I am not one of those people who hates Mondays. There’s the whole weekend-was-too-short-don’t-wanna-go-back-to-work thing but Monday also represents a return to a routine of sorts, which isn’t *always* a bad thing. Plus, at my work, Monday morning is [usually] sort of a sleepy time where people like me can [usually] spend some down time remembering what they do for a living. We perk up a bit at the late morning defect meeting, if it doesn’t get canceled.

This Monday morning was a usual morning, at least at work. Getting to work? Or maybe it was getting out the door. I was kind of floating along through my morning chores, etc., and was about to go out the door but then… My purse was not where I expected it to be. Hmmm… Where did I last see that thing. Oh yeah… I stashed it under the Frog Hopper’s front passenger seat while we were kayaking. At that point, the Frog Hopper was behind the Car Eater over at That Darn EPA.

I wasn’t in a panic but, what to do… I could drive to work without my driver’s license? But wouldn’t you know that this would be the day that somebody would slam into the Ninja at the infamous Ellsworth/State roundabout. I could work from home? That would be wimping out.

I ascertained with the GG that my purse was indeed in the Frog Hopper. I asked, “Can I come and get it?” It was a shorter distance and I wouldn’t have to be without it all day. Yes yes yes. And he even drove partway west and met me outside the Northside Grille to drop off the goods. Thank you! Still, I had to drive through down downtown Planet Ann Arbor to get my purse and then to get to work. It doesn’t begin to approach rush hour in Atlanta (or Seattle) but it wasn’t my usual zen-type slide west and south around town to Cubeland.

Flashback! A Monday morning many years ago, hanging out in the back of The Parents’ vee-hickle with Monday Monday on the radio. We were driving through Petoskey along Lake Michigan and a big part of me was wishing we were on one of our summer shopping junkets to Petoskey. The Petoskey of White Pants and “Betty, look! There’s Jesus Christ!”. Those were the days. That particular time, we were not stopping in Petoskey for anything. We were driving further down to the Interlochen Arts Camp.

I was quiet there in the back seat, thinking about the auditions I would have to endure later that afternoon, playing against high school flutists from all over the state, many with *much* more money, better flutes, and many more formal lessons than I, some with Dee-troit Symphony players or UMich profs. That year? I started out as 1st chair, 2nd section and moved up at challenges to 4th chair 1st section. There were about 11 in each section. Do the math. The next year? I think I started out at 4th chair, 1st section and moved up to First Seat (1st chair of everyone baybay) at challenges. That “poor” girl from the yooperland who hasn’t ever had a lesson. I loved the kids and counselors and teachers I spent time with at Interlochen. I am still thumbing my doggamn nose at the idea that yoopers are backward people to be pitied. NOT!

My parents, who weren’t crazy about that rock-n-roll music were just letting whatever rock-ish AM radio station there was roll that day. I think they knew I needed that. And here is the song (there’s prob’ly an ad, sorry).

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