On Wednesday I discovered this charming bullfrog hiding under the creek bank where I was eating lunch between classes. He was roaring so loudly that the water rippled around his throat.

My gorgeous basil plant, one of the joys of this summer, turned into pesto yesterday. I cut off about half of it to use for pesto, and I must confess that it sort of felt like committing murder. The pesto was delicious, though.

Another one of the joys of the summer, Scott's roses, have been flourishing. This spray was so enormous that we ended up cutting it off the bush and bringing it inside--before it snapped off the bush under its own weight. These are Evelyn roses, by the way.

The first week of school closed today with two events, one sad and one happy.

Laura, Scott, and I all woke up early this morning so that we could drive Laura to the airport. At half seven, Laura K met us at our house, and the four of us drove up to Indy together. At the airport we said good-bye to Laura, who's off to study abroad in Northern Ireland in two weeks. Last night we had a long conversation about study abroad. I only hope she can find the same reward in being part of the church there.

To kill time before Lindsay and Ethan's wedding at ten o'clock, Laura K, Scott, and I poked around a Trader Joe's near the church where the wedding was scheduled to happen. Scott apparently knows the north side of Indianapolis like the back of his hand, which isn't surprising, considering that he spent one summer downtown working as a bellboy in a big hotel, and another summer as a law intern.

Having stocked up on Trader Joe's curry sauce, micro brew beer, and salsa, we duly arrived at the church half-an-hour early. Lisa met us there, and the four of us sat together. The church, St. Luke's Methodist, is a big brick structure, one of these odd modern constructions that allows natural light to enter but only from high windows which are rendered invisible by strange straight angles.

The wedding was beautiful, of course--what else can one say about a wedding? Her colours were chartreuse and teal, with bouquets of vivid orange orchids and lilies. The service was Episcopal, so they offered communion at the end (which made the three of us RPs feel extremely awkward). Afterward we all sat together. Scott, Lisa, and I talked about Lisa's experience as a highschool teacher so far, about public education in general, about trying to maintain separation between work life and private life, about the lack of responsible guys in the church today, etc. Getting to sit down and talk to Lisa again was great, particularly since it happened over delicious brunch food.

When the wedding party arrived, the usual round of ceremonies began again: toasts from best man and best maid, from father of the bride and father of the groom; the cutting of the cake; Lindsay and Ethan's first dance; their dances with their respective parents and inlaws, and then finally the opening of the dance floor to all the couples. (Hardly any children were at the wedding, which felt rather unnatural to me.)

By this time it was nearly two o'clock, so the four of us congratulated the happy couple, said good-bye, and left. Scott drove Laura K and me back through downtown Indianapolis. First down a main thoroughfare lined with enormous half-timbered, Gothic revival or Spanish revival or Tudor revival houses, sporting diamond-paned windows, tiled or slated roofs, broad porches, details carved in limestone, and all set far back from the road on immense, perfectly-manicured green lawns, under gigantic trees. Then into a sketchier part of town, where the late 19th-century houses gave way to early 20th-century apartment blocks in yellow brick, Art Deco-style.

Then into downtown itself. Indianapolis's downtown reminds me of Tulsa's in many ways, though it seems to have caught the gentrification revival more quickly than Tulsa's. It, too, is graced with Gothic revival churches, Art Deco buildings, and modern skyscrapers. Unlike Tulsa, though, it boasts several enormous war memorials, which are far more grandiose than anything I've seen anywhere before. We drove through busy streets under the shadow of skyscrapers, and I gaped at the fancy hotels, restaurants, bars, and shopping malls. On the edge of downtown, of course looms the huge Colts stadium, an indoor football arena built of brick.

We followed the same road out of town--into sparsely-populated fields speckled with old farmhouses, where the skyline was dominated eerily by the twin stacks of a power plant. And so onto Indiana State Highway 37, and down to Bloomington.

At home we said good-bye to Laura. Scott did legal work and is now playing Red Dead Redemption in the basement. I've been housecleaning, washing linens and clothes, trimming back the ivy outside, and generally straightening the place up. Our neighbour across the street is hosting some sort of party tonight; her backyard is full of kids playing soccer, and her deck is full of adults talking. Tomorrow, thankfully, is Lord's Day. Some time to rest, perhaps.

