The sky is overcast, as it will be for the next several days, but on this mornings walk with Gabby I concentrated on the riot of blossoms everywhere. Dogwoods. Crocus. White blossoms on trees resembling the kleenex carnations I used to make. (I would put pipe cleaner stalks on them, then perfume and glitter them, and arrange them just so in a jar. Even in my youth I had a nearly visceral need for flowers. Also in my youth I was tacky and attracted to glitter, as I still am.) I passed tulips still tightly closed, standing up tall like so many lipsticks at a natural department store. I passed fuchsia-colored blossoms on bushes, and in their vivid coloration they looked like the flower equivalent of women of the evening. I walked up to my usual playground, and school was about to begin. I saw a brother and sister burst out of the door of their house, she about 13, he maybe 7. And a particular embarrassment rose up off of the girl like colored fumes. She walked very quickly to escape her annoying charge. But he just ran to catch up and be by her side again, and so finally she gave up trying to lose him. Her face tightened and I thought she was trying to act as though shed never seen this annoying little boy/gnat before. Its hard to be that age, where everything embarrasses you. I remember one of my daughters once being embarrassed that I asked for catsup at a restaurant. I imagined a breakfast table those kids had just left, a few pieces of cereal swimming in milk, toast crusts, their mother in her cardigan sweater watching out the window until her children were out of sight, then clearing the dishes from the table and checking her watch to make sure shed get to yoga class in time. A parakeet chirping in the background. At the playground, some parents played with their young children in the last minutes before they had to part. One woman was being fed by her maybe three-year old daughter who was in her monkey-bar kitchen; a man was being chased by his preschooler son, and the glee on both of their faces was enough to make me smile, too. By the time I was leaving the school grounds, the playground was empty, the children inside, and it seemed to me that the slides and the swings and the teeter-totters all directed their attention to the windows of the classroom, patiently waiting for those kids to come back out. Gabby: Must you anthropomorphise EVERYTHING? Me: Must you pull so hard at the leash? You know what I wish? I wish you would just walk sedately along beside me without a leash. Right beside me. Gabby: Born free, man. Me: You were not born free. You were born into a litter that was from a show dog Golden having an affair with a Springer spaniel. And the Goldens mom was really angry and she ....Well. I found you on Petfinders, okay? I rescued you. Gabby: You want to switch those pronouns? Yesterday, I met with Jason Smith, who owns the quite wonderful local bookstore, The Book Table. We talked about an idea of inviting authors who are great writers with critically praised bodies of work but who for some reason are not widely known, to come here. He would host them; I would introduce them. It would be in an effort to give them the exposure they so richly deserve, and to give you a stimulating evening of words and thought--and food! So we talked about having a reading series, perhaps called the Spotlight Author Series, maybe four readings a year, a subscription type thing where you would go to a nice room, hear a reading and talk that Jason and I think you would like, then have dinner at a local restaurant which could be offered at a discount or even included in the cost of the ticket. We would also like to find a way to involve other local merchants who have independent stores and a clear love of and passion for what they do. (The Careful Peach comes to mind. Vals Halla.) The success of such a venture would be reliant on the enthusiasm of the community. I think that Oak Park would be perfect for this. Those of you from here, or near here, what do you think?
Posted on: Tue, 29 Apr 2014 14:16:22 +0000
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