And there in the sunroom I stood, one afternoon shortly after my father had died and we had moved into a new house and my life was all jumbled up beyond recall, with the light of the dying day filtering in through the tree outside, tears welling up as I honked through a requiem for my father with the instrument I knew best how to play.
Hmm. I sense a diplomatic silence. One does not simply drop out at the top of a glamorous game and become an anonymous functionary in the halls of justice, marriage or not.
Court reporting was a strange job, sometimes exciting, sometimes boring and frustrating. I had “theme songs” for both moods. For the more wistful one, there was Carly Simon’s Libby. For times when the life seemed a gradually-unfolding adventure, there was the Bee Gees’ How Deep Is Your Love.