I’m back from my whirlwind trip to New York. After my sleepless overnight flight I bussed into NYC at dawn, the sky warming to a thick red, the skyline more expansive than I could have really known. I was exhausted, a bit zombie-like, but I found my way through a couple cups of coffee and Grand Central Station where I also ran into a friend from Guatemala. Then the train along the Hudson to Sleepy Hollow. One of my amazing editors met me at the train and welcomed me into her home.

The reading was fantastic. Set in a beautiful little museum, the crowd of 70 or so people filled out the place. I read last and felt I really lived within the poems. It was strange to realize just the day before that I knew almost all of the works by heart, that without meaning to I could speak them as though they were just happening to me on the spot. Needless-to-say it was affirming. The whole trip was a glorious tease and I now know I would love to return—much thanks to my warm and generous editors.

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So, yesterday—instead of reorienting myself to the work before me—we set off to the Olympic Peninsula to go mushroom hunting. The ferry kicked the morning off well, but once back in the car River made it clear this was going to be a rough go. I think he cried more yesterday than in the past couple weeks combined. It was a little tough to have him so worked up, but the day was beautiful, rambling off trail in an old growth hemlock and cedar forest, finding Chanterelles, Hen of the Woods, Oyster and Bolete mushrooms. We’re sorry River, but we made of the day what we could….and I can’t wait to work something up with the new wild edibles.

To cap it off we missed the two ferries we were aiming for and I had to go straight to the reading. I hadn’t showered, but I did have a change of clothes. So, once at the Richard Hugo House, I locked myself briefly in a bathroom, stripped and, well, showered in the sink. I kind of washed my hair and really helped myself to the hand soap. I was midway dressed when the knocks started, but by that point I was feeling refresh and didn’t mind telling whoever had to go that they could wait.

With that kind of prep how could the reading do anything but rock? (Which it did), much thanks to the amazing turnout. There were more people there last night than I’ve seen at any other Castalia thus far. Read some poems, sold some books, saw some great friends. One of the great treats, though, was being blown away by the other readers. Elissa Washuta was sharp and hilarious. Andrew Feld’s new poems were fabulous.

And so I put myself out there again. Let the world do whatever it would. And for the moment I’m  the proud owner of that shining piece of knowledge: I-would-do-it-again.