Alles klar, Kommissar

I think I wrote, in an entry many moons ago, about my tendency - a common one, perhaps? - to sing or to whistle, often unconsciously and often under my breath, snippets of songs whose lyrics pertain to the situation at hand.

No surprise, then, that over the past few days I've been singing, regularly, the chorus to Stevie Wonder's boisterous Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing. For one thing, the weather in Cape Town suddenly turned spectacular, after a stretch of bleak rain that has residents grumbling about the worst winter in memory. And, too, with just over a week left in our stay, several of my projects are coming to fruition: I'm wrapping up work on a new fall course, have read the thirty proposals to a 2013 conference session I'll be chairing, and just completed a draft of a 5,000-word essay on Candice Breitz that feels strong. L.'s program has gone well, and the students have bee both responsible (as far as we know) and safe. Perhaps most importantly, though, Cleo's been having a good time, which makes life for all of us a bit easier. She's healthy, she clearly enjoys several of the local eateries, often requests rides on the cable car - and, just the other day, asked me to pick up her up from school a little later than usual, 'so that I can eat lunch with my girlfriends.' Sure, her request to arrive at 10, rather than 3, was a bit misguided, but certainly her sentiment was sincere: school's a place she likes to be, these days. But so, too, is home, where things are humming and our busy routine is producing good vibes. No need for a lengthy entry today, then: all's clear, in short, on the southern front.

But before we go: if you suspected that the title of this entry was a reference to the song by Falco, now is the time take a bold step forward.