My favourite anecdote from our travels thus far came from when Margaret and I were standing on the L platform at Roosevelt, waiting for the Orange Line train to Midway. I was staring up the tracks, sizing up the picture I was about to take
Roosevelt, Orange Line
when a gentleman carrying a guitar in a pack on his back approached and asked me, ‘Where you get that hat, man?’ I ruefully noted that I’d bought it in Scotland, at Debenham’s. ‘Thas a bad hat, man, B-A-D bad.’
Few things gratify an ageing post-hipster more than having his chapeau recognised as a bad hat.
What else? A good and productive meeting at the Wabash Center, where we conducted a spirited discussion about politics and editorial policy. A long, wearisome drive to Interlochen, followed by a delightful reunion with our extraordinary Pippa and her school friends. A weary, bleak encounter with unindictable incompetence some where in the reservations system that links booking.com and the actual hotel where seven months ago we had confirmed our commitment to bring three rooms of paying customers to spend this long weekend (the hotel in question, the Hampton Inn in Traverse City, eventually honoured our reservations — yay, Hampton Inn! — and no one has identified the locus of responsibility for the snafu.) Yesterday we picked up Margaret’s sister Jeanne at the airport, and later tonight we expect Si and Laura to roll in. Woohoo, it’s a festive weekend family reunion!
Pippa would be embarrassed if I reported all the incandescent praise that her teachers have offered, so I’ll just note that Interlochen seems to have been a good educational match for her. She flourished in a remarkable network of friends, too, so I should add that I has been a great social match for her as well. From what we’ve seen during Pippa’s years, Interlochen knows how to do things right, and we’re deeply impressed by their care for, tutelage of, and formation of the young artists whom we entrust to them. Margaret and I, and Pippa too I think, give Interlochen a total of six thumbs up, way up.
When I moved to Glasgow, people warned me about how the cost of living must be much higher in Scotland. Three years later, after a week on US soil, I respond, ‘Poppycock!’ Now, Margaret and I don’t drive, so we don’t pay directly for petrol, but in practically every other way it looks to your humble correspondent here as though prices are generally pretty comparable. One area in which we find prices generally higher at home, though, is clothing — so we’ve made several stops to acquire lower-priced US goods while we’re over here.
Tonight is Convocation at Interlochen, and we’ll cheer applaud for our godchild Emily, for all our graduating Interlochen acquaintances, and especially for Pip, of whom we could not be prouder.
Pippa's Nests and Felted Eggs

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