Stop all the clocks

Stop all the clocks
Cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos with a muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead
Put crepe bows round the white necks of doves
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves

He was my North my South, my East and West
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song
I thought that love would last forever
I was wrong

"Say goodnight Jack."

"Goodnight, Jack."

"Goodnight, Sassafras."

Hippy Hippy Shake

"Mnhnhm, zo?" said my father into the phone, from three thousand miles away. That's code for, "Hello, this is your father calling."

It's funny; Kay does that, too, when she calls me. I'll pick up the phone and say, "Hello?" and she'll go, "Mmnhmn." She's been doing it since we were ten, and now that she lives in Bermuda, we almost never talk on the phone, but when we do, that's how she greets me. And it's OK, because she's my BFF.

It's OK with my Daddy, too.

So it wasn't his manner of greeting that alarmed me, but the fact that he called me at all. My father is one of those people for whom the phone is the vehicle for delivering only very bad, or very good, news. Your cousin in Germany had a baby would, in my father's priorities, warrant a mention next time he saw me, but would not warrant a phone call.

I tried to sound non-chalant. "How's my car?" I asked.

"Oh, vell, it's running good. I drove it the other day."

"Ah ha. That's good. So you're not calling to tell me anything happened to it, then?"

"No, no. I'm going into the hospital tomorrow morning at 7:00, for a hip replacement surgery."

I've been told more than once in my life, by people who know me well and some who know me hardly at all, that I'm not very good at small talk.

I come by it honestly.

Teacher teacher, teach me more

This is why I do it:

Dear Professor Sass,

Just wanted to drop a quick note to say thanks!

For what? Well, for being such a great teacher, of course.

A teacher's job, first and foremost, is to teach, right? I think we can all agree on that. But you took it a step further. Your input, passion, and encouragement really took that role to the next level.

You not only taught me the curriculum of a given class, you taught life and career lessons that prepare for the long haul ahead, and for that I'm truly grateful.

I've had countless teachers throughout my long path as a student, and I can honestly count on one hand the ones that stick in my mind throughout the years that pass. These are teachers that make an impression, ones that really teach, and not just the simple task of teaching from a book or a series of lectures, but ones that help to shape and mold your view of what is actually possible in your future.

Now I'll be the first to admit, there's still a plethora of obstacles and challenges yet to overcome. But with graduation fast approaching, remembering the voices of those few teachers, yourself included, throughout my life who have pushed me to become greater with each step, and realize the potential I am really capable of; it's without question I can say that I have the foundation with which anything can be built.

-Billy

Pennies from Heaven

The young man operating the cash register at my corner grocery this morning handed me back one of the three pennies I'd given him because it a Canadian coin.

"Good eye," I said, "Although, you know, it's worth more than yours right now."

"You mean ours," he replied.

"No, I mean yours. I'm not American."

The look on his face was not one of surprise, but of indignation.

"You're a citizen, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not."

He scoffed, as though to indicate that he hadn't time to play this game with me, and turned his attention to the next customer.