that was so important. It was his expression of caring and deciding to spend time on the phone with me that was important. I am so blessed by my “children.” We need a word in English, besides “offspring” which sounds like the botany lab or the animal breeding grounds, that means “the people, now adults. to whom I gave birth.” They aren’t children anymore, and “adult children” is an oxymoron. I realize that “children” means more than the biological fact, but I still long for another word.

The day is almost over, not in the sense of light since we are in full blown summer, but in the sense of being finished with doing anything more. Tomorrow is another day.