Looking ahead then looking back

 

Beautyberries close up

 Now that the election is over—if it IS over and decided—we can get on with our political angst (on both sides) and set about to straighten out our part of the country—if it needs it. We can concentrate on how to navigate the upcoming holidays.

Our family Thanksgiving plans, like many others I presume, are cancelled. 

But, to sort of make up for that, I am involved in two other fun activities. One is our monthly writing group meeting next Wednesday, meaning that BFF Dot is overnighting at Couchwood so we can both attend. 

               

The other is a new event: hosting the local poets meeting. Our regular gathering place, the main fire station, is closed for the year. For the past two months, the group has met at a pavilion at Tyndall Park. But plans are that mid-November temps will preclude meeting there again. So I volunteered. That gives me the opportunity to decorate the front part of the house with all the fall-motif collections I’ve amassed over the years.

Let me finish out goings-on at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs that I began last week. On another day, either Saturday or Sunday, we stopped at La Familia for lunch. Again, we were masked and seated ourselves at a booth near a wall.

Lunch boxes—many, many lunch boxes--decorated an upper shelf as far as we could see. Patrons sometimes stopped by close to us to gape at them. I don’t remember ever carrying a lunch box to school, but I remember Dad’s black one, about as large as our mailbox, with a tall thermos inside. I’m drawing a blank about what Lydia ordered but I had a taco salad.

The weather during the week until late Thursday was raw—cold, windy, raining, or rainy. We stayed in and wrote. Monday night was communal dinner in the Main House. Though there were two other writers around, they’d chosen to eat in their rooms. Greens/veggie salads, pureed  soups—one night, carrot and tomato, another night, served in what I call a cereal bowl, squash, and coconut. Those two items were enough for entire meal, but, no, we had a plate of chicken, roasted broccoli and carrots, and mashed potatoes. We ate most of that meal at the table.

Another noon, we drove out of town toward Rogers to Rowdy Beavers. It was raining, but I didn’t hear any rowdiness and saw no beavers scurrying around. LOL

  

Wednesday night, we ate salmon, roasted veggies, and rice. (Jana alternated between potatoes and rice.) Another night was a pork chop, potatoes, and roasted cauliflower. On our last night, Thursday, for dessert, Lydia had store-bought wafers and I had two severed fingers, complete with slivered-almond fingernails and red food coloring blood. They were made from a sugar cookie recipe—in honor of Halloween.

 Lydia finished her long-in-progress novel and I worked steadily toward the Creative-Non-Fiction assignments looming before the term ends in December.

The drive home on Friday merited a gas-stop again at Marshall, then a side trip to Leslie where my youngest brother—he of the Arkansas River flood a couple of Mays ago—lives after leaving Mayflower. He is in possession of an orchard, raised vegetable beds, and a two-story house with a basement.

                

He also has animal neighbors: 30 feral pigs, bobcats and even a bear or two have been spotted by neighbors. Ooh!

c 2020, by PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA

 

Blogging about a busy weekend

Photo by Thurman Couch, Pasadena, CA

 

Last weekend was an aberration, an anomaly. Thank goodness, it’s now history, and I can begin living the rest of my life normally. Until next year at this same time.

The city of Conway began celebrating a week called “Arts Fest” last Saturday, and as part of that, the Faulkner County Library, with Nancy Allen as coordinator, planned another Authors’ Fair for the afternoon—from one till four p.m. Set-up time was thirty minutes beforehand.

Writer-friend Dot-from-Beebe and I drove over and pulled up to a spot close to the door. I had more to schlep, uh, haul in than she did, since I was hawking two books. Which meant a floor easel, a large poster (from the first time I participated), plus table decorations, candy and books (of course). Dot was selling FOUR books, but this was her first Fair. She brought her stuff in a handled box.

Once our space was assigned, we set about designing our displays, plus the out-sized name tags for the table, large, framed photos of the books to be featured, as well as portable easels to hold them.

Twenty-four long tables—four to a side--were squeezed together or turned at an angle, so that the only way for the vendors (of whom I was one, though I never, ever called myself such before) to “escape” was to walk through the “stacks” until we could find a way out of the maze. Once, I got down on all fours and “walked” under the table to see my display from the front and to tape the nametag to the cloth.

At 1 p.m., the traffic began. And, unlike three years ago when the Fair was in its first year, it never let up. A high-school girl, who reminded me of my great-niece Marley, was reporting for “Arts Fest” itself. She wore a Hendrix College shirt, so I engaged her about that. Other college-age couples—one from Missouri—came by, mostly interested in how we got started writing, etc. One woman in a group of three read the back cover material of our books, but went on without buying.

Several reporters and one Little Rock TV station were represented. The latter interviewed one writer for quite a spell. UCA was represented by several folks, but my writing mentor at Hemingway-Pfeiffer’s June writing retreat was not there after all.

Finally, a childhood friend who lives in Conway came in as promised. Her car had died, so a cheerleader-granddaughter drove her over and waited in the car. Mae and I “caught up,” as they say. She bought two sets of books—four in all—to send to her siblings AFTER she read them. 

Anna came in once. This child who had cheered at the football game the previous night, and then attended the dance afterwards, was sleep-deprived, but seeing that Mae was not ready to leave, again left the area.

About quitting time, Anna returned. This time, she gathered Mae’s things, took the books in hand and gently guided her grandmother out. Mae was headed out, but her face was turned to me and waved. “Come see me,” she called.

A fun experience and fifty dollars to show for it. Dot and I treated ourselves at Arby’s before heading back to Beebe. The pumpkin milkshake and brisket sandwich hit the spot.