Earlier this week I took a short road trip: north on the Garden State Parkway, across the Tappen Zee, and, later, back across the George Washington Bridge and south on the Turnpike. Obviously, all of New Jersey's greatest hits. Those landmarks, using the term loosely, comprise probably the most of the state that most people ever see of it. Urban wasteland as its own rewards as a creature of horrible beauty. But perhaps its better with the blur at 70 miles per hour.
At an interview at the destination of this road trip, one question threw me for a loop. How would I like to be remembered after I have left the building? My first inclination is to answer in a Zen riddle about not wanting to be remembered, but that did not seem the time or place for philosophy or poesy. I stammered something out about being capable. Which in all fairness is a quality that goes unrespected.
A year or so ago, Molly and I were sitting at work and trying to decide what to do with our lives. She had her eyes set on a make-up course. My decision was to go back to school. After a year of tutorials, prep tests, applications, fees, and worrying, I have been accepted to a school. Truth be told, I'm quite pleased with the accomplishment. Molly has yet to sign up for the make-up course.
