Teaching art with itty bitty students, exploring creativity, finding new passions and purpose, and enjoying the progress of my three greatest works of art out there in the big world.
The ducks at the end of the tunnel
The bereavement counselor assures me I will feel much worse soon, but she will be available to assist me for the next thirteen months. This fails to dampen my general mood of relief bordering on resurgence. I feel like I'm emerging from a very long tunnel. I already have two more hours in every day, and an enormous weight off my shoulders.
Did Dad see the light at the end of the tunnel? I don't know. He was not able to provide hints to those of us monitoring his crossing.
My ducks are not in a row. I still don't know diddly about probate, except that it's beneficial for some attorney$. My ducks are under Custer Road up by Schimelpfenig Library. Make way.