• Simply Books, Airport, Atlanta GA, 23 April 2006 3:00 pm
• Borders Books & Music, Marietta GA, 24 April 2006 7:00 pm
• Sayre School, Lexington KY, 10:00 am
• Joseph-Beth Booksellers,, Lexington KY, 25 April 2006 7:00 pm
• Kenton County Public Library, Covington, KY, 26 April 2:00 pm
• Borders Books & Music, Cincinnati OH, 26 April 2006 7:00 pm
• Books & Co., Dayton OH, 27 April 2006 7:00 pm
• Hudson Booksellers, Chicago O'Hare International Airport, 28 April 2006 11:00 am
• Borders Books & Music, Oak Brook IL, 28 April 2006 7:00 pm

APRIL 23, 2006:

One airport security down, many more to go. Though no problems, which is a good thing. I'm travelling with a belly pack, a computer case with room for my writing stuff, and a carry-on full mostly of clothes but with a large number of bookmarks.

When I realized (on looking at the itinerary for the first time) this morning that I'd be doing a signing in the Atlanta airport before I got to my hotel, I changed from a t-shirt to a sport shirt (a red one) and added bookmarks to my belly pack rather than have to rummage to the bottom of the fully-packed carry-on. In so doing I found the last of the Lord of the Isles bookmarks, which are perfect for the purpose. I've told both Tom personally and Tor publicity that I'll mostly be using Baen bookmarks because they're what I've got; which is fine with Tom and passed without comment from the publicist. Still, I'll use Tor for as long as I have them. For cold signings--and airport terminals are that in spades--they are absolutely necessary.

The only electronics I'm carrying are the Compaq Presario (wireless, but with both phone and Ethernet cables just in case), my satellite radio, and Jo's cell phone in case I'm stuck somewhere and the escort isn't there. For reading material I've got the Routlege (history of the ancient world series) volume on the Roman 3d century crisis, a British crime novel (Maura's Game) which a British friend sent me, and (on reflection during the weeks running up to this) both volumes of Fouche's Memoirs. The individual volumes will fit in my cargo pocket, which other books I thought of--Olmsted's journal of travels through the Deep South; the second volume of the RN history--would not.

Fouche, chief of the national police under both the Directory and Napoleon, is very readable and gives a wonderful inside picture of a government in revolutionary flux. Even though I don't know the players the way I did, say, Herodian's account of the 3d century, I'm gaining a great deal. I'm amused by commentators referring to his despicable conduct. What he's doing is describing a milieu in which everybody was actuated either by self-interest or a desire to remake society in a particular fashion with that party in charge. (Anybody who thinks the latter--principled--sort are automatically to be preferred should take a good look at government under Robespierre.)

Fouche was in the first category. He was better at it than most (he died rich and in bed), and he's frank in his descriptions of what really happened. We don't have anything comparable for the fall of the Roman Republic, largely because none of the players met both--and generally met neither--of those conditions. Reading Fouche gives me a window on Caesar; and Cromwell, and Li Peng--if that's the man I mean; president of China, shot down in 1969 while fleeing to the USSR in a Trident owned by China Airways--and plenty of others who wouldn't or couldn't be equally honest.

The Delta gate is very close to security; unusual for me, since I'm used to walking to the far end of whatever terminal I'm in. Unfortunately, it's one of those that has TV blaring CNN's miserable excuse for news. I'm as far away as I can get and still see the gate. (And the satellite radio will give me BBC if I feel the need.)

LATER ON THE 23D

I had a successful flight to Atlanta, where the district rep for News Group East was waiting for me with a little cardboard sign. I was waving a bookmark with my name on it. She was probably early 30s and seemed quite able. We had a bit of food--a chocolate shake for me; she offered anything I wanted, but I get very nervous before signings--and then to the store a bit after 2. They had all the Isles series in quantity.

I got to work on passers-by, drawing them in with bookmarks and converting a significant number of those bookmarks to sales. I was pleasantly surprised to have moved at least ten of the new hardcover, with apparently 25 paperbacks--17 of Lord of the Isles, and apparently 8 others, which surprises me a bit. I didn't remember that many pbs other than the first one going. In any case, in two hours or so I did at least $400 worth of business for the store, which isn't a joke. One fellow who worked for Delta in the airport came with four of his own to sign and bought the hc (he'd seen mention of the signing on my website). A woman who's a long-time fan and has 'all your books' (specifically including the SF) was startled and delighted to find me. She bought The Fortress of Glass. I did a several family sales, an hc for the adults and a couple pbs for the kids.

