Ten Minutes from Normal

Introduction The rhythmic rocking of the train felt unnatural, slow and lethargic, a marked contrast to the hyperactivity of the just-finished Republican National Convention. A convention is a riot of balloons, speeches, people and parties. But suddenly, the noise had stopped: someone had slammed on the brakes and we were on a slow roll across the Midwest, seeing only the occasional cow. The convention had been a great success, the moment we had all been working toward, when we nominated my boss as the Republican candidate for president of the United States of America: a culmination, a celebration'yet like so many big events in a presidential campaign, oddly unsatisfying.The planning and organizing that had led to that moment had been years in the making. The past several months had been devoted almost entirely to building toward the convention, writing the speech, organizing the themes, planning every scripted moment of national television coverage. But then, before we were able to truly savor or absorb it all, it was over, and we were back on the trail, or in this case, the train track, always on to the next thing. A presidential campaign is relentless. You win a straw poll, or a primary, or a debate, or the daily news headline, and wake up to people already talking and asking about the next one. You win in Iowa, lose in New Hampshire, and get back on track in South Carolina, only to lose in Michigan three days later and wonder yet again, ?Are we missing something? But you're on a plane to California, where there's a debate coming up, then flying cross-country for next week's critical primary in Virginia. Once you start, the only way to stop is to lose'and that, of course, is not the way you want to get off this train. The reporters on board were all restless. Through long stretches of rural Pennsylvania and across Ohio, their cell phones hadn't worked much of the time. ?Al Gore could have dropped out of the race and we wouldn't even know it,? one complained to me. ?We should be so lucky,? I countered. The biggest excitement came when a woman mooned the train, causing a great stir and endless speculation about what, exactly, she was trying to say with her show. By the second day, the sleepy routine had begun to feel a little more natural: long hours of rocking along the track, punctuated by brief rallies in small towns and waves off the back to small groups of people who gathered at crossings, bringing their children to witness a little piece of American political history. We were approaching a town in Illinois when the conductor came over the loudspeaker and proudly announced: ?Ladies and gentlemen, we are ten minutes from Normal; ten minutes from Normal.' ?If I ever write a book, that's the title,? I told my colleagues in the staff car. ?Ten minutes from normal is exactlyhow I feel about this whole bizarre experience.' I've always considered myself a very normal person who had led, at least until recently, a very normal life, with a normal family and normal friends, except, of course, I have a boss and friend who became the president. And though this is often thrilling and even sometimes still surprising, it is most definitely not normal. At times, it still feels surreal when I'm standing backstage or out in the crowd and the band plays ?Hail to the Chief.' I don't hear the music that often because the president is a humble person, and tries to balance the grandeur and stature of the office with his desire not to inflate his own sense of self-importance. So when the trumpets sound, it's a special occasion when he walks on stage, and I am amazed: that is the president of the United States, and I know him, and he knows me. I know his wife and daughters; he knows my husband and son. We have had dinners together; I've even cooked some of them, and so has he. I know how he takes his coffee. He knows that I am tall'not big'bHughes, Karen is the author of 'Ten Minutes from Normal', published 2004 under ISBN 9780670033058 and ISBN 0670033057.