Welcome back Paddie Marie! She and her family moved away last December but make frequent visits back.
At Beatriz's suggestion we're now gonna meet twice a month, the first and the third Saturday of the month. Can't believe we never thought of this before.
We all love our writer's deadline and the way it has us producing new works. All eight of us at yesterday's meeting had new work. Except for Ian who couldn't find the cord to his printer to print out copies.
Martha, on the right, wrote a b'ful tribute to her late mother called 'Mother's Hands.' Before she read, she told us she would break down while reading it, so Carly was the back-up. But Carly broke down when she took over, but then composed herself.
Poets use their overflow emotion to write!
Ian asked if he's the only guy in the group. We all rattled off all the men who used to attend including Bob Strange and Chris Walsh (DarthGarbage is his email address). Both Bob and Chris are garbage men and taught us a lot about the jobs, how they get stuck with needles and other unsavory details.
You've gotta know when to take people off the email list. People's priorities change. There is something really nice, tho, about having guys in the group. Elijah Pringle III was so complimentary to everyone and had a big hearty laff and great sense of humor.
Group shot. I asked both Stella and Stephen Weinrich if we could meet twice a month. Yes, they said, the name of a British movie I recently watched, the most beautiful word in the English language.
Glass milk bottle. It's on display at Weinrich's. Remember the little paper cap that came with it? The separation of the milk and cream? Ah, when milk was pure and we didn't have to worry about the percentage of fat.
After group I headed over to mom's for a visit. This is a nice routine for the two of us. Let's see. What did I learn? Food facts. I was full, tho, having had a Boston Creme Donut at Weinrich's dunked in hot decaf. My blood sugar was actually normal when I got home b/c the donut was my long-acting carb or starch with my salad lunch. I've been making thousand island dressing - mixture of mayo and ketchup.
All these balancing-acts. See the invisible ball balanced on my nose? When I came home, I was exhausted and took a huge nap. Then I made meatballs and spaghetti for dinner. Scott said they were the best he'd ever tasted. At the Giant, a young father in the produce aisle said he put mushrooms in his meatballs so I did too. Plus an egg, oatmeal, grated onion, garlic.
Oh, there goes the Buick right now, backing outa the driveway across the street, a remarkably beautiful car. I only noticed that the other morning when it was parked across from my house. I had to write a poem about it.
MEDITATION UPON A BUICK
Like a fine sculpture at the Tate
the Buick with silver portholes
reclines across the street
fetching as a whale.
What can I do with a Buick?
I could sit on my porch steps and
I could lean on it
and feel its warmth
or imagine its birth in a
hangar-sized nursery in China,
an original work of art with
a hundred-thousand copies
launched across the land,
lost in a circus of cars and bicycles,
Not like my Buick
across the street
dressed in autumn leaves
a stop for raindrops and the birds
meditation for this modern-day monk.