Long-time readers of The Daily Parker know that I don't usually discuss my personal life. Sometimes, however, I have an experience that doesn't involve Parker (except for putting him in his crate on a rainy weekend day), that moves me to break that rule.
On Saturday, I and about 100 other alumni of Glenbrook North High School wished our choir director, Judy Moe, a happy retirement. She and David Walter (the music department chair while I was there) taught me more about music than anyone since. Their training made it possible for me to have experiences that few people ever have, like singing at Lincoln Center at the Mostly Mozart festivals in 1998 and 1999. And together they gave me an understanding of music and a place in the world that—no exaggeration—helped me survive high school.
Judy (I can call her that now, she insists) watched me grow up, patiently guiding me through what was, for everyone around me, a particularly annoying phase (Mom: remember Sophomore year? Yeah, I was afraid of that). She also had the foresight and practicality to give me a job as her assistant for my last two years of high school, even, somehow, convincing me to inventory the entire Glenbrook North music library. This latter project involved comandeering a computer (this was 1986, so the computer was an Apple //e) and giving me the key to the music library. If I recall, there were over 700 titles to inventory, so this kept me off the streets for about a month.
During the concert I stood next to a soprano who graduated only last year. She never knew Dave Walter, being only six years old when he retired in 1994. But this soprano had gone through four years of Judy Moe's teaching, had learned the same songs everyone at GBN has ever learned, and had all the hallmarks of a Glenbrook North-trained singer. She found herself better trained than many of the college seniors she sang with, which is a surprisingly common experience with Judy's students. As we finished the dress rehearsal she absently suggested we'd see each other at the next alumni choir (there have been five since I graduated), but I realized when she said it that for we who graduated in the 1980s, Judy's was the last one.
I didn't hear about David's retirement until much later. I'm glad I got to see Judy's. After 19 years, the two of them still mean more to me than they'll ever know.
Still no cicadas to report, but I did just see a firefly. I think this is the earliest I've ever seen one—usually they seem to come out around the solstice.
I remember 25th May 1977 well. My dad and I waited in a very, very long line in Torrance, Calif., for some movie he wanted to see, and said I would really like. He had to read the opening crawl to me—something about some rebellion somewhere. I had no idea what it meant. Then I saw the first spaceship—the first one, the little one, not the planet-sized one chasing it—and I was in love.
Yes, 30 years ago today, Star Wars hit the theaters. Wow.
Due to a problem between chair and keyboard, the ParkerCam today will be showing the guy who's working on my house, and later on, either a bookshelf and closed door or a dining room and open door:
Parker will return to the ParkerCam either Sunday afternoon around 4 or Tuesday morning at his regular time. Today, he's at day camp.
Oh. My. God. Via Talking Points Memo:
Staff members of an elementary school [in Murfeesboro, Tenn.,] staged a fictitious gun attack on students during a class trip, telling them it was not a drill as the children cried and hid under tables.
...
During the last night of the trip, staff members convinced the 69 students that there was a gunman on the loose. They were told to lie on the floor or hide underneath tables and stay quiet. A teacher, disguised in a hooded sweat shirt, even pulled on a locked door.
More here.
Parker and I saw this dude hopping in the brush next to a parking lot. By "saw," I mean Parker got close enough to give him a good sniff (but not close enough to chomp on him), which elicited not more from the bird than a disdainful look and continued pecking at the ground. I think he's a fledgling, though I'm puzzled by his coloring and by the tag on his right leg. Any ideas?
I was about to open a bag of peanuts, but I hesitated. Apparently (assuming the warning message on the bag is credible), the "product was manufactured in a facility where peanuts...are used..."
Well, blow me down, Popeye. Forget those nuts. I'll just have to stay hungry.
I meant to mention one other great thing about San Francisco: Kennedy's Irish Pub and Curry House, at 1040 Columbus Ave., right where the Powell-Mason cable car line ends. It had everything I could ever dream of in a place to park myself for hours: dozens of microbrews, a great bartender (Max McLean), outdoor seating (the back patio overlooks the cable car terminus; the front, busy Columbus Ave. in North Beach), and tasty dal makhani.
I went there Thursday and Friday afternoons, sat in the sun, drank some beer, ate some curry, and fought off some of the most aggressive pigeons I've ever encountered. (Max told me pigeons are a protected species in San Francisco. This is probably not true, but I still hesitated before swatting one off my book. Imagine the scene below with a pigeon perched on the cover, pecking at my naan: that's what I discovered upon returning from the washroom.)
If they only had WiFi, and if Parker had been with me, I might never have come home.
Ah, family. I'm glad I got a chance to unwind with the Ps after my conference. But I do miss my dog.
Tomorrow: or, rather, tonight after 7pm CDT: check out Weather Now for, well, something appropriate to the season.