For some reason, backhoes have always fascinated me. These are outside the Chocolate Moose, where we went to get ice cream tonight with sister Laura, old roommate Laura, and Heather. The city has decided to lay new water and sewage lines under the main north-south road through Bloomington, so these enormous diggers have slowly been making their way up the road. The one in the lower left of this photo is in a gigantic trench that's probably ten or fifteen feet deep.

Second day of classes began a little sadly as I said good-bye to Stephen before leaving the house. He drove back to Geneva for college today.

The morning was clear and cool again. This term I'm taking two MFA classes, one of which begins at nine o'clock. It's the MFA practicum, which is difficult to explain to anyone who's not in the MFA program, and difficult (sometimes) to justify to myself. We started off in Ballantine and then made our way to the Hilltop Garden, which is IU's community garden up past 10th St.

We spent all of today's class time planting our four plots in the garden. It's a fairly large, enclosed garden, right on the hilltop, as the name proclaims. In other beds lettuce, arugula, kale, chard, sunflowers, basil, tomatoes, and peppers were growing. A lot of the garden space was blank, though, baking under the morning sun. I discovered watermelons hiding under dense leaves and still vaguely blue with dew. Also squash and zucchini. We planted radishes, turnips, carrots, beets, cilantro, and fall greens (kale and the like). Why a literature class bothers to work in a garden is an abstruse question to answer. To me it makes sense from a practical perspective: if you're going to try to write nature poetry, you'd better be out in nature. Also some people in our class have never gardened before, which is a weird idea to me (about as weird as the idea that some people have never seen a live cow up close before).

Anyway, scraping furrows in the pale brown dirt under the morning sun, with the unexpected shadow of thunderheads on the western horizon, was a good way to start the day. After class I ran errands: post office, bank, Boxcar Books for the textbooks for this class, and streambank, where I ate lunch and read Britain After Rome and threw crumbs to the fish.

At half two I biked to Cedar Hall for workshop. Oddly enough, I taught my first W131 section in Cedar last fall, so the trek from the centre of campus to Cedar doesn't feel too foreign. We're in a nice room, too, much better than the windowless cinderblock pressure cooker at the top of the library--this one has a whole wall of windows and no disconcerting echoes.

At home again after class, Alex had left, and Laura, Scott, and I lounged for a bit. I tidied up my calendar and books for the semester ahead; Scott did legal work; Laura read Anathem. For dinner Scott grilled salmon, and Laura steamed quinoa and broccoli (not in the same pot). We sat outside. The evening was perfect. As Laura said, the light looked like something out of a film, catching everything just so. Blanche sat on the deck railing to keep us company, and after we ate, Scott and I wandered around the garden, admiring the roses.

For dessert we ate Laura's ice cream and a delicious chocolate-chip-oatmeal skillet cookie that she baked in the oven. We watched Groundhog Day, which sparked a discussion afterward about grace, realizing that the world doesn't depend on you. Scott thinks that the main character's moment of redemption arrives when he understands at last that nothing he does (nothing good or bad) will change his existence, or even save the lives of people around him, and he becomes content with that, happy just to relive the day looking out for other people whether that eases his own situation or not. Interesting.

Now Playing: Scott and Laura reading through an old Russian textbook.

First day of class for the Fall 2012 semester began in an unusual way. That is to say, I've never begun a school semester by waking up next to the guy I'm married to at half six in the morning so that he could go to a job interview with a large law firm in Indianapolis. The interviews started at half nine, so I sat with him while he drank his coffee and waved him good-bye (all very proper and domestic) before going for a run. For the past few days we've had lovely cool, clear, dry weather, and on Saturday I mapped out a new route for myself. It takes me through the neighbourhoods in a spiral centred on our house. This way I can appreciate the lovely neighbourhood and explore its nooks and crannies--its shaded avenues, lush lawns, painted houses, and bright gardens--as a distraction from how unhappy my lungs are.

By the time I came home, Laura had left for her morning run. She, Stephen, and I ate breakfast together (they're visiting right now), and then I spent the morning scampering around my computer, preparing to teach. At about a quarter to twelve, I walked to campus. Leaving Elm Heights or reentering Elm Heights from campus always makes me feel as though I'm leaving/entering a dense green labyrinth. By comparison campus seems crowded, bright, and chaotic.

The 12:20 section I taught seems to be full of bright students. I was terribly nervous to start with, but it got easier as the session went on, and the students made good analytical contributions to discussion. Their critical thinking skills seemed to kick in quickly. After class several of them came up to introduce themselves or ask questions about the syllabus.