In all, a good experience. The only reason it was possible was the bookmarks. They are really a Godsend--or more accurately, a Tor-send. Most of what I've got along are Baen bookmarks as I'm running out of the Tor originals, but it was the initial batch from Tor for Lord of the Isles that permitted me to try the technique which I've refined to a high order by now. It's the difference between sitting like a lump and wishing I were dead at a signing (which I did often enough in the past) and keeping active while also selling books.

The rep took me to the cabstand where I got a cab to the Sheraton Buckhead ($38 flat fee; plus a $7 tip for the Nigerian driver). No problems. Checked in and was asked how I planned to pay. I gave them my business Visa, though I'd have expected it to be covered by Tor directly rather than through reimbursement. Not a big deal, but I can't check tonight.
[A later note: the hotel assured me it was their universal practice to demand a live credit card no matter what they have on record, and added that was true of all hotels. The latter statement is a lie, even for the Sheraton chain. I can only assume that the first statement is true, though it isn't anything other hotels require when backed by the Tor AmEx card.]

It seems a nice hotel. There's a pool and 'garden area' from which I could get BBC news and then music on my portable satellite radio. (It also works in the room; but I spend as little time in hotel rooms as I can.) The pool has fountains of bronze fish; they're of various species, but all the statues have undershot jaws which doesn't look right to me.

Robert, the media escort, called just as I got to the room. Dunno if that was chance or if he'd been trying for a while. He'll pick me up at 2:30 pm so that we can do three drop-in signings [as it turned out, eight] before going to the formal one at 7 pm; and probably eat first, come to think. I sat outside and read, then had quite a good dinner (New York Strip, rare, and house salad) in the hotel restaurant (with at least half a dozen glasses of iced tea; I was dry from airports and talking for two hours while hawking books).

I then took my book and computer out to the garden. When the light failed I came down to what's probably a conference area where there's good light and a table and continued. (I really don't like hotel rooms; and unlike at a convention, I'll be left alone when I'm out in public.)

I could've worked: I have my plot outline and the most recent sections of rough draft along as well as my work computer. I'm very nervous while I'm touring, however, and just didn't feel like doing work.

APRIL 24, 2006:

It's now Monday morning after a continental breakfast, sitting in the pool area and listening to satellite radio (the pops channel, short works and movements of longer works with no description) as I type notes. I find that having the music is a good thing as it keeps me from dropping into a slough--shut down, empty, and miserable.

There's discussion on Baen's Bar about Chicago area people coming to the signing in Oak Brook [which I later learned was Oakbrook, the corporate home of MacDonald's]. That would certainly be nice. Basically, other than the disruption and my inability to work because of stress--obviously I have time now--this isn't being too bad.

In checking other stuff, I found the e-mail from Jeremy, the teacher at the Sayre school, describing his hope that I'll mention the use I make of classical history in the Isles series during my talk. Boy, we'll see how it goes tomorrow. Probably pretty well, but it's sure a weird deal. The funny thing is that the Isles series uses less classical history than the RCN series does. The Isles is more folktale, though the backgrounds use real governmental questions and problems.

I had a frustration dream the night before I left that FedEx had sent to the hotel I was staying at (where I was supposed to be getting copies of Fortress) books I'd ordered and were supposed to be delivered to my home. They'd been relabeled and damaged in shipping, and goodness knew where the box of Fortress was. It was just a case of expecting glitches in travel, of course; very circumstantial but not 'real'. Not exactly a nightmare let alone a prediction dream, but a notion of how I feel about book tours (or travel more generally).

LATER APRIL 24:

Foof. Monday night, waiting at the gate at 9:50 pm for the flight in an hour which will take me to Lexington.

It was a very busy afternoon. Robert--70, a long-time friend of Esther, my escort from five years back (she's planning her 40-year-old daughter's wedding in San Francisco)--arrived in his Mercedes SUV at 2 pm. We drove around to six superstores, doing drop-in signings of all their stock. The differences between store staffs--ranging from alert and friendly to at best lackadaisical--was very apparent. Basically, the ones where the manager was in the store were much better than those where the manager wasn't around on Sunday afternoon. We also hit a used bookstore where they were glad to have their ten or so Drake books signed, and a New Age store (which'd had a good event for Brian Froude) which seemed nonplussed to have an SF writer arrive. They were nice, however.

