Greetings from Hartford, Connecticut

I'm lolling in my hotel room in a state of supreme satisfaction after a job well done. My son is officially a college freshman. I'm exhausted, but glad to have passed the baton along so successfully.

We woke up way early this morning - nerves - and arrived at Wesleyan considerably before the official start time. We found many other early birds around, carrying stereo systems and refrigerators in every direction with bored children and grandparents trailing along behind.

I knew this was a good place when, leaving the dorm for the 20th time to take items to the car and bring others back in, I heard in rapid succession: (1) a family telling itself jokes in Hebrew and laughing most merrily; (2) a family unloading boxes to the strains of greek rembetika on the car stereo; (3) a boom-box, on the windowsill of an antique pink house, playing Turkish oud-rock.

Large, genial, hunky undergrads wearing "WES-HAUL" t-shirts tossed our heavy boxes into the dorm as if they were bags of feathers. Zed's nearest neighbor, an adorable motormouth from Singapore, lent cheer.

All that needed to be done was done. Boxes were unpacked, bookshelves were adjusted, the all-important sound-system was set ceremonially on top of the little refrigerator, posters were taped to the walls, an ethernet cord was bought to replace the one which had mysteriously vanished. All i's were crossed.

We met deans, doctors, and advisors. We ate free sandwiches. I bought Zed a red t-shirt he was looking at longingly; it says "Vesleyan" in Hebrew (sort of).

Then, since all families had been genially reminded to leave promptly at 5, I got in my car and watched Zed lope happily across the quad and disappear into a massive flock of his own kind.

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