Yesterday was the first day of school for both girls. Ten years ago Caitlin was climbing the big steps of the bus on her first day of kindergarten. Eight years ago Rebecca was going through the same ritual. Both wore dresses and grimace when I remind them of that. There used to be such a sense of promise, a clean-slate-fresh-start, at the beginning of each school year. Buying the school supplies, filling out all the forms (ok, that was never much fun, but it did contribute to that feeling of it being a new year), marking the calendar for picture day. Now that has dimmed a bit and there is a sense of counting down until next summer. I doubt I can get them to wear dresses again and pretend they're excited to be heading back to school...

Dreams: I was staying an apartment and had to move out. The woman who was the landlord noticed that the tiny patch of grass in front of the building was slightly worn at the corners (I felt some guilt, as if I had caused this wear-and-tear). Rather than simply re-seed the bare patches, she hired a landscaper to re-sod the lawn. It struck me as incredibly wasteful, although the soft, green grass did look barefoot wonderful.

There were a lot of people (family, I think) in the the apartment as I was packing up. I asked the landlord if it was ok if I took a small purple chair that was bound in some sort of plastic wrap. (This image apparently weaves together a variety of different real-life bits and pieces: I had a small rocking chair when I was little that had been my mother's, and my sister somehow ended up with it, something I ridiculously resent to this day; when Caitlin was in one of her manic moods, she bought an unfinished chair and table and painted them purple; you can just speculate about the meaning of "bound" and "plastic wrap" being used in the same sentence.) Anyway, the landlord told me I was welcome to take the chair.

The scene melted into the lobby of a small hotel, apparently in Carmel. My husband and I were checking out and I realized that I had neglected to make reservations at the next place we were supposed to stay. I called the concierge of the hotel - the inn we actually stayed at last month on vacation - and tried to sweet talk him into providing us a room for 2 nights on very short notice. I remember thinking that I should have tipped him $100 when we were there last time. He was able to promise us a room, but, disappointingly, I woke before we reached the inn. Strange, but the concierge was actually a woman, although she did have big hands.