AJ is dancing and singing along to Throwing Muses in the next room. I can�t help but be a little bit proud. He is taking a break from writing a book, a project suggested by his kindergarten teacher to which he has taken wholeheartedly. It is called �The Solar System Book� and has one page each devoted to the sun, moon and each of the planets. So far it reads: The Sun is very hot. Mercury is so close to the sun that it only takes it 88 days to orbit. Venus is the hottest planet. Earth is the only planet that can support life.� It�s a cliffhanger. Volume two will be about the Big Bang Theory, no doubt.

* * * * *

Tomorrow is my last lecture of the quarter. I�ve been tweaking my notes trying to get things right and get in under time. I was most grateful that we had enough of a quorum on the day before Thanksgiving break that I could hand out my evaluation forms, because I really hate ending the term with them writing. I�d rather end as I plan to with John Adams� memorial to 9/11, �On the Transmigration of Souls.� My students are not at all concerned about any of this. They are just trying to stay afloat. So far I�ve had two requests for paper extensions, one because of an unannounced rescheduling of an exam in another class and another due to a dead grandmother. I am slightly skeptical of both, but they are two who are doing well otherwise and so was feeling benevolent. I probably wouldn�t have granted the first one, but this kid has been working so hard in this class, that I definitely think he�s earned a reprieve. At least I haven�t had the plethora of car crashes that plagued my last class in an alarming way. Of course, I suppose there�s still time.

* * * * *

The weather looks grey and heavy like November, but it is still surprisingly warm, so warm that when I walked AJ to school, I didn�t even bother to throw a jacket over my cardigan. By the end of the week the high is supposed to be 45 degrees cooler than it is today. I am trying to mentally prepare for this, but am finding it difficult.

* * * * *

I need to get back to John Adams. I�m trying to get through the piece without tearing up. It�s not the best piece of music in the world, but the text, taken from posters around the World Trade Center site in September and October 2001 and from quotes from relatives and black box transcripts, is shattering. Most shattering of all is just the names. Name after name after name.

Missing�missing�missing�missing�missing

I�ve been trying to think of other pieces of music used as memorials. There are others � lots in the Renaissance, where writing pieces for dead people seemed a popular sport. But I can�t think of any like this, a collective memorial, a national monument of music. I feel about it much as I do to the startling stark black wall of the Viet Nam Memorial in Washington D.C., engraved with name after name after name.

The problem with music as a memorial, of course, is that it�s bound to � indeed is defined by � time. It can�t sit out in a public park where anyone can look at it at any time. It is fleeting. But somehow, that seems to work in the piece�s favor. I have yet to see anything visual that is as effective a memorial of 9/11. Perhaps we will in time.

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