Journal of a Sabbatical

November 6, 1999

i should write this in sonnet form

Today's Reading: Pieces of White Shell by Terry Tempest Williams, The Secret Reader by Willis Barnstone

Wilbur yesterday morning

Last night's poetry reading at the Andover Historical Society was Mark Schorr reading his sonnet "train" with display of his "paintings of place", memories of Main Street painted while staying in Provence. He also read from Robert Lowell and Elizabeth Bishop. Robert Lowell kept a journal in sonnet form, which inspired him to do the same. This got me reading Willis Barnstone again - wonder if Mark knows about Willis Barnstone's autobiography in sonnet form. I can't imagine condensing each day into a sonnet. Does every day have a turn in the last two lines? Something to think about.

Wilbur this morning

Wilbur and I slept in this morning. My excuse was that I stayed up reading Willis Barnstone's sonnets. I don't know what Wilbur's excuse was. So it seemed like morning was barely underway when it was suddenly afternoon and time to meet the walking buddies at Priscilla and Harold's house.

Harold has been working on developing a vegetarian version of his famous baked bean recipe (Nancy's theory on why West Parish Church was so quick to make itself wheelchair accessible after Harold's stroke is that they needed him and his recipes for the bean suppers). He cooked a batch on Thursday and froze two containers of them - one for me and one for Nancy. We are expected to give feedback on the experiment.

I was joking when I asked Harold if he'd had any more run-ins with the police this week. It took me a minute to realize that he was not joking when he said yes. Last week the manager of a chain bookstore called the cops on him when he knocked over a bookcase that was blocking the sidewalk so he couldn't get by it in his wheelchair.

That was last week. This week he was actually looking at books in the offending bookcase, which had been moved a little but was still not leaving enough room for a wheelchair to get past it cleanly. He didn't do anything except make a couple of sarcastic remarks when the bookstore manager came out and told him to leave. She called the police.

This time Harold told the cop that he wanted to lodge a complaint about the store blocking the sidewalk. Hearing this story, Joan-east and I suggested that he organize everybody in town who uses a wheelchair to just silently parade back and forth in front of the bookstore. No shouting. No signs. No mayhem. Just slowly going back and forth. This is already the least popular bookstore in town.

The actual walking today was less dramatic than listening to Harold's story, but still fun. The fall weather is still spectacular and there are still colorful leaves on the trees and flowers in bloom. We walked for 40 minutes or so exploring side streets and seeing if people had taken down their Halloween decorations yet. An awful lot of them are still up.

Then it was off to the bus station to pick up Nancy. The plan was to go to see Princess Mononoke at Coolidge Corner but we both felt too tired all of a sudden. So, after dinner at House of Tibet Kitchen in Somerville, we went back up to my place and spent a quiet evening at home.

Other items of note: word from La Madre that she finally found a Bobbsey Twins in the attic while she was looking for something else, some Hardy Boys too; word from alibris.com that they have indeed located and shipped Volume 1 of A.C. Bent's Life Histories of North American Wild Fowl to go with my Volume 2.