I'm in my bedroom, the windows to the west open to let some morning air in, and a cheer from the school just through the hedge just blew in with the breeze. 

The seniors are arriving for their last day of high school.  Tomorrow when the other three classes are dragging their uneducated butts into the school building, the seniors will be sleeping the sweet sleep of the (minimally) sufficiently schooled.

The yoke of compliance has been heavy, but today there is not much that will be expected of them.  It's too late; teachers and administrators have had their best shot and today the young people are feeling exuberant.  The world is theirs. Hear them roar!

Jean hurries out the back door (it's still slowly closing as I write this) and joins them.

It's fairly early on Sunday as I write this.  I'll be the only one awake in the house, probably for some hours yet; the young adults drift in late these days after nights of rambling around in their groups.  Parker had a friend stay over last night and movies and video games ensured that they were awake to greet the returning family members.  Bob worked one of those all-nighters that his company likes to host when they do computer changes, and he and I just missed each other this morning.  I got up at four, to a house that had just turned from beehive to roost, the soft breath of sleep coming from all corners.

So I've watched the dark turn into day here, and felt the suffocatingly hot house cool with early morning breezes.  Looking around, I see that Parker and Drew cooked the night way and left every dish to the DishFairy, clothes and towels on the floor mark where the hand above them dropped them since I went to bed late last night.  Disorder is everywhere.

Picking my way through the kitchen, I turn on the faucet, get out a paper filter, open up a new package of Starbuck's Gold Coast, breathing life into myself as I do.  As the pot fills with the fuel that drives me through the day,  I look at the clock and start the countdown to two p.m. when we will leave for the Jean's graduation ceremony.  There is a lot to do, there is always a lot to do.

In the space of the quiet, I take in the first cup, and begin.

This is the blogging day that I have been worried about.

Jean graduated from high school yesterday.  After writing about her so many times, I knew I'd want to write a post about the big day and because I had mixed feelings about her moving out into adult life I knew that writing it would be difficult.  All of those commencement speeches, so alike that there must be some fundamental truth in them shine with pride and optimism.  But they are for show, and this place is for expressing real feelings.  I have a lot of respect for this place.  I didn't want to do a post that was a mask for what I felt.

So here it goes--

Yesterday was my dear Jean's graduation from high school, the culmination of four years' effort.

The only part of preparation left to complete that morning was the frustrating chore of removing the wrinkles and creases from a gown that was labeled as unsafe to wash, dry clean, or press.  Of course we managed; and the rest of the early part of the day was a lot like that; everything went smoothly.  Jean kept to herself, and other than some time spent tag-teaming the hairdryer and curling iron, co operating as we are used to doing, she and I spoke to each other through open doors, but didn't have time together.

And it's a good thing that we didn't.  I was feeling more regret for the passing part of my daughter's life than I was joy at her accomplishment.  I would put a good face on it when we were face to face, often changing what I was saying mid-sentence, switching from melancholy to positive as I did.  All of those U-turns wore on me, but she didn't seem to notice.

And then it was time to leave, and we met, with a few minutes to spare.

And I looked at my daughter.  Taller than I am,  her dark hair shiny and softly curling; it's grown out to below shoulder length and the dicey dye job she gave it the day in August that she found out she had mono has blended in, highlighting its rich shade.  Her dark brown eyes looked at me, calm and intelligent, rimmed by long dark lashes.  Oval face, cheekbones that she owes some unknown ancestor fervent thanks for, lips that are beautiful, a bit full in the center, soft smile under a sheer gloss sheen.

No bohemian clutter today.  A simple white dress, a silver necklace, a small hoop on each earlobe.  White heels, low so she can walk confidently across the stage.  The one telltale detail about her usual style is her right wrist.  Three bracelets, not one, and not three that a person would ever think to put together, but she had and they look dressy, but not boringly conventional.

My daughter is a beautiful young woman, and more beautiful inside than out.  She has learned what she could in high school, and most of what she can learn from me.  It's time that she leaves and learns more someplace new.

My pride is not the irrational type parents are prone to.

Any sane parent would be luckier than reason could account for to have had the span of a childhood to spend with Jean.  Our good times aren't ending; they are going to have an expanded setting.  I'm excited for her.  She's really ready to go on.

It's hot out today.

The sun is radiating heat through air thick with humidity and life slows as it tries to move through sultry space.  Eyes squint against the blazing light, but every other part of one's body is slack, worn with being swaddled  by the suffocating mugginess.

Baked blacktop reflecting heat on everyone on it; hard baked earth with wisps of sunscorched grass not quite totally pulverized by knobby shoe soles running over it; it's no day to be outside at high noon, thirsty and heat-doped, just marking time until the bell opens the doors to dark and airconditioned halls.

Yes, it's no day for that.  Lord, not in this heat.

It's the first day of the school's summer break.  I'm in my cool house, with a glass of iced tea that is the only thing that's working up a sweat.  There's nothing at all that I have to accomplish today.

Life is good.

What this summer break is really proving to be is more on the order of

The Third Ward is one of the City's oldest areas, one of (not coincidentally) three seperate settlements that ended up having to get along with the other two well enough to function as one unit.  It's still got it's own atmosphere, and is being brought back to fashionable use.  The shops are interesting, housing is interesting, theaters and restaurants are interesting, and so is the museum that's located there.

Jean and I were down in the Ward a few weeks ago, getting into retail trouble, and I took a snapshot of the exhibit at the Eisner Museum.