My Little Golden Book of Phobias

We went to the Pulalup Fair. Silly really to be delighted in a barn full of chickens. But they're so pretty. O the roosters are so glorious. I know they're not allowed in Seattle but just one, maybe. The neighbors would not approve.

And the piglets.  And the gorgeous draft horses. Gorgeous. We avoided the (er) food. We found salad and deviled eggs. No cotton candy or curly fries or caramel apples.

We rode the Ferris Wheel. Tame. The Rocket would have made us throw up. At least. I think all my clothes would have come off too. There were a lot of elderly folks with walkers and wheelchairs. We can still walk unaided.

O and we watched a dog obedience trials. The 4-H kids with their goldens and beagles and blue heelers. Felix needs some work, clearly.

Last night I went to Rebecca's reading. She was splendid all in black with black slippers. She read Henry poems. I don't think I breathed while she read. I didn't want to miss any words. The women poets were mostly good. The men, well, there is craft and then there is...uh, do I dare. It is uncivil to be critical. However, I can't help it. The old boy's club. Sigh.

Meanwhile, I'm still in my bathrobe with a towering pile of poems next to me. My task: enter them into my new(ish) computer and throw them onto the external hard drive so I'll have them even if this computer dies/gets stolen/blows up. Can't send them out if they're on bits of paper. All the years of workshopped poems and others.

Hey, I put all my music on the hard drive. I can do this with poems too. Besides, I'm in the mood. Inspired by last night. I rite good, I do. All I have to do is go to a reading to know this.

Rebecca, thank you. For everything.