Back from Hiatus!
An election night quickie!
I am back from an accidental hiatus from this newsletter, apologies for the silence. For those readers not following me on Facebook: I managed to get married last month to my partner of 20 years. As of this weekend, we are officially a month hitched. ❤️🔥
October is finally here in Vermont, which means the damp chill has settled in enough that we’ve turned on the heat for the season. Our first oil delivery to the house arrived last week. I have ordered (but not yet planted) the fall garlic. We have put down the storm windows and this week will pull out the basket of winter layers. I’ve finished knitting a hat and am working on another.
^ I started that over two weeks ago. It’s now November. Tonight is Election Night, and if you need a little balm for whatever anxiety you have around the results, let me tell you about Sunday.
A couple of weeks ago I was mixing raisins into a carrot cake batter for a mother of a friend of mine who was turning 84. She wanted raisins, which I’d plumped in juice overnight. I thought about another friend of mine who would be celebrating his first poetry book with a series of author events and I thought, “Toussaint should have a cake, too.” I knew the publisher and texted her to inquire about it.
Next thing I know, I’ve got Toussaint’s desired flavor combination: caramel, cranberry, and orange. I don’t have a cake of this variety on my roster, so I looked for trustworthy recipes and schemed how I would decorate the confection once it was done. If you want to know how it turned out and the recipes I used, you might want to subscribe to my Wild Laotian newsletter (yes, I’m writing another newsletter, deal with it).
On Sunday, I arrived at Bear Pond Books in Montpelier, where a card table was set up for the refreshments and one of the booksellers helped me to carefully nudge the cake out of its box and onto the table. Then I set out to mingle and find my seat.
Next thing I knew, Toussaint had a receiving line of teenagers who had come to greet him. The line was six deep. I overheard that some have driven from an hour away. Once the reading got started, Toussaint tells us that a couple of his students from Governor’s Institute, where he taught poetry this summer, were in attendance. All of a sudden, I’m taken back to my days as a teenage writer absorbing the magic of the elder writers whom I admired.
I remembered making the 30-minute drive from Brattleboro to Keene State College one year in high school because Isabelle Allende was giving a craft talk which was open to the public. I’m sure I dragged two of my girl friends along. We were bookish and in love with her novels. By then, we’d all read The House of the Spirits and The Stories of Eva Luna. I don’t think I understood them, but I was nonetheless enthralled.
We sat in not-quite the first row of the lecture hall and I took notes in the journal that never left my side. I don’t remember meeting her, which probably means I didn’t. It doesn’t matter. I still remember my giddiness and eagerness. I remember her petite stance behind the podium, with pink cloth draping off her frame like queenly robes. The memory still brings me joy.
I sat behind four teenage boys on Sunday, as Toussaint recounted, recited, and charmed us all. Throughout, the boys would look at one another and nod knowingly. Every once in a while I’d hear, “wow,” or “that’s a good metaphor.” These boys were truly listening. And delighting in the moment. I remembered Isabelle Allende and I hoped that they would remember this afternoon for a long time to come. That it might shape the writers they become. That Toussaint might influence the men they must eventually become. I left for home with renewed spirit, not only because of the lyric intensity of the poems, but because these guys had found a kindred spirit.
When I’m in the dumps about my writing, I remember that time Myung Mi Kim told me I had talent, in a workshop where I presented a newly-written poem. I remember basking in the pleasure of listening to Lawson Inada’s stories, the cadence of his speech, lapping like a tide against my creative impulse, which so needed whetting.
We all need these touches with greatness to remind us of our own possibility. There was so much magic in the air at the reading on Sunday. Here’s a link to Toussaint’s book if you want a grimoire of your own.
I’m heading down to the election night party the Barre Dems are hosting while we await the results. Dan, I mean, my HUSBAND, will be joining me after he clocks off the late shift at the clinic. We’ll see you on the other side. Many thanks to the readers who have encouraged me to continue with this newsletter while I was on hiatus, you know who you are, but specifically: David B, Tawnya, Noelle, Gina, Melissa, Susan, Ryan, Kevin, Hadi, Evie, Stacey, and the rest of you. Too many to name. I really appreciate it.
If you’d like to read more of my writing, please make sure to follow The Bridge, Montpelier’s local bi-weekly paper. I’m freelancing with stories about arts, food, and Barre news. They are a nonprofit news outlet and I’m glad to be part of the crew.