A week of Goodbyes

Saturday, I went to the WilliamStafford Memorial, January 17, 1914--August 28, 1993. On the anniversary of Stafford's 100th birthday, we said goodbye to the prolific U. S. Poet Laureate who had a special connection to Santa Barbara when he was interred at Los Prietos Camp as a conscientious objector during WWII. Stafford lived to be 79 and died while enjoying a slice of his favorite lemon pie.

The beautiful weather and scenery made for a perfect day, except for the scorched, dry ground; and the dryness all around due to the drought. We were fortunate that brave firemen made their stand to preserve the memorial site during the Jesusita Fire in 2009. But there was an eerie feeling at the unusually warm, pleasant January weather. The river was dry and Lake Cachuma a large puddle at twenty percent capacity. The golf course next to the lake was brown, but the alfalfa further down the 154 hwy was green, soaking up sprinkler loads of water. Twenty deer were taking advantage of the sprinklers.

What's most impressive is Stafford's love for the written word. He wrote every day, kept a diary, and wrote over 36, 000 poems, published 6, 000 and kept a daily journal in which he wrote 20, 000 pages.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Tuesday was a strange day. I started writing new poems and then took a break to answer email and messages and saw that Barry Spacks had transitioned at the same place as my friend Gia, on the same day as Pete Seeger. Barry Spacks was the Santa Barbara Poet Laureate from 2005 to 2007 and a great teacher to all who loved poetry. I have fond memories of taking his weekend poetry workshops. He had a great sense of humor and wasn't at all embarrassed when I wrote a poem about his mismatched socks and read it aloud to our group of poets.

On Thursday, it drizzled for a few hours around noon. How appropriate the sky would turn weepy at the very hour when my friend's ashes were scattered into the ocean.  A week earlier, I said goodbye to my friend Gia at Serenty House in Santa Barbara. She was misdiagnosed in April. Last summer, when doctors finally figured out she had stage 4 lung cancer, she quickly deteriorated and the cancer spread throughout her body. An hour before she died at Serenity House, I went to see her. She said my name when she saw me. Thirty minutes later, she had begun her big journey.

Her friend Joan asked me to make a dessert for the memorial; I made four. Yesterday, as I mixed butter and sugar, I couldn't believe this was the last cake I would make for Gail. And then I realized I was making these desserts for myself, for her friends, for her niece who was so pleased with my efforts. This party was for us, our small remembrance of a great lady.

For those of us still running strong, a toast to swift wings and good luck in the year of the wind horse: Gung Hay Fat Choy.

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Saturday, February 1, 2014

I will be reading in Santa Ana at Librería Martinez de Chapman University from 4-6 pm, 216 N. Broadway, Santa Ana, CA 92701.