Hopes and Dreams

Liz Cannon writes:

I think I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since I fell in love with that fedora-clad, whip-wielding archaeologist from the big screen. His masculinity just oozed as he punched those Russians or Nazis who were trying to use historical artifacts for unsavory means. He showed he was more than just brawn with his quaint bow tie and his witty banter and eclectic knowledge of ancient history. His sheer knowledge of dead languages was enough to make any girl swoon.

It’s funny though; it really wasn’t that I had a crush on Indy as a little girl. I actually wanted to be Indiana Jones.

Unfortunately, my knowledge of archaeology amounts to the length of Raiders and Last Crusade (let’s discount Temple of Doom and this new rubbish one), so this will be a unique experience to say the least.

I see this upcoming four-week period (the second session, beginning July 5) as going one of three possible ways.

One…

I take to digging like a duck takes to water. I not only find a potsherd but I find THE potsherd – the most historically significant potsherd ever found at Megiddo. Everyone fawns over my innate archaeological prowess. I make a few jealous enemies who want to rue the day I ever arrived in Israel. The press arrives to make me famous. Yada yada yada… I change courses from being lowly Middle Eastern studies major to world-renowned first class archaeologist and rule the world. (Hey, it could happen)

Or…

I wake up late, miss the bus to the Tel, and after finally arriving, only succeed in stepping on the most precious find of the season. Sorry – butterfingers. My sunburn makes me ornery to the point that no one wants to work with me, and the scorpions seem to like my particular aroma of sweat, sunscreen, and bug spray. After two days, I get kicked off the Tel and am forced to wander into a Bedouin encampment, pleading for shade and water, but find out that I have used the wrong words for “shade” and “water” in their dialect to say something else entirely and they run me out of their encampment…

On the other hand…

I could just come to Megiddo, trowel in hand, as wide-eyed as a kid watching Fourth of July fireworks. My sheer energy will force me out of bed at 3:30 and will continue to fuel my concentration and observation until breakfast, where I can load up on coffee in preparation for the rest of the day’s activities. I’ll hum a nice ditty (“I’ve been working on the railroad, perhaps?) as I brush off sand, grain by grain, lovingly flicking away any hapless scorpion that invades my work area. Perhaps I’ll find a potsherd or two, at which case, I will voice my glee to any poor sap who happens to be nearby, and then talk about my find until someone tells me to kindly “Sheket b’vakasha.” That’s okay. I found a potsherd.

I can’t wait to meet everyone involved and to take part in this summer’s second session with all of you. I have so much to learn yet, and that is both a source of terror and of great exhilaration.

And, I’m totally looking forward to black snot.

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