From my Notebook >


Ms. Erickson, the guidance counselor, pushed a sticky-note pad across the desk.

“Can you write down a few of your Goals on this?” she said.

I borrowed her pen and drew a crude picture of a limousine with a hot tub in the back. Then I drew myself in the hot tub, a little stick figure, playing the electric guitar. I pushed the pad back for her to examine.

She shifted in her seat a bit, gave my drawing a curious look, and donned a pair of reading glasses to look it over again.

“You didn’t mention you were an artist,” she said.

(This did not really happen.)