The $3.99 edition of Lord of the Isles (done to bring new readers to the series) contains a coupon offering a $4 rebate on the new hardcover. Absolutely no staff member at any of the stores I signed at, including those who were very familiar with my work and delighted to meet me in person, were aware of that rebate offer.

I noticed that a writer named Robert Buettner had been inserting his advertising postcards in my books in a number of the stores. I suppose that's something writers are taught to do in presentations on marketing yourself. I decided to take it as a compliment, but it's not something I would do myself without first asking the writer on whose success I wished to piggyback my career. (Actually, I wouldn't do it in any case; but Mr Buettner's action was simply discourteous.)

At about 6:15 pm we got to the shopping center in Marietta where the signing would be held at 7. That didn't leave a lot of time for dinner, but there was a Johnny Rocket's in the mall. The staff were girls from the local high school, perky and nice to be around. The staff danced to Respect in the course of dinner, apparently a regular feature at this one. I had a bacon burger and a chocolate malt, the first malt I've had in a while.

Unfortunately, the Borders store where I was doing the signing was one of those without a manager present. That's the breaks. There were two couples and the Cochranes (Jim and Julie, she a Baen author) showed up a moment later. I basically chatted with people for an hour and a half, answering questions and signing the considerable number of Drake books for stock. I'm by no means sure that the staff will bother to sticker them, however.

Well, as I say, you win some and you lose some. This was not a win, but it wasn't an actively bad time either. I think those present had a good time.

Thence to the airport with less trouble than I feared. Zoomed through security again. This trip security hasn't been as bad as I'd come to expect during the past five years. There were some things that TSA might've quibbled about if they'd noticed them (and this has happened in the past); but none of that this time. (One security checker at RDU even complimented me on my colorful sport shirt.)

APRIL 25:

Tuesday morning. The flight to Lexington was uneventful, save for the difficulty I had staying awake on the short hop. The book--Fouche--fell out of my hands once. In the morning I found my driver's license in the cargo pocket of my trousers where I'd presumably stuffed it with the boarding pass when I'd passed security. That could've been a very troublesome error at the next airport, caused by fatigue.

Still, got there and figured out where the taxis were (on a separate island, not farther down the terminal walk. I'd feel like even more of a fool if the two people I asked about it had any better idea than I did). A $20 ride to the very nice Hilton Suites. I asked whether they had wireless and learned it'd been down for a couple days but was going to be fixed realsoonnow. I showered and went to bed.

The wireless wasn't fixed in the morning, of course, but I slept well. I tried dialup which didn't connect either. This could be either me (not unlikely, because I was trying to configure it myself and I'm not exactly a geek) or because I didn't precede the number with the correct line code (local, 800, whatever) because they told me that wasn't needed through the data port. There's a business center with a bunch of options (through a credit card) but none of them were obviously what I needed (IE to get to webmail). It's early in the morning and I've had enough frustration.

Juice, tea, and muffin in the cafe. That was rather nice.

LATER ON APRIL 25:

The Sayre School thing was a good experience. The teacher, Jeremy, has really read a lot of my stuff and is very positive. They had the whole two-level entrance hall filled with chairs for my talk. It must've been the entire upper school. I ran over time without knowing it, basically chatting about how I write, showing them steps in the process, and answering questions. Nothing earthshaking, but I think it went well.

To my amazement, Jeremy gave me an honorarium of $200. I assured him that I wasn't doing it for the money and money alone wouldn't have caused me to do it, but it was more than a nice gesture. (A nice gesture would've been $25.)

We then went to a coffee shop where Jeremy interviewed me, running the stuff into his ThinkPad. I've destroyed a ThinkPad like that, though it was a lot of years ago. It did allow me to check email for the first time since noon yesterday, which was useful. Nothing critical had happened. I didn't bother updating Tor publicity in the brief space, hoping that the wireless at the hotel would be fixed when I returned. (It was.)

I basically talked for a couple hours to Jeremy and a number of students, two or three depending on classes. And drank a lot of iced tea, which was useful. At two they all went off to the school again and Barb, my escort, picked me up (an Acura SUV) to do stock signings (the three available in the area) and then go to Ramsey's, a down-home place, for what I suppose might count as High Tea.

