Wednesday, August 8, 2012


It's nice to be in Iowa. It's always nice to be in Iowa. Even though I'm without my little family, 1,000 miles away in a place called Manhattan, it's still nice to be in Iowa.

Tomorrow I have some business meetings, then I'm going to the opening of the Iowa State Fair.

I sat behind a toddler on the plane. We both had window seats, and we conversed about all the things we could see outside: farmland and clouds, mostly. He said he's going to visit his cousins. He showed me his Woody doll, from "Toy Story," just like Samuel used to have. Sniff.

I'm sitting in my room at a Holiday Inn eating a Long John Silver's fish sandwich; I had to go through the drive-thru because it was the only thing open after 9 except for Walgreens. My hotel room overlooks an interior courtyard with a pool, and I've even got a little Juliet balcony with a sliding glass door.

The the ivy in the planter on my Juliet balcony is made of plastic. My ceiling looks like it's made of asbestos. I can find a way to complain about pretty much anything.

But no more complaints. Glad to be alive, good to be in Iowa.

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