My daughter called from Denver to tell me she had made the soup I used to pack for her in school, and I was tickled until she said she had changed nearly everything in it. Less of this, more of that, something green I would never put in that soup. I told her it sounded good anyway. What pleased me was that she remembered the thermos and the little note I sometimes tucked under the lid. I had forgotten the notes completely. She could repeat one almost word for word. Well, I have been thinking about that all evening. Apparently a mother does not get to choose which things her children keep.

I caught myself planning next week's driving route during choir, right in the middle of a passage I know perfectly well, and came back in on the wrong line. The woman next to me gave me a little nudge and kept singing. It bothers me that I can finish a familiar task while thinking about three others and then claim I enjoyed doing it. Did I? I remember the music before and after, not the middle. I am going to pencil the difficult entrance in my score. That will not stop me thinking about school, but at least I may rejoin the correct verse when I return.

We ate supper out by the camper because my husband had the folding chairs out already, and I stayed there longer than I meant to. The seat sits lower than our kitchen chairs, so I had to stretch my right leg forward to get comfortable, but once I found the position I was fine. There was a little breeze on my ankles and the Lab kept putting his nose against my hand whenever I stopped scratching him. I could still taste the mustard from my sandwich. By the time we carried everything inside I was pleasantly sleepy, which was inconvenient because the dishes had not spent the evening relaxing outdoors.