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.
No one (and no dogs) got hurt the other day when, according to my dog-walking service, someone mistook the accelerator for the brake pedal and plowed through their storefront in Evanston. Said the owner: "fortunately [our greyhound] Jupiter was staying home that day. He likely would have been doggy mush if he had been stationed in his usual place...!"
And the driver? "Oh, she's fine. And her car had hardly a scratch."
No word on when they expect their storefront to be repaired. All of the windows were destroyed; it's now a bunch of boards. Parker, totally unconcerned about this, will still have his usual walk today.
Watching for his buddies at the morning play group:
Yes, it's a holiday, but when you own a small business sometimes you work seven days a week. Yesterday, for example, Parker came in to help with my filing:
I don't think I'll staff the job out to him just yet, however, given his propensity to eat the files.
I'm still looking for cicadas, though none seems to have emerged near me. Yesterday riding my bike I heard one in Highland Park and one in Winnetka, but so far I haven't heard any, nor seen any nymphs or shells in Evanston. If Parker only knew they were coming, he'd be pretty excited.
No photo today. Instead, yesterday's message from the dog-walking service: "He was excellent today. He even had a crap, which is getting to be rare."
I'm so glad someone else is as interested in my dog's bowel movements as I.
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.
Fully 63% of Americans want a timetable for our withdrawal from Iraq. This percentage includes me, 42% of registered Republicans, every member of my immediate family who can vote, Parker (who agrees with everything I say except "down, stay!"), the Speaker of the House (who is also my father's Congresswoman), and both of my U.S. Senators.
Unfortunately for the free world, majorities of both houses of Congress don't. So sad.
Correction, 9:00 CT Friday: Crap. One of my U.S. Senators, Dick Durbin, voted for the bill.