Hallelujah! My project was quite a success! People showed up for both the reception and the workshop, the food was delicious, the conversation was interesting, all the key people arrived on time, everyone stayed to the very end and asked a lot of good questions, and I believe a lot of budding collaborations and professional friendships were nurtured.
Also, the power stayed on, all the markers worked, and the weather was beautiful, so at every break everyone (meaning everyone else, because I was inside making things run smoothly) strolled outside into a beautiful garden setting to enjoy sunny 70-degree temperatures, a lake view, and plenty of birds and butterflies. I've been to only a few environmental conferences, but my experience is that despite our good intentions, we usually spend all day in a windowless, air-conditioned room. Not exactly inspiring, no matter how helpful the information is.
I couldn't be happier that it went well and that it is over! My boss was very pleased, and many of the participants were also free with the compliments. Whew! (Time to start thinking about next year.)
**Warning: This part of the post will contain some language with risque connotations. I know you can say such things on the internet, but am just old-fashioned enough to wonder if I should . . . and risk shocking the audience. C.S. and I have agreed that a warning label should be sufficient. We're all adults here, right? If you aren't up to a little risque talk, stop reading now.**
As evidence that the planning and implementation of this conference took me into a whole 'nother plane of consciousness . . . . Last night when all was said and done, C.S. and I were catching up via phone. C.S. happened to mention a news story in which a reporter segued into a dream second career: managing a fancy strip joint.
Now, C.S. and I have often dreamed the Lottery Dream of a bookstore/coffee shop/philanthropy center/pro bono law practice when we finally win big, so we immediately started mock-seriously talking about whether it would be feasible to combine our dream bookstore and a strip joint. It would certainly attract a broad customer base, right? We agreed that one of the most important aspects would be to have a really catchy name.
Whereupon, instantaneously and without any hesitation at all--as proof of my mental state, in which the logical, OCD side of my brain must have collapsed in exhaustion while the fluid, creative side accelerated to the upper limit of possible performance--I came up with not one but two potential names for our bookstore/strip joint:
Lits and Tits
Read My Lips
Neither of which will ever make it past the fictional stage . . . although either one would look pretty good in neon, don't you think?