Clara Parkes

It’s Monday, and not just any Monday. Today is September 21st. If you’ve been here for a while, you already know about today’s ritual. If not, allow me to bring you into the joyful fold. Every year on this exact day, we and many others around the world dance along to one very specific song.

It’s Sunday. And just because we’re in Arizona doesn’t mean we can’t spend a minute by the water today. Sure, it’s not a bay, lake, or pond. It has no tides, nor does it hold fish or boats or an elusive whale. But it splashes and sparkles and provides a most welcoming source of relaxation and refreshment. And, while it was made by and for humans, it also has a special place for small creatures to perch, splash, sip, and refresh in relative safety.

It’s Saturday, and since we’re here to help my mother mend, it seemed only appropriate to bring my lucky needle and some darning thread and facilitate another kind of mending too. The current patient is a much-loved cashmere sweater my mother reluctantly handed over after I noticed all the moth holes. She did this more than a year ago, and, alas, I failed to darn a single stitch. Worse yet (and plug your ears if you’re squeamish), more moths found it.