We are experiencing Second False Spring here in Minnesota, which means that it’s currently 50 degrees (fleece weather! my favorite!) but also there is snow in the forecast next week.

Despite the inviting weather, I am currently occupied by my favorite afternoon activity: shutting myself up in the den with both doors closed, the space heater on, and a documentary I’ve already watched 53 times playing on the TV. It’s like the nerdiest, dryest sauna in here and I love it. My husband is disturbed every time he finds me engaged in this activity because for the first twenty years of our relationship, I was one of those rare females who never get cold. Well, middle age changes you.

I am currently playing three pieces of music for my piano lessons, and they are all written in a different key: two flats, three flats, and four flats. I am practicing them in that order because I am pretty sure it’s easier to add flats in my brain than it is to take them away.

My piano teacher asked me the other day if I prefer playing in keys with sharps or keys with flats and I had never considered this question before, but I immediately knew the answer: I very much prefer flats.

I guess you could say I’m living my best piano life right now.

A strange thing happened at work the other day, and unfortunately, I can’t really tell the story without betraying the privacy of some people. I am obliged both professionally and morally to protect our students, and this really hobbles me when it comes to writing about work.

I will boil this story down to the basic elements.

A child said something had happened. The three adults who were present (including me) heard this and expressed both sympathy and alarm to the student. After resolving the immediate issue with the student, the adults reconvened and decided that the child’s story needed to be reported.

I was surprised because I have heard similar stories before, second-hand, from other adults. I have, in fact, heard a similar story first-hand myself, and had reported that one months ago. It seemed that nothing was done, and that was the end.

The appearance of non-action read like tolerance.

But I think it’s just an appearance of non-action, not an actual lack of action. And every incident should be reported, every time. I am ashamed that I was ready to just shrug my shoulders and move on with my day.

That’s not how this should work. I’m glad I had this reminder. I learn more about human nature and morality every day at this job.