The house is cold, the sky promises snow, the pets and I are draped around the wood stove, and I am attempting, without much success, to concentrate on words. By 8 a.m. this morning I had already driven 60 miles back and forth to the high school; and as a result, I'm having a difficult time settling down to my work.
I thought of talking about music this morning, but I'm not sure I'm in the right frame of mind. What I will note is a conversation about high school sports that my son and I had at the gas station a couple of hours ago.
Son: Swimmers are like wrestlers. They're all grumpy.
Son: They're tired of being good at sports they've stopped having fun at. Plus, colleges are recruiting them for sports they don't want to do anymore but probably have to keep doing so they can get scholarships. Everybody looks at them and says great swimmer or great wrestler, and their teams depend on them. They feel guilty about not having fun, so they pretend they are. But mostly they're grumpy.
Mother: Ah. Sounds like how I felt about playing the violin when I was in high school. Grumpy.