After I had read and ranked all the regional entries in the Jose Gouveia poetry contest, a whole load more came in, so I had to start over. Now I have gone through all the new regionals, sent them to the station and now I’m beginning on the national contest. It was a blow as I had very carefully ranked the best of the regionals and then I had to begin again. Some entries I really liked got knocked out of the ranking.
I mostly stayed home this week as I overdid it with my ankle last week. The vaunted snow and ice storm basically gave us an inch of snow here, although I understand the storm dumped far more snow and ice elsewhere in the state. Thursday the temperature shot up into the high forties and everything melted. We had plenty of rain and high winds, the kind that bends the trees sideways. Friday we had to drive to Yarmouth for a long appointment with my glaucoma doctor. It’s always unpleasant, lots of sitting around waiting to be called into some office and then more sitting around waiting for something else to happen. Generally medical personnel feel patients’ time is worth nothing. The one pleasant part of the whole thing is stopping at Sung On Chinese restaurant for take-out on the way home. Woody went shopping for catfood while I was in the eye place. At least having a smart phone kills the time, more or less. I don’t play games on the phone or the computer.
The Pats-Chiefs game was exciting to the last second. Woody couldn’t stand it. I taped it and he watched the next day. Schwartzie, our youngest cat, long haired and black, gorgeous and affectionate and a pacifist, is however a football fan. He generally ignores the TV, but when football is on, he gets up on his hindlegs and tries to grab the ball and tries to tackle the players. I don’t see any team loyalty, just a desire to grab the players. He throws himself against the TV, gets up full length [he is a lean, long, very long cat] and bats the screen with his furry paws, trying to get at those alluring figures and the ball. We have to remove him regularly to see important plays. We had a cat, Jim Bean, who liked to watch football with Woody, but he never tried to take part.
Been writing poems this week and sending them out. Tonight, we have Gigi and Ralph, Dale and Stephen over. I ‘m making a Greek tomato lamb with bulghur. Dale will make dessert. The seed orders have started to arrive, three so far. Dale and I sort them on Mondays: seeds that must be started indoors, hardy seeds that can go into the ground in late March and April, tender seeds that have to wait till we’re into May, and succession planting seeds that I plant in the late summer, early fall. In less than a month, I’ll begin to germinate them in the storeroom and weather permitting, they can go out to the greenhouse on heat or into the bay window.
I don’t get to read anything but manuscripts these days. They’re interesting, most of them. but I miss reading books, fiction, nonfiction, poetry. I’ve helped all the poets in my June workshop line up lodging, except for one. Now we’ll go through the ritual of each introducing themselves to the group. Some years, those private Facebook groups go on functioning long after the class. Some years, not. People bond more strongly some yeas than others. A lot of friendships have started in the workshop. I’m still in touch even with some poets from the very first workshop. This year will be the ninth here in June. Next week is the Superbowl. Woody has announced he won’t watch it with anybody except me – and Schwartzie, of course. Sunday afternoons are never the same without football, but now Saturday races start to get interesting. I’m taping the Pegasus today as I’ll be madly cooking when it’s on.