“To grandfather in the village”

This is a holiday weekend, which, for Karin, means half-days at the office. Karin’s dad whisked Samuel away for a sleepover, leaving Karin & me with just one child. We used our exotic new freedom to eat inside a restaurant and shop at Goodwill.

We bought Daniel some much-needed shoes. He refuses to walk in them. At home, I carried him to the back yard, plunked him down on the grass, and watched him crawl sadly over and beg to be held.

He’s happy to walk around in socks. It’s shoes that freak him out.

At Goodwill, I also found a volume, published out of India, of fifty Chekhov stories translated by Constance Garnett. Amazingly, I hadn’t previously owned any of Chekhov’s writings. I read “Vanka” when I was little and thought it unbearably sad (for by then I had lived away from my parents). Shirley Jackson’s “Lottery” is light and airy compared to “Vanka.”