Sunday, June 17, 2007

Picnic More Often, We Should.

Got there nice and early, watched a little rehearsal. Guy at mic is GK of Writer's Almanac fame:

Drank good South American wine (and ate a total of 4 baguettes, goat cheese, Dubliner for Bloomsday and all, and grapes, cherries, hummus, GREAT!) with Christy, Christine the Birthday Girl, and Mr. Noah.

And I ate a whole bunch (note my gut!) and napped next to Seth in stripes.

Here's a Russell Edson poem:


The living room is overgrown with grass. It as come up around the furniture. It stretches through the dining room, past the swinging door into the kitchen. It extends for miles and miles into the walls...
There's treasure in grass, things dropped or put there; a stick of rust that was once a penknife, a grave marker...All hidden in the grass at the scalp of the meadow...
In a cellar under the grass an old man sits in a rocking chair, rocking to and fro. In his arms he holds an infant, the infant body of himself. And he rocks to and fro under the grass in the dark...

Oh. And Happy Father's Day.

It's my pop & baby-me.


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