writing appointment at Sidewinder Cafe

I took myself for a writing appointment at one of my favorite coffeehouses. Sidewinder’s is located on Hamilton Avenue in Northside. You can sit in the back and make a latte last as long as you need. Since I needed to finish my agenda for the class I teach the next morning, I decided I would put my mind to it and do it away from home.

It worked and was, in fact, pleasurable. Most of the conversation came from the front, from the staff and newcomers. The handful of us in the back room were serious about our writing, studying, or online searching. I found the atmosphere conducive to serious ‘agenda-ing.’

This is what I miss most about not living in Northside — living close to a coffeehouse, running into people I know, the whole urban scene. I owned a home here for fifteen years. When I retired, I moved ten miles up the road to be surrounded by nature but in so doing, am more isolated. Now, to go anywhere, I count on driving a half hour. I’ve gotten used to this and use my time to listen to music, more often than not chants — Krishna Das, Jai Uttal, or Siddha Yoga.

My parking meter is almost up so it’s time to return to my animals and other distractions of home. This afternoon appointment reminds me that I need to do this more often!

yoga, revisited / poem 89

I haven’t written much about yoga lately. For a few weeks I actually made it to yoga twice a week (found out about a Saturday morning class in Northside to supplement the night at the Y). Now, though, I may be teaching an online class Saturday mornings which would make the second one not possible.

Tonight I went to the one at the Y. I can do most asanas halfway decent except those that require arms going behind your back. My arms are just too stiff! Is it being old, an Aquarius (fixed sign), or what? I suspect it’s an aging thing. Well, I’m happy with getting myself to class at all tonight; the weather was gorgeous/I wanted to stay home on my deck.

yoga

you call to me
but sometimes when I stretch
it reminds me how rigid I am

crazy ladies gather on a full moon / & poem 38

I went out of curiosity more than to ‘make the scene’ as I told a few friends who may or may not have believed me in the first place. Today Maureen Wood was hosting what would have been the 30th Anniversary of The Crazy Ladies Bookstore. It was held at Off the Avenue in Northside, an old factory converted into a living space and artist studios.

I saw Colleen Ernst and her partner; famous singer-musician Betsy Lippitt; Kathy Prezbindowski; Marie Dennis; and many others (I’m naming only a handful of ones who go way back). My buddy Sue Hull and I had lunch then went over. Expecting to stay an hour, I ended up relaxing and having a good time and stayed more like three hours.

What became fun was watching the video of The Move from January 1989. The Move was a Sunday morning when women (and a handful of men) stood in line along two blocks of Hamilton Avenue and passed the boxes from (rented) bookstore location number two to owned bookstore location number three (and final destination). Maureen and I were the most talkative ones (I couldn’t help but notice); we would comment on our old friends and acquaintances in the movie before us. It felt odd, like a time machine; we were, after all twenty years younger!

Finally I did see me but not Janice, the only woman — person — I ever bought a house with. I was a younger, thinner version of myself. Strange. It wasn’t so much like looking through a mirror unless it was one from a fun house where things are not quite right. Yes, there were the oversized round lenses that were so popular in that earlier era. I was on the gaunt side (I was running back then). Looked caught between a cute little butch and a pensive intellectual.

Anyway, I enjoyed seeing some cute girls I hadn’t seen in awhile. It was likely the full moon because at one point I felt like howling. Maureen threatens to have this celebration again — and convince Carolyn (Dellenbach) Virginia, the founder of Crazy Ladies, to come from out of state to join us for the festivities.

poem

my younger self
looks so serious
but then smiles