Sunday, August 28, 2022

Another Summer's End

This essay is a reprint from the end of August 2011.

The day after tomorrow, my seventh-grader sees the end of her summer as school finally starts. 

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 am interviewing startup CEOs, blogging, and communicating with clients, while she is devouring 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 the berries.

With the city laid out below us like a giant Lego construction, and the sky its bluest of blues, and 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 dog likes the 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 juice from the berries, but mine were darker because the berry-loving dog had licked hers.

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 her work and show them to friends.

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

And 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 the family.

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

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

"Maybe that's how you can pay your bills while you pursue your passion for art," I suggested.

That might sink in, who knows. Each of our conversations of this type is loaded by my awareness of our extreme age differential (51 years). 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 into her 20s or 30s.

Although that prospect sometimes makes me sad, it also adds some determination and purpose to each and every conversation of this sort.

Maybe later on she will remember.

(Update: The girl in this story is now 23 and a college graduate. Her latest painting is on display in a San Francisco art gallery. The author of this essay is still giving her advice.)

LATEST LINKS:

LYRICS:

“The Older I Get”

Alan Jackson

The older I get
The more I think
You only get a minute, better live while you're in it
'Cause it's gone in a blink
And the older I get
The truer it is
It's the people you love, not the money and stuff
That makes you rich

And if they found a fountain of youth
I wouldn't drink a drop and that's the truth
Funny how it feels I'm just getting to my best years yet

The older I get
The fewer friends I have
But you don't need a lot when the ones that you got
Have always got your back
And the older I get
The better I am
At knowing when to give
And when to just not give a damn

And if they found a fountain of youth
I wouldn't drink a drop and that's the truth
Funny how it feels I'm just getting to my best years yet
The older I get

And I don't mind all the lines
From all the times I've laughed and cried
Souvenirs and little signs of the life I've lived

The older I get
The longer I pray
I don't know why, I guess that I've
Got more to say
And the older I get
The more thankful I feel
For the life I've had and all the life I'm living still

Songwriters: Adam Wright / Hailey Whitters / Sarah Turner 

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