Oh, yeah. . . life
All this postage about our pilgrimage to Norwich has blinded this blog from what is actaully going on right now. Before I lose myself in the 13th century, I must report that Autumn has started with a vengeance.
We are already in the second week of volleyball practice. Daughter #1′s school team is coming off of an undefeated season (21-0, or something like that), but they’ve lost a huge number of graduating 8th graders, and her class, the present eighth grade, is trying to live up to expectations. Daughter #2 has just started with the 5th/6th grade team, for which she is very excited, having had to watch her sister for the last two years. D#2 is much more-sports minded than her sister, and a lot of her classmates have been in the same boat (older, volleyball-playing sisters). So, that team is locked and loaded. This will involve a lot of waiting around, and a lot of driving.
I have started on the road to employment. I will be teaching an undergraduate class on Arts Administration beginning next week. Like my previous position teaching middle school music, it should be a combination of exciting and hair-raising. I’m also going to be continuing to sing with the big church on Thursday nights and Sunday mornings (with occasional Sunday afternoons), and singing for the High Holy Days with the synagogue (with occasional Friday Shabbats.) The search for full-time continues apace. A lot of communicating, and a lot of commuting.
Details later, because I must be going. . . .
The Volcano
Now that the Wife is actually pointing people to this blog to read about the pilgrimage to England, I should probably start writing more. Hello, new people, and welcome to the blog.
Before our week in Norwich, we sang two services at Coventry Cathedral. Whereas Norwich is a very medieval city, Coventry is industrial, the home of the British auto industry for many moons. Our hotel there looked, from the outside, like your typical 70s corporate headquarters visible in any episode of Monty Python. Inside, however, was panelled wood, and looked almost 19th century, like you would have your hearty English tea, and then hop the sleeper for parts unknown.
Now, my standards for hotel comfort are pretty low, and so when we entered our room, it seemed a bit stuffy due to the fact that the windows didn’t completely open. But I put that down to the same reason that the British prefer room temperature (not warm!) beer. And, anyway, we had arrived at a destination, so I was ready to plop down. Went to the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and suddenly, it was Krakatoa, East of Java time. The water didn’t spit straight up, but burbled until it was just over the rim. So, the bathroom didn’t flood, but it was as though someone had just gotten out of the shower.
I wanted to see if I could replicate the experience, and so it happened again. It was like the world’s worst-designed bidet. Not having to worry about the water bill, I invited the family in to see the show. Well, this time nothing happened, à la Michigan J. Frog. The toilet went uurp, and didn’t flush at all. I put this all down to the age of the place, and really, it wasn’t hurting anybody, or making its way through the ceiling of the floor below us.
Turns out that we had the hundredth of Jay-Z’s problems. Other rooms had no ventilation and collapsing furniture. I was happy that the TV worked, and that there was a Sainsbury’s in walking distance. The rest of the room was fine. It was actually a little suite, the girls getting their own beds in a separate, doored-off space.
[I tried for three days to finish this off, and failed, so up it goes]
