. . . that moment when you realize it’s your parents’ 60th wedding anniversary, and they only made it 38 years before Mom died, and you just start crying because you forgot the anniversary, and suddenly you miss her more than your father, and years of grief wash over you again . . . .
That was my Friday about 12.45 p.m.
I find it odd. The optometrist can mail me my prescription, or fax it to me, both of which can be intercepted by others, but because of FERPA laws cannot email a PDF copy, even though that is likely the most secure way to send my scrip to me.
Thank you to students who helped move furniture on Friday as we got some new/used items for Thompson House!
All the best-laid plans of chefs and cooks go out the window during the first week of school. Other people have been doing my cooking.
And speaking of the first week of school, we exceeded our expected music-major headcount. Significantly exceeded. My expectations for slippage were inaccurate. Rejoicing abounds!
Second-highest total number of music majors in two generations of students . . . .
The number of cars driving around Saint Louis with expired temporary tags — some expired for months — astounds me.
Tornado sirens and green-gray skies on a Friday afternoon make for an eerie end of the week.
I love my new office configuration. And my new desk chair.
And I love teaching voice lessons. One new Webster student started Friday. The light bulbs popping on above his head were copious and a balm for a weary administrator’s eyes. I still have my teaching chops.
Beware. More new eyeglasses are on their way.