No, not a new bouffant 'do, just a slept-upon set of bangs and a comfortable but non-glamourous pony tail. Not enough sleep, either. They're doing construction on the room upstairs; they start at 6:30 a.m. and don't stop until I call and yell at 8:30 p.m. Go figure!Gloria Steinem said, "Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else."
But of course right now this minute I need to dash out of the hotel and get my buns down to Union Station.
It's been interesting to be back in the city again. I had forgotten just how overwhelming it is to be here, how all of one's senses are bombarded all day long. Some of the bombarding is a pleasure - aromas from fresh brewed coffee, a pizza place or Indian restaurant as I stroll by. But after awhile it all seems like TOO MUCH!
I'm headed back to my little house on the prairie, where I can tell that spring is coming by the bits of green popping up through last year's brown grass, the return of the peepers, and the randiness of the robins. Soon, the male goldfinches will turn from drab gray to bright yellow, the forsythia will bloom, and then the violets and morels.
At night, I can look at the stars, all ten zillion of them. My view here is lovely - from the 21st floor I can see Lake Michigan, the river, and lots of cool buildings. But it's time to go home.
I'll write more when I get there - so much to tell!
