I was just reading Poets and Writers and saw one more ad for a summer writing program touting its “internationally recognized” faculty, when it dawned on me: I, too, am internationally recognized!
No, really. My husband and I were in Florence on our honeymoon, walking quietly down the street admiring all the not-actually-sculpted-by-Leonardo da Vinci statues of David, when he suddenly shouted, “JOHN BURNEY!” And John shouted back, “BOB DUNN! PAM KRESS!” or words to that effect. He knew who we were; that’s the important thing. We knew each other because we worked on the same college campus together, way back in Iowa.
So, you see? He recognized us, in Italy, and, therefore, both Bob and I can say we are internationally recognized.
Study this picture, so if you run into me in Venice, or Dublin, or some island off the coast of Greece, you will also recognize me, and I can say that I am overwhelmingly internationally recognized.
That was easy!
After retiring from a column-writing gig lasting eleven years and yielding over 300 personal essays, I find I still have something to say. My thoughts range far and wide, and occasionally deep, on subjects including being an Iowan who misses Colorado; surviving marital violence; raising an amazing daughter and an equally amazing son; being justifiably angry about the world “these days;” writing poetry and plays; wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mom and her two brothers; wanting to write about my twin granddaughters without sounding all Hallmark-y; fixing OCD-ish food; making sense of pants that come in shorts / crops / ankle-grazing / bootcut; being a librarian in public, academic, archival, and medical libraries; waiting 46 years to attend my high school reunion; having a gorgeous garden I can’t take care of; seeing a shaman; loving good men despite all the bad ones; and trying to wrest a little joy from life despite an 11-year-and-counting chronic migraine.
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