I am not in Iowa

Statistically speaking, you probably aren’t in Iowa, either, but I am supposed to be, installing this show.  Half the artwork is there; the lovely gallery director and I loaded her car in the dark at 6 this morning, so she could race against the season’s first winter travel warnings (she made it safely).  I couldn’t leave at that time with my half, because I needed to ship out the work for this show first.  (We’d planned to leave at 10, before we knew about the predicted weather). By then, snow had arrived in Chicago, coming down increasingly thicker and faster as I loaded up my half of the Iowa show, and the weather report said Do Not Go There in bold red type with exclamation points.

Ah well; it gave me time to chill (no pun intended) a wee bit after an intense week, and hopefully I’ll write this, get almost an entire eight hour’s sleep, and then the roads will be clear.  If not, then it’ll be Monday and Tuesday, the show will open a day late, and I’ll do a massive rescheduling of next week. That’ll be nothing new, as that’s already happened all this entire strange but productive week.  I’m trying to be zen-like about it all.  Sleep will help.  (Goodnight).

Shrouded, bubble-wrapped stuffed, six-foot book.  All the work I’m hauling had to come out of its crates today, in order to fit into one carload.

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