I love my jobs.
I just love my jobs.
Teaching. Composing. Sitting at the piano for hours every day.
Could life be better than this . . . moving the needle in other people’s lives?
A TBT photo, from 20+ years ago, when I was an adjunct professor at a community college in Kansas City, even then working with others for greater good:
My dear, dear friend Ken Rodgers is 55 years old today.
How I wish I could have a G&T with him!
2000. With Ken in Toronto in January.
Ken and me at lunch today on a floating restaurant in Portland, Maine.
Earlier this month, I was looking for a photo on my blog, and found this entry, which is worth sharing again:
1983. Willow Springs. My first rental home.
I wrapped up the last of my father’s business affairs on Friday.
He died on December 17, 2017. We are now well past the two-year mark, and it’s finally over.
The hold-up with closing his checking account is that the house was tied to it. And as long as his widow, JoAnne, was in that house, the checking account needed to stay open.
Jo is now in full-time memory care in Lee’s Summit.
The house sold two weeks ago.
And there we are. On Friday, Bank of America handed me just under $140. That’s the end of the estate.
And closure is real.
Our last photo with Pop, three weeks before he died:
With Bobbi Barnes at some formal event at Southwest Baptist University. This was Spring 1983. I was parting my hair close to the middle to try to cover the massive widow’s peaks.
I’ve been watching the Westminster Kennel Club dog show this week. And thinking about the dogs in my own life.
So many of them — recently Samson and Auggie, and the childhood dog Snowball. And the 1990s dogs Elmo the Bassett Hound, Sam, Goldie, and Phantom, the latter two West Highland White Terriers. And Delilah.
Auggie watches the Westminster Kennel Club show.
With Flora Carter and my doggie Sam.
I think this must have been a Rock-a-thon, raising money for something. And this was my first-ever pair of eyeglasses.