I had three gigs in Chicago this week and Ira had one.  We decided to take the Lake Shore Limited Amtrak train both ways, partly because I have come to hate flying – otherwise known as taking a dirty subway train through bumpy skies and being treated by the airlines like garbage.  And because I like trains and we thought it would be an adventure. We booked what they call a roomette. We decided not to go into Boston because it was Patriots Day and Marathon Monday and we knew streets would be closed and every parking space within miles of South Station occupied.  We decided to drive to Albany, a trip we’ve done so many times we can’t count [we have friends there and have done a number of gigs there]  and get the train there. We did so and arrived at the Albany-Renssalier station early.  The TV was on as it usually is these days in public places.  We found out that the Marathon had been bombed.  Every ten minutes the number of dead and injured kept rising.  Obviously the bombs had been engineered to do the most damage of human flesh and bone.   We kept wondering if anybody we knew had been hit.  We kept wondering how any person could randomly kill and maim so many children and adults and imagine it served some religious or political aim. Ira was shocked by the tininess of the roomette; I thought it was cute, kind of like playing house.  We ate dinner in the dining car, read, etc..  in the middle of the night the train came to a grinding halt and we sat there for two hours. It turned out that someone had tried to beat the freight train just ahead of us at a crossing in his car and ended up dead.  The police came, medics were collecting body parts. It had begun to feel like Bloody Monday all the way around.  Woody was blaming himself all this time for not knowing we could have bypassed Boston and got ticketing to board the train in Framingham. We got to Chicago finally, had lunch with an old friend and headed for The Flemish House.  Friends of ours on the Cape who had been running a B & B in Boston had put us in touch with two guys they knew who were doing the same on the Near North side of Chicago.  It was less expensive by far than a hotel, was beautifully done up and quiet.  No common rooms.  A kitchenette, so we were able to eat lunch there as well as the breakfast they provided.  That afternoon it began to rain. Thunder storm after thunder storm rolled in one after the other.  I am used to thunder storms you hear coming across the bay, they do their scary thing and then pass out to sea. There they just kept coming one after the other like cars on a freight train.  Engulfing heavy rain.   Streets flooded.  Sun gone.  Moon gone.  It continued doing that all the time we were in Chicago until 8 pm the last day. Tuesday night I had a Sex Wars powerpoint lecture at Hull House, jointly sponsored by Hull House and the U of Chicago.  First I had a tour of the museum there and then lectured in the old dining hall, a gorgeous room.  The audience was great, signed a lot of books. Then we had generic Thai food and were taken back to Flemish House, exhausted and badly in need to sleep, which we did for 10 hours. Then next night we both read for the Poetry Foundation and Fifth Wednesday magazine at the fancy new building the Poetry Foundation erected with that huge legacy left them.  We were worried about the turnout as it was pouring and thundering and many streets were flooded, but we had a full house.  Beforehand we had supper with Vern Miller of Fifth Wednesday and a former student from my annual juried poetry workshop, Andrea Witzke Slot who teaches at the U of Illinois in Chicago.  That was the best meal of our trip at a Crab Shack. Sold a few books. Funny that we sold less books at the Poetry Foundation than at the other venues, especially since the audience gave a standing ovation.  But so it goes.  Very nice people.  Good venue for a reading acoustically. It continued to storm.  We had to leave the Flemish House at 11 am but a wonderful woman from Shimer College arranged for us to stay until my lecture that night at the post Standard Club. All this time, we were following the updates on our smart phones about Boston.  We had a luxurious room on the 9^th floor to crash in and then had supper downstairs with professors from Shimer College, most of whom teach one or another or several of my writings – always flattering. Did the Sex Wars again, signed many books. All this time we were getting updates on our train.  it was very late getting it and Amtrak did not know if it would leave or not as there was much flooding in Indiana and Ohio, particularly.  Finally it did go with us on board. As we went, we learned that had Woody got us ticketed for Framingham, we would have been screwed.  The train ended in Albany and all the Boston passengers were bussed to Worcester and dumped. We got into the truck and Woody drove like a madman all the way home with the radio on to the events in Watertown.  When we arrived last night, our cats cursed us loudly and then clamored for attention.  This morning we’re unpacking and getting settled and catching up.  Seedlings to go out to the greenhouse, cats to be coddled and played with, stuff to sort and stow, 200 odd email messages to deal with, a foot of mail to plow through, bills to be paid, expenses to sort and add up, hardy plants ready to be uncovered, dirty clothes to be washed – and bodies to be rested, healed and rejoiced in. I just noticed I started calling him Ira and then switched to Woody, but I’m leaving it. I call him both interchangeably.