Going home...
A Wise One once said "you can't go home again." And indeed, returning to my old high school was no such attempt. I was simply curious to see what the old place looked like.
After so many years, the school looked good. New. Spiffy. Painted.
I spoke to about 6 or 7 classes of kids - in various stages of consciousness - about what it's like to make a living as a linguist.
That is - after all - what I have turned out to be, I suppose.
The visit is going swimmingly so far. After my three hours at the old H.S., my folks and I went shopping for some food, and that's always a gas, because there are so many simply cool places around here to shop.
The shopping was then followed by a nice time in the kitchen getting everything together for dinner. And dinner was particularly nice.
Yeah, I know. I'm not being very communicative. Maybe it's because I'm having too good a time.
So shoot me.
My martini is getting warm...talk to y'all soon.
Cheers...
After so many years, the school looked good. New. Spiffy. Painted.
I spoke to about 6 or 7 classes of kids - in various stages of consciousness - about what it's like to make a living as a linguist.
That is - after all - what I have turned out to be, I suppose.
The visit is going swimmingly so far. After my three hours at the old H.S., my folks and I went shopping for some food, and that's always a gas, because there are so many simply cool places around here to shop.
The shopping was then followed by a nice time in the kitchen getting everything together for dinner. And dinner was particularly nice.
Yeah, I know. I'm not being very communicative. Maybe it's because I'm having too good a time.
So shoot me.
My martini is getting warm...talk to y'all soon.
Cheers...