AAAdventure

Yesterday was Shakespeare's birthday, and, I learned the 400th anniversary of the Quijote. A day for la belle lettre if nothing else. The semi-thwarted forray into the mountains, left me meditating on the subtle changing of the California seasons. The wildflowers still burst out in unexpected orange patches, purple clusters and strips of incandescent yellow. Fields were plowed and empty, mechanized agriculture at its best sprayed water in pre-determined trajectories, irrigating the earth but irritating the eye that casts its gaze upon the highly organized growing paths. The milkweed reminded me of the smell on the nose of a sick cat, sick with heat, and incapable of panting out the furnace within him. But the lush green, inspired by the winter's rains, succumbs slowly to the encroaching gold, the deathly dry golden grass that threatens incendiary flash-fires.

In the afternoon, Alicia and Ignacio came for me and I., to head for Oxnard for a reading of Ignacio's poetry. We left with plenty of time, but we missed the exit, because it was closed and we were unsure of our bearings. Lesson of the day, never trust a gas-station attendant, who very kindly sent us fifteen minutes south, not north from Camarillo. At which time, on the terrible hill of "El Conejo weigh station" their '89 Subaru Loyale started to emit fumes and refuse to advance up the hill. Luck was with us, as we were by a shoulder and before the engine seized (we later discovered that not only was there no fluid in the engine coolant tank, there was virtually no oil, barely wetting the edge of the dipstick, and releasing tendrils of smoke from its empty cavity). Now, if it had been me driving, and M. going to a presentation, we would have been screaming at one another, and while they were both feeling awful for us, there were no screams nor recriminations, just the silent aknowledgment of tension... Meanwhile, I was removed enough from the action to observe with mild amusement. It is good to have a pain-free car adventure once in a while, it keeps you on your toes. And fortunately for all involved, I not only had a cell phone, but a AAA plus membership, and so, we were towed the fifteen to twenty miles back north to the Carnegie Art Museum in Oxnard, with a whole twenty minutes to spare before the reading.
Of course, I felt the need, as I often do in taxis as well, to chat with the driver in order to assure the level of service that a more personal relationship demands. People love to talk about themselves and when he discovered that we were coming from SB he told us about how he and his towing company whooped the asses of a towing team in SB, claiming a regional prize... and off they were to the national competition. The twangy country music was the icing on the cake, with a mournful man wailing about his homeroom sweetheart. And the A&W cream soda resting loosely in the plastic cupholder jiggled furiously as we rumbled over the rough patches of the 101.

So we missed the reception that was made in his honor... but at least all were alive and well. The reading was succesful and the public seemed very receptive, which is inspiring of a possible translation project to continue. And so, in honor of National Poetry month, I was feeling inspired this morning and was playing with the images and feelings of yesterday (and everyday)... and when asked if I write poetry, today I can say... ummm, here goes, sort of.