Himself: Swam, job hunted, grocery shopped, computer shopped, went with me last night, over his own objections. I felt as if I forced him and was uncomfortable.
Herself: Swam, meeting, loaded shelves and straightened books again….even more awaited me when I got there tho you can see the actual shelves in the back at last, came home to work on the chapbook, dinner, and read at Winston’s.
Gratitude: The experience of reading with other poets.
- We are both still holding our breaths….collectively, about a new job for The Geezer. As the time for the Non-disclosure statement to end nears, he grows more pessimistic, and I grow more positive. He will be calling them on Thursday to ask about when they might like him to come in to talk. It’s one of those, “More will be revealed” moments.
- Encouraged by Marion B, I not only made my Monday morning meeting, I attended the Monday evening “Drunk Poets Society” reading at Winston’s bar. I was feeling only a little uncomfortable about being in a bar for two hours, and G hadn’t wanted to go. Although we both felt it was good for us to be out and about even in a bar, I hadn’t wanted to make the Geezer uncomfortable. I can’t drive in the dark with my double vision, and yes, it was dark by the time we left. If he could drop me off and pick me up, the reading would be a more comfortable thing for me.
- We pulled to a stop sign, and there were two Goth girls all in their black. “We know her,” G said. Sure enough it was Mohave. I acted a bit silly, for don’t all grandparents embarrass their teen aged granddaughters, and as we left she called, “What are you doing in a red car?” “We own it,” I replied with G making remarks such as “Driving” in the back ground. There’s been so little contact with her over the years that I shouldn’t have been appalled by the remark, but I was. Later, as we stood in front of Winston’s waiting for the reading to start, when the girls walked by. She asked what we were doing, and I handed out copies of the poem for them to read…..themes of child porn, kinky sex, and careless death, great stuff for gramma to hand to grandkids. The friend said she liked it and Mohave suggested I send it to her mother who “would like it.” Later as we were tucking ourselves into bed, daughter Lenora called. “There’s been a mom sighting,” she said, “Out in front of a bar on a sidewalk in OB.” For a moment I thought she was angry, but she was actually making a joke.
- I confess. I can only work an hour or so copying and pasting things into numbered pages for the chapbook before I get irretrievably confused. I’m forgetting everyday words more often now too. Names, which were unrememberable before are Greek to me if I don’t see you every day. Poor G is called on to save my bacon often in conversations now….much to my embarrassment. I know I have had several small TIA’s in the last few years, but this leap into not knowing words is a growing gap in my life. One thing I always said I didn’t want to be was fuzzy like my mother, and I am.