At Writers’ Bloc, five terrific poems were passed around for comments. Two of them were mine. Kudos to SP and TC. Tomorrow during Superbowl halftime and maybe before, I will read again the copies I brought home and savor them as the predictable top flight creations they are; like a rotisserie chicken from Schnuck’s — which I also brought home.
Kudo’s to Kate Hawkes at Trout Lily Cafe in lyrical downtown Springfield for the establishment’s winning the Mayor’s Award for local business best serving local visual arts — or something like that — in a Thursday night “fancyschmantz” at the Hoagland. It’s significant honor for a kid who co-owned a bean-sprouts-and-lentils cafe on West Monroe in the 70s called No Baloney. Trout is a giant step for her talent, and the monthly appearance of a new featured artist on her south wall gives all a reason to visit . . . . at least once a month. January’s featured artist was Delinda Chapman. This month, it’s Joan Burmeister — both delightful hummin’ beans and skilled visual artists; worth your time for a look-see.
The writers gathered therein this day were pretty much the same as last Saturday. The usually are, and that’s okay, though unfamiliar scribes “in search of” are always welcome.
Knowing what was gathering half a block south on Sixth Street, I departed about noonly and boogied down to the peace rally on the corner of Sixth at Monroe. Diane has just put down her packet of posters and was holding two, facing light traffic when I arrived. I told her I had described my interface of last week with Honey & Quinine readers, and the feedback was so good, I’m committing to making the event part of my Saturday colander. Technically speaking I think we can classify “Standing Up” as physical exercise, and I can always use some physical exercise, though I’ll be the first to admit, I’m no Jack La Lane.
When I explained what I had shared here, including my appellation of “peaceniks anonymous,” because I didn’t know if the effort had an official name, Diane pointed out that none of us are anonymous to each other — though we may be to passing cars and pedestrians. We also have an official name:
Vigil For Peace
She also pointed out that we no longer encourage passers by to honk (I’m talking horns here) when they drive by. The signs inviting honks are no longer displayed. Though some don’t mind what seems to me as disturbing as the peal of a bell, others have felt otherwise. That said … when we hear a horn, most of us extend an arm with an upturned thumb at the end of it in their direction of the affirmation, from honkees, so to speak, to honkers.
Some of the assemblage was headed off to a showing of Frost and Nixon – and you thought no Republican Party enthusiasts carried peace signs? As the spider said to the transexual Mexican Miss Muffetoza: No WHEY, Jose.
The weather was as perfect as the conversation and physical exercise.
Live long . . . . . . . . . and proper..