Then I sat outside and ate lunch on the slope by the Bryan House (above). Admired the cool afternoon, read Geoffrey Hill. When I went back to Ballantine for the 2:30 section, I ran into Jackie and Lisa on the sidewalk, and Heather in the hall. The 2:30 section does not seem to be nearly as bright. Perhaps lunch ate their brains. They were too busy constructing a narrative for the picture I asked them to analyze, instead of analyzing/critiquing the picture. Oh, well.

When I got home, Scott was sitting in the kitchen, where Laura was occupied with making bagels. Scott gave us the rundown of the interview, and a few minutes later, Rich showed up, so Scott had to tell the story all over again. The three of us sat in the living room, and Rich listened to Scott talk, gave him counsel about this new job possibility, asked him questions, etc.

At about half four, Jane and Anne showed up, having been dropped off by Amy. Anne and Laura bonded mysteriously over the bagels, but Jane was her old crazy, wonky self, and insisted on being carried around the house piggy-back in an endless quest for Aria (Stephen revealed after they'd left that Aria had been hiding in the medicine cabinet under the sink in the basement bathroom!). We charged all over the house and lawn, Jane crowing, "Aria! Dear Aria!" over and over, and sometimes, "Blanche-y!" The funny thing was that she didn't actually want to pet the cats, just to see them, and would get very freaked out by Clover, who was sprawled on my desk and glared at us ferociously whenever we investigated the office.

After they left, Scott, Laura, Stephen, and I drove to Laura's for dinner, stopping at Sahara Mart for wine on the way. Two of Laura's old friends, Peter and Leah, joined us, and of course Cindy was there, too, since she lives in the Allen St. house now. We made quite a merry party.

We came home at about nine to find the cats quarreling with each other out of hunger. Scott fed them, and then he and Laura joined me in the office and proceeded to read bits of Russian out of the old textbook. Outside, crickets chirp. A storm went over this evening, though Bloomington had very little rain. The air is already warmer and more humid, so I suppose we're back to normal summer weather again. That brief spell of autumn was so pleasant while it lasted.

Now Playing: Tchaikovsky, Symphony No. I, in G minor, Op. 13, "Winter Daydreams."

Don't ask me why this particular symphony is so appealing, particularly on a hot August day. The second movement is especially gorgeous: a clear, harsh, bracing horn line above the orchestra.

Somehow this blog has managed to languish again. I guess summer just doesn't seem to proffer very interesting reading material to the rest of the world. Also, we've been scurrying all over the place this summer: not only the U.K. adventure, but also a week in Michigan with Scott's family, a week at the RP international conference in Marion, Indiana, and now a long weekend in Oklahoma with my family. The Beetle is certainly racking up the miles.

Thankfully, Michigan was nice and peaceful. We stayed at a cabin by a lake near Superior, in the Lower Peninsula, and took a day to visit the Upper Peninsula, too. Highlights included swimming almost every day, playing in the campfire almost every night, and watching Scott's ten-year-old nephew Joe land an enormous, sleek, powerful walleye.

Oh, yes: and getting to see a real live honest-to-goodness flying squirrel! It had the courtesy to make an appearance on our first evening by gliding across the open space above the campfire, clinging to a big birch tree, scampering up the trunk when we shone the flashlight on it, and then poking its head out at the first big branch it came to so that we could get a good look at each other. Since I was a child, I've been convinced that North American flying squirrels are legend--akin to Bigfoot--but no, they're real. Furry, flying, fat, and fascinating.

Our other animal adventure of the summer also included a flying mammal. This one was not quite as welcome, however. Last week Emmaline visited us, and one evening when we were saying good-night in the upstairs hallway, I happened to glance over to the frame around the hall closet. The small, brown, furry creature clinging to the door frame stopped me in my tracks: a bat. In the house. Hanging by its feet from the upper lintel. Twitching its ears amicably as we talked.

Scott looked up a Wiki How article, helpfully entitled, "How to get rid of a bat in your house," accompanied with ridiculous little cartoon drawings. Guided by this, he bundled the bat into a couple of towels, which he then rushed downstairs. I was waiting at the front door to fling it open and could hear the bat chittering confusedly as Scott raced past. He dumped the towels on the lawn, and the bat came crawling out on its claws, opened its wings, flew a lap around the front yard (I thought it was going to try to fly inside again!), and disappeared into the evening.

Quite an event. No more of those, please. Bats are awesome creatures--as long as they're outside.