Another week of spring in the Ozarks

 

               APRIL 21- Easter Monday, – Prepping to leave for a week at Eureka Springs – Lucidity Poetry retreat (for two days and three evenings) but living at the Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow. On the road at 9:30 and drove four hours straight only to find the doors all locked at 1:30. Luckily, the other resident was on “his” porch and while he went down for some lunch, I found the keys to my room and came back up for a nap. I unpacked the car then and parked.
             After that, I went outside and wrote.

FROM THE COLONY DECK

Dogwood
as far as I
can see in these mountains.
Settling in to write this Easter
Monday.

The sun
merely a bright
spot behind a cloud bank.
On Easter Monday, the weather’s
still cool.
        
           At dusk, I hear an owl from somewhere down Dairy Hollow Road.

again this year
heartburn follows
Jana’s great dinner.

APRIL 22 – Tuesday. The annual (for 21 years) Lucidity Poets Retreat doesn’t begin till tonight. So I tackle the myriad submissions to CALLIOPE’s poetry file. This is a gratis job (a non-profit writers’ publication), but –despite the general editor’s wishes (“You went there to write!”)—I spread all of them out on the kitchen table and sort them by dates received—some as far back as December. Though a newbie at editing poetry for a lit mag, I try to respond (via email) as soon and as personally as possible.
The opening session of the Retreat brought old friends together (of all the hugging you ever saw: in someone’s coat collar or lapel might be one of my earrings) and a few new folks who quickly became friends.

          APRIL 23 – Wednesday. The honor of leading one of four workshops starting at 8:30 meant my leaving here at 8.  Three Texans, an Illini, and four Mizzou poets had been assigned to the group.  In two long sessions, we critiqued each others’ poems sent in earlier. Lunch at Sparky’s Bistro with Missouri and Mountain Home friends lasted until 1:30, and the next session began at 2. I eschewed that one for a nap. The evening lectures added more information and inspiration. Afterward, we participated in a read-around. I lasted one round, but some of them stayed for two. When the leader called for a 3^rd round, I heard that several called out, “Enough!” By then it was ‘way after 10 pm.

 

            APRIL 24 – Thursday. Another workshop session, another lecture, a group picture, then the afternoon was free. It threatened rain, and I came down with a fresh cold. Sure enough, we had to wear raincoats over our dressy clothes for the final activity.

            The Awards banquet began at 5:30. Dr. John Crawford provided the pre-and-post banquet piano music. Though I was sure my poem would win at least an honorable mention, alas, it didn’t. With a runny nose and sneezing spells, I didn’t feel like attending the usual ritual of goodbyes at the local pub. My sleep was noisy and fitful. Rest was out in the woods somewhere, or in the fields. It certainly was NOT in MY bed.

 

            APRIL 25 – Friday.  After two days of arising by alarm for early workshops, I slept in till rested, arising at 8:05. This day was all mine. Coffee and journal on the back deck, and time to write. And write I did—for two hours. After breakfast, I continued toward my goal of organizing all the Calliope poetry submitted thus far, and trying to get them all a schedule for publication. Turned out to be a complicated procedure that meant emails to most of the poets before I could call myself done. 

          After a sumptuous dinner (provided at the Colony each week night) of salmon “cakes” (I call them” patties”), mashed potatoes, steamed, uncut asparagus, salad and lemon meringue pie, I drove across town to the only local store, Dollar General. I needed more antihistamine, some throat lozenges, batteries for my camera, toothpaste and the most important thing, ice cream. I continued working on the poems submitted until bedtime. The Haagen-Dazs strawberry provided a cooling, sweet midnight delight.

 

            APRIL 26 – Saturday. Another whole day alone—except for the loud folks motorcycling, walking, yelling, playing their car radios loudly—I finally finished the CALLIOPE task with each poem tucked away in folders labeled “Summer ‘14”, “Fall ’14,” “Winter ‘14/’15,” “Spring ‘15” and a couple as far out as “Summer ’15.”

 

           APRIL 27 – Sunday. Sunday. Here it is 9 p.m. and I’ve just now wasted four hours of typing into my website 62 "found" poems. SIXTY-TWO. I could tell the machine or the text editor was getting tired. First, it skipped two spaces instead of one, then three spaces. Once, the screen went completely away, but came back presently. When the 62^nd poem—the end of the ones beginning with F—was typed in and a note as to the date, I looked around for a SAVE CHANGES. Couldn’t find it, so started searching. And, for want of a SAVE, the lot was lost.

         But—after fuming, whining, crabbing, grousing—I decided that this was nothing compared to the destruction and deaths caused by today’s tornadoes.

         Forgive me, Lord, for magnifying the insignificant things instead of the important ones that really matter.