Saturday coffee.
At 3:30 yesterday afternoon I drove home after a long two weeks of three twelve-hour days because of parent conferences, battles with administration as well as with my state union leadership.
The Friday afternoon commute on the weekend before Thanksgiving week is brutal. Walking in the front door at 4:30, I let Ulysses out, poured myself a glass of Lillet on the rocks with a twist of lemon (the first of several), put Silvio Rodriquez and Santana on the CD player, lit the fireplace, put my feet up and sat there fairly comatose for
Old School.
Ben E. King.
