summer night in Calgary

I think there aren't very many perfect moments in life, but last night was one of them. After a deliciously-tiring day of river rafting and other water activities--including Afton's baptism--me and the sisters ended up at John and Mary's house for the evening. we went to the field at the high school by their house and sat in the field watching John and Henry kick a soccer ball around. Canadian summers are nice because the days are even longer than they are at home. The days seem to never end even while autumn-ness is starting to seep into the air. (I should warn you right now that this entry runs the risk of dithering away into a sea of bathos. I apologize, but also realize that perfect moments, for me, almost always involve nature and the sublime.)

So, the perfect moment came after dinner. Doughnuts were warming in the oven, water was on the stove for apple cider, and candles were being lit on the deck, for atmosphere. We wrapped up in blankies, grabbed doughnuts and repaired to the outdoors, cradling mugs of cider. The next hour was spent in conversation, kids and adults conversing in harmony--actually NOT getting bored with one another--while the stars sparkled tentatively against the bright, Calgary sky. Suddenly, Henry sees a shooting star. So does Mary. Their prolongued astonishment means that the meteor was big. We all remember that it's late August: meteor shower season. The only logical thing to do, then, is to relocate to the trampoline to watch for more meteors. (Phoebe expresses concern about meteors crashing to earth and is reassured that very few make it that far.) Wrapped up like seven burritos, we lie on our backs for twenty minutes and do not see a single meteor--but we DO re-discover summer constellations. Casiopoea, Signus, The big dipper, The summer triangle.... The immutable North Star. (Coincidentally, it feels so strange to be so far north when i was so far south four months ago.) Then, it's suddenly late--too late--and we all roll listlessly off the tramp. Walking back to the house, I see someone crouched under the hammock, waiting for an ambush. I barely have time to register this when John suddenly darts from his strategic position and rushes after Mary. She shrieks (and I'm sorry for the awkward adverb) hilariously. John is evil, which is why I like him so much. Heh.

And then, we were out the door. But then Mary suddenly remembered that she had a winter coat that didn't look good on her that she'd decided to give to one of us. Me, being the closest to her size, was the obvious candidate. And so, as if the perfect evening had not quite been perfect enough, I ended the day by inheriting a beautiful, red pea-coat. (picture forthcoming.)

The saddest part about perfect moments is that you're usually too content to notice they're happening until they're almost over.