Nearly everyone in the mid-west seemed dazed by this week of rain. It's gray and dreary enough to be late fall, yet it's warm and the leaves, at least in Indianapolis, have yet to turn. There's something wonderfully comforting about waking up in the early morning to the sound of the rain and even better to know that I don't have to get up early to teach or mark papers, and so can go back to sleep.
The weather has been hard on Sam - the extra humidity brings out his arthritis, and without his daily walks, he has cabin fever... though not enough cabin fever to consent to walk in the rain. It looks like matters may be dry for a few minutes so perhaps I can get him twice around the block this afternoon.
I had a frustrating conversation with a student, made all the more frustrating because of the rain. I could barely hear her words, and the rain had better diction. I truly and deeply admire the students who take a class not in their native language to study history not their own, for which they have no cultural context to hand. People like her bring out my most altruistic & enthusiastic "please, I want so much to help you!" teaching impulse in my soul - but truth be told, I'm really not sure what she wanted to know. The words that came out of my mouth seemed to reassure her, though, so I'll chalk that up as a small victory.