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From high atop the Main College Building staircase we see members of the Crew Team ablurrrr upon their rowing machines matching ergs to dollars.
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The dawn light comes earlier. It is still cold. I walk my one mile to school. A street friend greets me. The pedestrian lights are working at Brookline Ave. It is like Russian roulette. There are four corners. There are seven buttons. I am sure some of them do not work. If I am alone, one or two buttons are pushed. If the lights do not say "Walk" I know my buttons are broken. This morning there are people at three corners. The lights say, "Walk." I am happy.
I have the breakfast special at Sami's. The cook has not seen me for a long time. He greets me. Usually I do not stop here. But it is a holiday and Sami's at Harvard Med will be closed. I pass television news crews. The story must be the professor with pipe bombs, perhaps placed by the murderer of the hour, who perhaps murdered her brother long ago.
My thoughts are with my mother who is in hospital. A short stay, my sisters say. Then back to the nursing home. My thoughts are with the classes I teach this short week. I love to teach. Tomorrow it may snow and rain. I will wear my kandy-kolored tangerine-flake slicker. No. Matter. What.
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