My Saturday Reverie

Elsie and I had a good day yesterday. I joined her at the community center in her little town to have breakfast with the folk she works with. They're good people — lot of farmers, who really seemed to be about as down-to-earth as the stereotype. I'm a self-confessed introvert, and tend to be quiet when faced with a room full of strangers. But I do like to listen and learn about folk. And there were a couple who were interested in drawing me out.

Marilyn asked me if I had any hobbies. Well, I said, I like to write & I like to play my guitar & sing. I guess those are hobbies.

Yesterday afternoon, Elsie and I went to Norman to meet one of her cousins, Johnny. This was a fellow Elsie hadn't seen for several years. She took a collection of photographs and probably about 75 pgs or so of family history to share with Johnny. He was very appreciative, and they seemed to hit it off very well.

But, you know, I don't suppose Elsie has ever met a stranger. Look up "people person," and it will say "Elsie." Earlier, at the breakfast, she was going from table to table visiting with folk. In a way, it was her job. But she wasn't schmoozing. She clearly enjoys every minute of it.

This was proven further when we went to Eischens, in Okarche, OK. We went there so I could introduce a few of my work-related friends to Elsie. It was a little noisy for good conversation, but Elsie got a good impression of Sharon (a kindred spirit people person). Sally, my spiritual sister, told me that Elsie was nice & she liked her.

I'll add, for non-Okies, that Eischens makes — without question — the absolute best fried chicken I've ever had. If you're even near the state a jaunt through El Reno to Okarche (off I-40) is well worth the drive. If you come on a Friday or Saturday, however, expect a couple of hours to wait.

All in all, a good day. And I got to spend it with a pretty special lady who seems to feel very special about me.

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Suppose I should say something about the poem below. I've been reading some essays by William Stafford, a poet who was a great influence on my friend George Wallace (poet laureate of Suffolk County, NY). Stafford had the discipline of writing a poem a day, which he accomplished by setting down the first word or phrase which came to mind, and letting that run into a long line of words. Then, he would let it set for a bit, and a few days later would let the inner editor work on it.

Well, you're getting the raw unedited stuff below. Maybe the only time I do it, too. I mean, it may be the only time I throw the raw unedited stuff out for the whole either world to see. There's a personae at work here, and just enough autobiography to create verisimilitude. Main choice I've got to make these days is whether I want to keep my day job, or strike out for my dream job.

Filled out on of those e-mail "Who are you and what vegetables do you like" questionaires a couple of days ago. One of the questions concerned my dream job. I answered the first thing which came to my head, which was "free lance writer".

Now awaiting the votes & comments advising me to keep my day job ....