After a week of recovery, interrupted by a rather tiring, extremely nerve-wracking trip (I never told you about that - the flight from Erie to Cleveland. First time I've ever stood at the door to a plane and thought...hmmm. I don't have to get on. I could rent a car, drive to Cleveland...catch the plane to the Fort...Why? Because the wind was terrible. It was rocking that little plane back and forth, even as it sat on the runway. It howled and whipped. I thought...I don't like this. But, you know, I forced myself to be logical. I thought...this probably happens a lot at this airport, so near the lake. I thought - the crew looks fine. I watched two small planes land as I was waiting there. Okay. But it still was a little scary, I still didn't like it, and the weirdest thing was - it was one of those really little planes - maybe 16 seats, one on each side of the plane - and I was in the first "row," the flight deck door was open the whole time, so as we were landing in Cleveland, I could watch out the front window, and see the plane swing back and forth, back and forth as they attempted to align in with the runway. Great.)
...anyway, I'm finally back in the novel. Which one? Oh, who knows. After not looking at it for two months, it's a relief to find that it's not terrible, and that I actually am enthused about getting back into. I have several more Rome posts to go, and I want to try to turn this trip into an article or two. And no more speaking engagements for three weeks!
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