Heeheeheehee! *impish laughter* I'm such a cornball. *sings* I'm as corny as Kansas in August...
I sent a package to my sweetheart two days ago and he got it today. I had only intended to send him some books, but the box wasn't full and I didn't have much in the way of packing materials available. So I went rummaging around in my room and what do you know, I found a teddy bear that my godmother brought me from Germany. I was rather attached to it, so I didn't want to give it to him outright, but I decided to send it along anyway with a note that the bear was "on loan." Since the bear didn't have a name, I asked sweetheart to name him. So now I have a teddy bear that's a few hundred miles away, wearing leiderhosen, and is named Heinrich. I thought a bear in leiderhosen was rather appropriate, as he likes polka music. It's an illness of which I hope to cure him, or at least replace it with something I like better, like Irish dance music. Well, we use accordions too...

Went back to my high school today to visit. Chatted and, well, gossipped I guess, with the nice lady who works in the office for a while. Found out that the Class of 2003 were up late last night filling the school office with balloons. Heaven knows who they got the keys from. Then they all took off and went to the beach today. I haven't decided whether they are less mature or more inventive than my class. The Class of 2002 was so ready for college by the end of senior year that when senior skip day came, we just stayed home. I think most of us slept. We didn't play a prank. Of course, I went to say hello to my favorite teacher, of whom I am extremely fond. I saw his wife in the post office when mailing the package to my sweetheart and she said I should come down to their house sometime. He repeated the invitation today, and gave a slightly more definite time frame by making it clear that he'd like to see me again before they leave for New York to attend his step-son's graduation from West Point. They leave next weekend, which means I have to drop by next week. Apparently people from the school drop by all the time. It's a very small school and we're all quite close. I was never very social in high school, though, and I suppose I'm the only one who hasn't been to their house. I'm nervous, though. I have to announce my arrival by calling first, and I've never called their house. Then I have to go. A lot of people live there. Mr, Mrs, their 3 kids, Mrs' adult daughter, and Mrs' parents. And I only know Mr. well, although I think Mrs. is fond of me too. "Dropping by" is definitely not something I'm used to, though. It's not part of the culture I grew up in. But I've got a week to get used to the idea. I have to do it now, because I've been invited twice and I know Mr. really wants to see me again. I've only seen him twice in the past year, and we haven't really gotten to talk much. I miss him a lot, and I think he misses me too. Our relationship is a little more than the normal teacher-student, but he tends to do that with most of his students. It's just possible for that to happen at our strange little school, and it's not at all suspect because the teacher knows the family, the family knows his family, etc.

He's my mentor, as much as it is possible for someone not a musician to be my mentor. I get the feeling it frustrates him that I'm so deeply involved in music now, because he doesn't know much about music. But I have found my artistic calling, just as he found his long ago, and he knows that and supports it. It frustrated me terribly at first that I couldn't understand his poems, that I knew and still know nothing of poetry. I appreciate it's beauty, but cannot comprehend it's form and cannot construct or analyze it. But I can construct and analyze music, whereas he can only appreciate it's beauty. At last, I can meet him on a slightly more equal footing. Of course, he is master of his subject, and I am novice at mine, but he's got 26.5 years of life on me, so that's just how it's going to be. Today is his 45th birthday. I hope it is a happy one, and I hope some lovely woman of his household, whether his wife or stepdaughter, makes him a rusty nail or something. He seems to like rusty nails. I don't know what goes in them, but he's an Irishman through and through and that includes a fondness for drink. He's probably not an alcoholic not because he's not tempted to be, but because he knows it's the wrong thing to do. Knowing him, he probably thinks of it in terms of it being "ungentlemanly." Which is just fine, if it keeps him from destructive tendancies. I love him so much. Not eros, but, oh, I don't know. Just love. I love him, but don't want to possess him; does that make sense? He taught me that I could love that way, selflessly, and I will always be grateful to him for that. He was my first love, and I will always love him. And I'm so glad he still writes to me, because his letters and his poetry are so beautiful.