Another Summer's End

The day after tomorrow, my seventh-grader sees the end of her summer as school finally starts. (Her brothers are into the third week of their school year already.)

Today, in anticipation of all that, we decided to harvest the onions we've been growing in the flower boxes out front. She pulled them out of the soil, clipped the roots, cleaned off the dirt and washed them.

Then we sliced them and sauteed them in olive oil with canola spray, dusted them with salt and garlic powder, and served them over white rice with seaweed, butter and soy sauce.

Such tiny domestic tasks, for her and me, cement our days when we are alone together. The rest of the time, I was interviewing CEOs, blogging, and communicating with clients, while she was finishing one of the books on her summer reading list.

This afternoon, we walked the dogs around Bernal Hill. On the southeast side there is a large blackberry patch, so we took the dogs there today and picked a bunch of berries.

With the city laid out below like a giant Lego construction, and the sky blue overhead, with a breeze from the west cooling what otherwise was a layer of warm air, both of us picked and ate and offered some to the dogs.

One likes blackberries and gulps them happily. The other likes to smell them but refuses to eat them.

Afterward, as we descended the hill, we compared fingers. Both hers and mine were red with the juice from the berries, but mine were darker red because the berry-loving dog had thoughtfully licked hers for her.

We passed a mail truck on the way down. I explained to her the difference between UPS, USPS and FedEx.

She told me that until recently, she had never noticed the arrow in the FedEx logo. That gave me an excuse to go into one of my talks about her future.

She wants to study art and to become an artist. Her portfolio of drawings is growing; I often proudly publish bits of them here, usually without labels.

But, of course, as her (aging) parent, I worry about what choices she may make. Being an artist does not strike me as a particularly sustainable future for her in an ever-more difficult economy.

I don't think 12 is too young an age to discuss practicalities, particularly when she is one of the most practical of all of my children. Evidence of that includes her bank account, which due to her many small jobs like dog-walking is more robust than anyone else in her immediate family.

In fact, she often extends loans to the rest of us and charges no interest rates. (Note to self: I should talk to her about interest.)

But what I chose to talk about when she mentioned the FedEx arrow is the role designers play in branding for companies. I explained how artists come up with concepts like colors and symbols and branding icons, such as arrows or the Nike swoosh.

"That's how you can pay your bills while you pursue your passion," I suggested.

This seemed to sink in, who knows. Each of our conversations of this type is loaded by my acute awareness of our extreme age differential. My ability to exert influence over her choices has to be expedited just in case I am not around long enough to be her consultant in her 20s or into her 30s.

Although it sometimes makes me sad to know that I probably will not be, it also adds some determination and purpose to each and every conversation like the one we had today, because I know she is listening quite carefully.

And I'm quite sure she will remember.

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