I read at Prairie Lights in Iowa City on Monday and a good crowd showed up, including some old and new friends. I also had a chance to stop by the new Writers' Workshop offices at the Dey House. Pretty impressive and nothing like the old warren at the English-Philosophy Building.

After my reading, I went for a drink at the Deadwood. While the place oddly seemed pretty much the same, the red-haired waitress with the interesting scars wasn't waiting tables anymore, and that's when I understood that none of my memories of the town existed anywhere but in my head.

Which is as it should be.

ANYWAY, I used to walk to the Deadwood right after I got off work at a church just around the corner. (Most places in downtown Iowa City are right around the corner from a bar.)

If I don't sound like the kind of person to be a church secretary, I agree — but I took the job one summer when my work study money ran out. It was a perfect job because I could walk to work — and from work right into a bar. It was a perverse kind of thing to do so that made me like it, but I know I also felt like I had to get the religion off me as soon as I could.

One of my duties at the church (in addition to mimeographing the Sunday bulletin and straightening out hymnals in the pews) was changing the white letters advertising that week's sermon on the sign outside the building. I always did that as quickly as I could so no one would see me. I had my reputation to protect.

Tuesday morning before I flew out, I thought about walking down to my old apartment, but I decided to let 706 E. College Street stay as I left it 20 years ago, and as it still is in my mind.