I am not so tired this week. There was a rally in town and I was happy to be a part of it.
Last time there were 30 attendees…this time over 80. It felt good to hear the honks and see the thumbs up of support. I handed out postcards and waved my signs. Then off to a bar for dinner that evening to celebrate a neighbors birthday. Looking down the table set for 12, I realized I was the only liberal in the group. Surprised they always include me…and very grateful. I even listened to the live music of a fellow picking his guitar and singing favorites. I requested a Lyle Lovett tune but the fellow said Lyle Lovett was too much in the high notes for him. Also asked for the Richard Thompson song about being as fine as a bee’s wing….he never heard of it.
Someone there bought my dinner and I left after eating the frosting off the birthday cake. I hope they include me again next time…even though one of them whom I really like said I make it hard for her to like me with my less than enthusiastic response to the music she loves and plays. We both laughed at that.
So, buoyed by the rally, I spent the day addressing postcards to all Democrats in the Senate and asked they give them to a Republican. I am quite sure all the ones I sent to the Republicans found their way to the trash can.
The best news was that last night was the annual call from students in Australia. We talked for an hour about what they did in their workshop and what they are doing in their studios. They still rent the same house we all shared for several years after they were in my workshop. This morning I woke to pictures they sent of a kookaburra and kangaroo and each other. Each of them received a gift from renowned embroiderer in the group, Jane. Mine came last week.
It is always so wonderful that we keep in touch. I suggested that we each work on a board game this next year. It will give me something complex to work on.
In the meantime I have my writing and my cats.
Here is the poem from a week ago….
The Waiting Page S. Webster
If I rubbed my eraser backwards
would all the words I smeared away
come back to lay themselves
upon the waiting page?
And can they be arranged anew
into thoughts that flow
from heart to paper?
Now, when I need them most,
have enough survived the bruising
of being tossed aside
to let me try again?
Til later….