Some say I’m foolish, others question whether or not I will ever “pass.” Then, there are those who say, “Whatever!” In spite of
- waiting for as many as 14 hrs. in hot or sultry airports for aircraft and crew to complete my flight,
- watching out the window as our plane’s wing tip mows the grass at the edge of the runway,
- taking a 30 minute flight and dodging thunderstorms from Duluth to St. Louis to Rapid City and up the Ohio River Valley for six hours and two tanks of gas waiting for a chance to land in Chicago,
- enduring triple-digit heat,
- surviving seven successive nights of dusk-to-dawn thunder and lightning,
- evacuation from campus midweek and from two hotels when a one-hundred-year flood overflowed sandbagged dikes and chased us to higher ground to wait for what seemed like days for the water to recede from the back roads to the airport so I could fly home as a distressed passenger,
- circling Minneapolis at night while a backup radio tower was activated,
- spending 20-30 minutes under an oak tree canopy halfway to my room while a storm cloud drenches my path home and floods the streets,
- and more,
I’ve enrolled in the University of Iowa Summer Writing Festival for the 11th time.
The workshops I’ve chosen, “Generating & Editing Poems for Publication” and “Description & Emotion,” are areas that I feel incompetent, and are led by facilitators who vitas and work experience are unbelievably enviable.
Why Iowa in the summertime? You tell me.