It would be my quest for nine years

 

A heron embraces the sunshine

🍁🌿🍁🌿🍁

In my senior year of high school, I spent hours in the sitting room next to the guidance counselor's office, nestled in a comfortable chair beside bookshelves filled with glossy college catalogs. Those catalogs were a respite for my mind and a dream for my soul. I studied the same colleges over and over. My favorite ones were Lenoir-Rhyne and Mars Hill, because they were smaller and not as intimidating as big universities. I gazed at photos of students in classroom settings, lounging on manicured, flowery landscapes, and congregating on the steps of magnificent architectures, and I dreamed about attending college. Some of my classmates had already applied and been accepted. They were eager to pack their suitcases for UNC-Wilmington or East Carolina, the party school, and head off to learn interesting things, live in dorms, and make new friends. I was dreaming of the same and reaching for the unreachable. For college, I would need $$$, and because I had none, I kept my aspirations mostly to myself. 

    The guidance counselor would sometimes come out and acknowledge me. Dressed in a straight skirt, nylons and heels, and a beehive hairdo, she smiled and encouraged me in my ambition, but she never asked about my financial situation or volunteered advice on paying tuition or finding a place to sleep at night. She probably saw me for what I was -- a dreamer; a skinny farm girl fantasizing about a college education. She was right, but skinny farm girls can be determined and never give up. 

My lack of discipline and an update on David Copperfield

 

Heron with a mouthful of fish

🌿🍃🌿🍃🌿

After some hesitation, I transitioned to the Kindle version of David Copperfield, and I did so for the following reasons:

    1. My aging, hardback edition is fragile; a couple of pages already came loose.

    2. The hardback edition is too heavy for my purse and takes up too much room.

This move results in the following advantages, in addition to saving wear and tear on my precious book:

The show must go on, no matter what

Hooded Mergansers

🌺🌹🌺🌹🌺

Barry and I drove about an hour and a half south of where we live to see Dailey & Vincent in concert. We found our seats in the first row and sat down to wait for two of our favorite bluegrassers. In a little while, Darrin Vincent and the other band members walked onto the stage; that is, all the band members except Jamie Dailey. My breath stopped short, and probably everyone else's did, too, when half of the duo did not appear. We were all wondering, where's Jamie?

    Darrin stepped up to the microphone and announced to curious minds that Jamie would be absent. His parents had been in an awful car accident, and he needed to be with them. My compassionate heart reached out as my enthusiasm fizzled. To be brutally honest, I did not expect Darrin to do his own job and Jamie's, too. First of all, Jamie is about as replaceable as my miniature poodle, Josie, rest her soul. Some people and canines cannot be replaced, and that would apply to Jamie, a powerhouse of fun, energy, and tenor timbres. I thought the show would be a flop, but I had been wrong before.