I am feeling the Bern more than ever and very disappointed that the Clinton camp continues to play dirty. I admire him for not giving it back, but then that's the kind of guy he is. Never say never kids. Today's off site assignment was one that I routinely dread and it played out full force just like a script in a Lifetime movie. My old friend Dianne was there and I got a huge hug. Halfway through the morning I read with great sadness about the death of John Fisher Sr, AKA Big John. He and his wife Charlene were fixtures in my childhood just like so many others in the 'burg. After I graduated from Granny and Jimbo in piano I went to Mrs. Fisher and lasted less than a year. It was never a passion, if you know what I mean. Much later, Jimbo went with me to scope out a used piano that had been used by a patient with childhood leukemia. I'm assuming they made him practice or maybe he just did it for fun. My poor ex and about ten friends moved that huge thing into our house where I proceeded to play classical just like the masters taught me. I was so enjoying at that time playing hymns solo that Ms. Charlene urged me to scoot up to the keyboard and try to keep pace with the organist. It didn't happen! At some point, it became not a thing to have room for and I gave it to a volunteer pianist from FUMC to practice on. It was donated on one condition: that it be returned from whence it came. That probably won't be here in this house unless I get a networking coach and my ass in gear. Now that I have a big beautiful view of the world, I don't feel like such a prisoner in this old house. It's pink and blue and wispy cloud looking on the northwest side and orange and blue on the other, with backwater no less. I'll take it and say thanks.