...the short-term suffers

The day Dr. Janet Rahamut was killed, the Dean of Students at my university came to the apartment where many of us English majors sat motionless, except for the strangly breathing-like motion of smoking a cigarette. (frankly, were it not for cigarettes I may have forgotten to breathe).

The dean walks in - Mr. McClung - and tells us that anything we ever needed Dr. J for, we could now turn to him instead.

I've never forgotten that, and the countless other ways he's made me feel loved and looked-out-for in the past nine years. So I asked him to officiate my wedding.

He said, "honored" doesn't even begin to describe his feelings.

Also, one of Mike's classmates needs a roommate. She has a house on James Island with a screened in porch, on the marsh. I can bring my cat. It's less than five a month.

The third roommate may be an Indian girl. Hope she teaches me how to cook!

Now I just need to get some flow.