When you grow up . . .

“… what do you want to do?” My grandmother’s brother-in-law (he must be at least in his 70’s) asked me that this past weekend at her 90th birthday. He hadn’t seen me since I was 2, so in a time-lapse way, that was sort of a reasonable question

When I grow up indeed.

Lately, I’ve come up with lots of a new ideas for a new job, simply as an escape/alternative to the stress of my current gig. A couple of months ago, after Guy Deslisle won the big prize at Angouleme, I fantasized about being a cartoonist, but I can’t draw. A couple of weeks ago, it was after reading a wrenching-yet-inspiring story about doctors in a Kabul hospital that, I thought about getting some sort of medical training that would allow me to do something heroic-feeling.  But I don’t think it’s any less stressful.

Last week, I hit on the idea of learning to sight-read music, so I could become a professional music-sheet page turner for concert pianists. You know, those people who stand on the side and flip the pages for musicians who haven’t memorised the piece, and need someone to turn the page because they can’t take their hands off their instrument?  Yeah . . .

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