I had more iced tea and a hot brown, the local specialty. This is open-faced turkey and ham on brown bread with diced tomatoes, etc, covered with white sauce and then cheddar, broiled, and served bubbling. Hot cheese is a lot like napalm: it clings and burns. I ate with care, but not quite enough care. It was very good and filling. I have enough time for it to settle before the store signing... and I suspect I'll sleep very well tonight.

It's begun pouring rain. That isn't going to help traffic at the store, but it'll be what it'll be. I don't get depressed any more about an event that isn't what one would wish. Most of them aren't, after all; but I do my part.

The Joseph-Beth beside the hotel was on two levels and had made up a banner from the cover of Fortress. They wanted me to use a microphone, which I did, for eight or ten people. (Several were students from Sayre School getting extra credit.) I signed books people bought or brought and also all the store stock.

And thinking about it--the considerable backlist and the display of signed books they'll put out does have a positive effect beyond pleasing the management that I've come. Keeping a positive attitude is really important.

APRIL 26:

Up in the morning for another continental breakfast, after which Barb drove me to the Cincinnatian. She was going to Ohio for the wedding of her nephew in any case so it worked out well. The cell phone in her car is voice-actuated. She called the Cincinnati escort, Kathy, without taking her hands off the wheel. (I hadn't realized hands-free was that complete.)

I was supposed to have early check-in at the Cincinnatian, a downtown hotel, but they had no record of it. They've been full for several days, which is probably why they'd 'lost' the request. I'd showered before I left on the short drive from Lexington, so it wasn't a big deal. I couldn't get wireless to connect, but the Ethernet cable did. (The world hadn't ended, but I was able to report to Tor.)

Thence to the Kenton County (Covington) library, for lunch with three staff members. They'd used the website, I was pleased to learn. I'm very fortunate to have that. I figured out what was wrong with my wireless (it's configured not to allow connection to unknown networks; the software warned me not to change that. I changed it anyway so that the damned thing would work).

I talked to a small group--half a dozen wannabes and a number of staff members--at the library. Questions about how to write action scenes, where I get my ideas, the usual. Harmless, though I don't know what good it does anyone.

I was suddenly struck that wannabes are a hopeless group. It's natural to think of them as a progression in the continuum from non-writer to successful writer, but I think they're really a side branch like the ravisuchids to the dinosaurs. And yet--wouldn't Bradbury have fallen into the wannabe category in 1939?

I did more stock signings, including a store that hadn't gotten its copies of Fortress yet. They had back stock (of course). When I left, it was signed and all the clerks had signed bookmarks.

LATER ON APRIL 26:

Back to the hotel to rest, after which Kathy, my Cincinnati escort, picked me up in her Infiniti I-30 and took me to the main signing. It was a nice, large store, well-lighted and nearly empty. There were two people in the audience, both of whom had seen flyers at this store or in the other Borders in town. They had a very large quantity of my backlist as well as Fortress. I read a section from the book I'm working on (because one of the guys asked if I had anything new), then chatted with them as I signed stock and the manager stickered them. This was a lengthy process.

The thing is, I felt good about it. The store was obviously behind me and expected to sell a lot of books because they were signed. The manager's attitude was positive, and so was mine, I'm pleased to note.

To the hotel for a very good steak (chef's cut, because they were out of New York Strip) in the bar because the restaurant was closed. The only problem is that the bar's a smoking area. The nearest diner lit a cigarette, followed shortly by the cigar of a fellow in the next booth over. That's life on the road.

APRIL 27:

Up in the morning for a continental breakfast while finishing the first volume of Fouche's memoirs. I think I'd have gotten along with the man, since he was obviously honest when he could be and was a very clear thinker. There's not enough clear thinking in the world.

Since I had the morning free, I walked to the Contemporary Art Collection. It's just down the street from the hotel, but it took me some eight blocks of wandering to find it. (I have a negative sense of direction.)

Very few of the exhibits were up, but the children's museum on the top floor had an interesting robotic 'tree' much like the monstrous thing Ilna meets in Hell. I sat there and caught up on my notes, then returned from the hotel with my computer and sat at a table in the foyer where I wrote a page and a half of the new novel.

They were showing a film of a 'new realistic' self-destroying sculpture from 1960. This reminded me that while the art itself wasn't to my taste, it did require a great deal of knowledge of machinery. An engineer from Bell Labs did the detailed design, but the patterns of moving and interacting parts required a conception by the French artist himself of what machines could and should do. I class him with Picasso in doing something that doesn't appeal to me but is nonetheless the result of work and knowledge.

