Returned home last evening from a conference in the beautifully fall-colored hills of eastern Pennsylvania. It was Poetry for the Delight of It, taught by David Harrison, with additional speakers, including J. Patrick Lewis.
Loved getting acquainted with a bunch of great poets, teachers, writers, and all around nice people. Here's the link to one blog and Linda Baie's fun poem describing our great week:
I'm determined to be more diligent with keeping up my blog posts. I'll add random thoughts, poems, info about literacy and children, and the like.
Here are my meandering thoughts from last night's plane ride:
At the Newark airport, in one of the so-called unfriendliest cities in America, I found a kind woman with a calming voice who assured me all was well. I had been sitting with my travel companions at the wrong gate, oblivious to the fact that there were TWO Chicago flights leaving at almost the same exact time, with the same exact airline, and only a two digit difference in flight numbers. When we tried to board the wrong plane to the right city, the agent told us we should be at gate 101, not 113. We rushed away, embarrassed and flustered. When we arrived at the correct gate, the agent calmed us down and eased us onto the plane--the last passengers. She was friendly and helpful.
Not so in Chicago--the "big city with the midwestern heart," where a week earlier I had missed a train. I had "sprinted" (which basically means jogging to everyone else, according to my son who almost daily reminds me how unathletic I am) to the train after a conference session had been cancelled. I hurried into the station, up the escalator, through the revolving door.
My train! I could see it! The conductor stood in the doorway, looking for stragglers--me. My feet pounded the pavement. I neared the last car of the train and as I got closer, the doors whooshed shut. I reached the door and banged on it, made eye contact with the conductor. Just a shake of his head told me all I needed to know: I was 5 seconds too late.