I recently discovered why one should always back up their work. I was at the Churdan Library, setting up to present my program. If you didn’t know, I give historical programs at libraries and to other groups. Each book involves a ton of research. I take pieces of the research and do more of it to fill out the information, put a PowerPoint together with mostly pictures and a little text, and teach it like I would if I were standing in front of a group of sixteen-year-old students. The programs have become popular with the library directors, so I travel across the state, imparting Iowa history and selling books.
As I said, I was in Churdan, setting up for my “Iowa’s Prohibition and Bootlegging Legacy” program. I unpacked my sample books and arranged them on the cloth-covered table. I laid out my money-taking supplies: Square, money bag, phone. I plugged my computer into their projector and had the first slide showing on the screen. As I stood scrutinizing my small business, I realized I had forgotten to retrieve my notecards.
A little bit on the notecards… Each presentation includes dates, names of historical figures, statistics, stories, maps, etc. Each card or two gives the information for the picture on the screen. I have three sets of presentation cards: Norway Immigration, Suffrage & WWI, and Prohibition. I carry all of them with me in case I’ve mistakenly written down the wrong program on my calendar (it has happened). I can whip out the right set of cards and throw up the corresponding PowerPoint. Easy peasy. I’ve done each program many, many times. The bootlegging one is now up to around 75 times.
I reach into my official notecard pocket in my bag and see two sets. I remove them and understand they are for the Norwegian and Suffrage & WWI programs. I don’t see the Prohibition one. I begin removing other articles from the bag, thinking I was remiss in putting them in their proper place.
At this point, I am very much like Wile E. Coyote. You remember that cartoon? He chases the Road Runner and ends up going off a cliff. He’s standing in mid-air until he realizes there is nothing beneath him, at which point he plummets to the bottom. A poof of dirt encircles him when he lands. The next segment, the coyote is chasing the road runner again. No harm has come to him.
As I’m searching through the bag, I am in mid-air. Maybe they’re in the book tubs? Maybe I shoved them in my purse? They have to be with me, I reason. Where else could they be? I only remove them for programs and then put them away when I pack up.
After exploring every option, I realize I am now heading toward the bottom of the canyon. I must give this presentation sans notes, without those thirty-five cards. People have already started to enter and take a seat. I have 25 minutes to make new notes. I grab some paper and start pulling up the slides, trying to remember everything I usually say. Much of it is coming to me because it’s almost memorized by this point. I’m struggling with a few dates. When did cigarettes become illegal? What was the date they amended the law? Where was Brookhart from?
At 10:00 a.m., I am out of time. I made it through 60% of the slides. There are still slides for which I will need to recall information as I’m speaking. Not a good thing for someone who is starting to struggle for certain words when the pressure is on.
I begin the program. Things are going moderately well. A few missed dates that I leave unspoken. Then my new notes run out. I am free falling. More information forgotten. Words not coming to me, and I am substituting lame words like “things” and “stuff.” Supposedly, I am good with words, hence the writing of books.
I finish the program and dust myself off. They clap and tell me how wonderful the program was. I think to myself, You should have heard the one with the notes.
Dear reader, you are probably thinking that I’m lucky for having finished and am able to retreat to my abode and find those cards. No such luck. I have another program in Manson at 6:00 p.m. I have enough time to finish the remaining slides and look up some of those dates I forgot.
And the missing notecards? I discovered I had left them at the last library a few days ago. When I called, the director told me she had already sent them to my home. At the end of that very long and stressful day, I opened my mailbox. There they were, safely ensconced in an envelope. I placed them in the correct pocket, ready for the next library.
I really should put the notes in my computer.
