If you read my last post about being a trapeze artist afraid to let go of the swing, then you will be happy to know I have managed to pry my fingers loose from the bar. I moved out of my Portland apartment on Saturday, stashed my returned deposit check in my wallet, and hit the road covering 984 miles so far. I have made it to the first stop on my new journey -- Los Angeles -- for a family visit and will be half way to Iowa this time next week, arriving in time for my first pie judging slot (out of 22!) at the Iowa State Fair.In anticipation of my pie judging, today's Des Moines Register ran an article on me --"State Fair Judge Finds Comfort in Pie" -- telling my story about losing Marcus and my quest to find homemade pie -- and comfort -- in Iowa.
When I think about how much I was dreading the one year anniversary of Marcus' death on August 19, I am surprised to realize how little I have been thinking of that now, and instead how much I am looking forward to returning to my home state. Of all the things I could be doing to mark my husband's passing --visit Crater Lake National Park where we met, ride my bike in the Portland Bridge Pedal (which we had ridden together), visit his grave in Germany -- I cannot think of anything better, more fulfilling, and more life affirming than eating pie at the Iowa State Fair. Marcus would like that.