Sunday I gave a very political reading for Revolutionary Spaces in Boston, via ZOOM.  They insist you get on half an hour before and have a confab afterward.  By the time I had sat at the computer nonstop for an hour and 45 minutes, my back hurt and it still does.  Usually when you finish a ZOOM reading, you can get off at once, go pee, stretch.  This was difficult.  But I think I gave a good reading and dealt well with the Q & A afterward. Generally, I get up and walk around, do a couple of shores every  hour.

 The three remaining cats have adjusted to life without their ruler, Xena, probably better than I have.  I still miss her constantly.  But each of them has taken over one of her roles.  Schwartzie the youngest, has become top cat.  Willow gets in bed with me at night and so does Mingus.  Mingus and Willow have formed a tight bond of affection and cuddle together.  Willow hunts mice.  Schwartzie still protect them. Mingus tells time and let’s me know when it’s time for treats, time for supper.  Willow starts trying to herd me into bed 2 9 pm [without success, of course].

 We’re still getting Swiss chard, leeks. parsnips and salad from the gardens.  The lower garden has been put to sleep and so has the main garden, except for the raised beds with leeks and parsnips.  I was very busy this week with house chores and dealing with already written poems, so I wrote only one poem all week. I met with Karen to discuss Thanksgiving – we’ll be having it together, the four of us – Karen, her son Tony and Woody and me. We’ll be in the livingroom twelve feet apart, the card table in the middle with the food, sturdy tray tables for each of us.  Karen hasn’t seen anyone but her son and me for months.  Tony is very careful, the reason he shut down his restaurant in March until Covid finally is over. 

 I made a strawberry rhubarb pie that was very good.  I make great pies.  I know how to make really delicious crust. I finally have figured out how to keep this particular pie from being all runny.  I drain the berries and rhubarb in a sieve and cook down the juices with some sugar until they have the consistency of thick syrup.  Thanksgiving morning I’ll make a rum pumpkin pie.  Karen has a relative who raises turkeys and she is making a fresh turkey he sent her.  Also the stuffing. Also antipasto.  I’m making the pie, Le Potiron Tout Rond, leeks, and cranberry apple sauce.  Tony is making a mushroom dish.  There should be enough leftovers for at least a couple of days.

 Woody is worried about not getting a tree, as a woman at the nursery where we always get a bushy balsam, warned him there were so many people staying in their homes here rather than going back to the cities where they normally spend most of the year, that there’s already a run on trees. I worry about the tree becoming a fire hazard if we buy it too soon.  It’s an ongoing struggle.