LATER APRIL 27:

Kathy took me to my radio interview. This is at services for the blind, where I was interviewed five years ago (the guy remembered me). I don't honestly know how these are distributed--it was a station in Cincinnati and one in Fayetteville, NC, last time, but now they're apparently podcasting--but I just go where I'm told to.

He's a good interviewer and had read at least the opening of Fortress. He was surprised to learn that ancient oared vessels were crewed by free men, not slaves (he'd assumed that was a fictional device I was using). I tend to forget how completely nonsense pervades the general consciousness on matters (like that, like Roman plywood shields) that I take for granted.

Kathy then carried me to Dayton, where I did a stock signing at a Border's on the way. They had quite a quantity. Actually, it's neat to see how much of my backlist is in stores I just drop into. Traffic hadn't been bad, so we got to the area soon enough to call my friend John to meet me for dinner before instead of after the signing.

He and I ate in the Italian place that moved into the spot next to the store where I'd be signing: Books & Co, now owned by Books-A-Million. We'd eaten there five years before. John pointed out that the special was probably the quickest, so we both had a steak and mushroom (and potato) pizza. It was remarkably good, though certainly not an obvious choice for toppings.

John and I chatted about MP Shiel and life in general. They'd located a letter in which Shiel explains that his 1914 imprisonment (which'd been assumed to be a result of debt) was for seducing a 12-year-old girl. It struck me that there are writers like Shiel and Frederick William Rolfe ('Baron Corvo') who attract a few real enthusiasts though neither was successful in his own day (and both are lucky to have one book in print at present, though that in itself is impressive for a writer of a century past).

Photo by John Squires

The signing was a real triumph, 25 people and lots of stuff to sign. I offered folks what they wanted. They asked questions and I answered them. The manager, who remembered me from five years ago also, commented that I told people things that they wouldn't hear anywhere else.

There were two copies of the Night Shade HS1 and a first printing of Hammer's Slammers. I then signed stock and chatted with the staff and folks some more. John took pictures, some of which will be up on the website. I look like a dork--but I do look like a dork. Back to the Cincinnatian and bed.

APRIL 28:

In the morning, had a continental breakfast and walked to the cab across the street. The Senegalese driver ran me to the airport for $26 plus five for a tip. No problem, though he was chattering in French on his cell phone from before I got into the cab till I paid him. I caught up on notes in the Cincinnati airport, code CVG for Covington. This stage has been the best yet, though it doesn't make me want to do more of this. If I get through Chicago in comparable shape, I'll consider the whole business a win; and in truth, as with Nam, the business is a win if I simply get through. Which I will.

LATER APRIL 28:

The flight to O'Hare wasn't a problem. I was supposed to call Shannon, Hudson's airport manager, to get instructions on how to find the signing location. This didn't please me, but I hoped I could call from the gate. No, they directed me to pay phones. I realized I didn't know whether or not it was a local call, so I took my courage in my hands and used my wife's cell phone to call. (I don't even like the thought of cell phones, but I was carrying it against need during this trip.)

Shannon answered immediately, asking where I was. As it turned out, about fifty feet from her (I'd found an empty gate to sit at and try this new experience of using a cell phone). She'd gone to the gate but got there a trifle late, and I didn't know she'd be there. (Her plan was much better than what I'd been told.) She walked me to the site, which is the busiest one in the Hudson chain. She told me I was their top fantasy writer and she'd been delighted when a VP asked her if they could use me. (I have doubts about me being their top fantasy writer, though it was nice to be told that.)

They had a large solid display in front with a chair. I asked for a little table (which they brought), though that turned out to be useless in the particular site. I had a very narrow slot between a pillar and the display, so I stood the whole time.

This was a completely different experience from Atlanta--very odd. I don't know how much it was the site setup and how much the difference in passengers. (I think the former, but who knows?) It’s also possible that my more muted shirt had some effect.

Because I had such a narrow window, I wound up hitting a lot of people who'd gotten into the store by the other aisle and were browsing. I made quite a lot of sales that way, mostly women, and almost entirely pbs--25-30, Shannon estimated--of Lord of the Isles (the full price version, incidentally). I sold at least one Fortress hc and the only hc of Way to Glory that they had. I moved a couple copies of Paying the Piper in pb also. (If they'd had more of a selection rather than a massive number of the whole Isles series, I could've done more business.)

