Sitting in a Greyhound bus station in Medford, Oregon, otherwise known as Methford, surrounded by human beings in various stages of damage. So far the trip has been blessed with poetic and familial convergences, first in Portland in its floral glory. I talked submarines with Auden Andrew Koeneke, explored Powell’s and the Japanese garden with Rodney and Gary, plotted a trip to Egypt with Leslie and Rodney, shopped for the BBQ with Rodney and Julian, sunbathed with Julian and Tracy, and just generally had a convivial time in what I understand is the rare Portland sun. It’s a groovy city, to be sure, but how long before I might get bored there, I wonder. Two weeks? Or would I adopt the local hobbies of gardening and cycling and tattouage? One wonders. Of course,I don’t remember the last time I lived anywhere sedate, so there’s no telling.
Still, how very pleasant to read to assembled guests and friends on Rodney and Leslie’s lawn in the blinding sun (now I’m burnt) while gleeful kids gamboled about in the hamburger-redolent afternoon air.
Then last night an absolute hootenany reading at Bohemia Gallery in Ashland with Gary and Kasey and Mel and Rod. We drenched the place in hilarity, I believe. I’d give more details but iphone typing sucks. Now back to Corvallis where we spend a night with Gary’s folks…
Otohime 