Starting an eight-week class with a new group of 100 students is stressful. Last night’s debut went about as well as it could have, and the group chemistry seems positive this year. It’s always a relief to be able to stimulate real discussion in a group that size and this one seems particularly willing to engage, which makes everything better. So far, so good—and that was a relief. Only one more teaching session this week, tomorrow, to work on taking a sexual history with the medical residents. That’s always an interesting and challenging session.
Today is the consultation with the recommended doctor, which we’re anticipating with interest. [Later note: it was worth the time and we have several new avenues of investigation as well as a return appointment in six weeks. Stay tuned.]
The first crocuses started blooming yesterday (or at least that’s when I first noticed them) which was the explicit request of my father for the timing of his memorial service: when the crocuses are blooming in Urbana. It looks like we timed things pretty well on that front, too. Now all we have to do is pull off the rest of the event. The room and food arrangements are well underway, the slideshow is coming along, a first draft of the program is emerging, most people have reservations and set plans… it’s coming together, though there are a lot of details yet to arrange. In an example of the black holes in my brain, I was fretting about where to find a large-ish picture of my dad to have on an easel or something in the room. When I queried people about this, one of my helpful sibs suggested just using a collage of photos on a poster board, which is exactly what we did for the memorial for Michael’s parents. Why it didn’t occur to me without this suggestion is a puzzlement, the more so since the two posters from that memorial are in the hallway outside my bedroom and I see them every single day. Collage it is, and thank you, Ann.
Having started this first thing this morning and only posted it now is a good indication of how fractured the day was. The worst part was finishing up at the gym during a busy time of evening and getting visual overload from all the colors and movement. Usually when we go, it’s quieter and emptier. That’s better for many reasons except the day would have ended with no exercise without it. Since exercise is likely a path to fuller recovery, off we went. Glad it, and the day, are over. Tomorrow is another day.