One fan (who couldn't make the evening signing in Oakbrook) managed to get through security (I gather he was escorted, though I didn't notice the escort) with a large number of my SF books for me to sign. He hadn't brought my fantasies as the SF was a sufficient load as it was.

This was rather startling. I certainly don't mind doing it, but it seems an awful lot of effort to go to for a book that reads exactly the same as it did before I put my signature on it.

I also comped books to a couple soldiers headed for Iraq. I offered to pay Shannon, but she waved the notion away.

Shannon then walked me to baggage, where Judy, my escort, arrived in her Infiniti I-30. The selection of vehicles interests me. All the escorts were skilled drivers in traffic which was frequently very interesting. Tor offered to rent me a car so that I could drive myself. Quite apart from the fact that I haven't driven a car in 20 years (I told the publicist that if she rented a motorcycle I'd try; otherwise I needed an escort), I just don't see that getting around in strange cities like Cincinnati or Chicago would be a lot of fun.

Judy ran me to my hotel, the Radisson on Huron (near Michigan Avenue), where my room was on the 30th floor. (If I peered to the right from my window, I got a good view of the lake.)

Satellite radio worked from my room very well, but I wandered around for a bit just to be out. I found a Starbucks and got a couple oatmeal/raisin cookies, all that I wanted to settle my stomach before the signing in Oakbrook. I then sat on a planter full of gorgeous tulips, listened to BBC and Dvorak's Slavonic Dances, and ate my cookies while reading Fouche. The streets are very crowded and noisy--lots of horns and at least four ambulances howled and honked by--but it was better than a hotel room for a few hours.

Judy picked me up at the hotel and we headed for the Border's for the signing. She'd been an executive at Kroch & Brentanos (I told her I still had books which I'd bought there during the 9th grade class visit) and, because she saw the accounts, had gotten out to found this escort service before the crash.

When we got to the Borders in Oakbrook, I signed bookmarks for the staff before heading back to where a guy waited with something over 60 books (and more in his car). I started signing at once. More people dribbled in, something over a dozen. (Actually, probably more than that.)

Judy commented that I was very unusual in attracting men to my signing--almost all signings are filled with women. I was startled to hear that, but it explains situations like the store in Cincinnati which sells a lot of my books but where I obviously didn't draw many people to a signing.

As usual, I chatted and signed stock, answering any questions the audience asked me. This seems to work well. I got everybody's books (again two HS1s and a first printing of Hammer's Slammers, as well as a Dragon Lord hc) and also all the store stock.

The manager was very pleased. She also commented that the staff had been delighted that I'd noticed them, which apparently many writers do not. I did it out of common courtesy, but it would seem to me that being nice to people who might stock and direct people to your books would be a good idea from a business standpoint also. Apparently not everybody thinks in terms of either courtesy or business, which is a little depressing.

Judy took me along Wacker Drive to the hotel. For another person, the whole business would be really neat. I gained from it in knowledge and experience, but I'd much rather have been home.

The hotel restaurant was a pub. I got a good steak and a bowl of onion soup there, but again there were smokers. Not critical. Thence to room and to bed.

APRIL 29:

Up betimes. Back to the pub for an a la carte Continental breakfast--all I want when I'm flying, yet another of the things that makes me nervous--and back upstairs for packing before checking out and taking a cab to the airport. This time the driver was an Irishman who'd had 25 years in the army. We chatted on the way to O'Hare. He was flabbergasted to learn I was a writer; I signed a bookmark for him.

I used a self-service kiosk to check in at O'Hare as I always do when that's an option. They were against the back wall rather than near the manned stations where I'd expected them. There was a mob at the manned stations. I was again very thankful I was travelling with carry-on luggage only. The scrum at manned check-in stations puts me in mind of Bosch visions of Hell.

Getting to the gate wasn't a terrible hassle. When there, I was typing up my notes when an attendant brought a 75-year-old woman in a wheelchair and decanted her beside me. She'd been a typing teacher and made a point of watching me type while chattering at me about her son. It strikes me that there are worse things than an anonymous society in which everybody ignores everybody else, but that we haven't gotten there yet. She wasn't seated beside me in the plane, a small blessing in addition to the wonderful fact I was going home.

The flight (by Embraer 170, a small plane but one whose overhead compartments easily held the bag which I'd expected to have to gate check). Home where my wife picked me up, albeit a bit delayed by unexpected traffic. The dogs were glad to see me, and I fed the large goldfish in one of our ponds.

East or west, home is best.

-30-