was Magnlia Hotel room service, bath water and bottled water and car pick-up spoiled, oh I was doomed: after the years I put into working the resort show and after all that's unavailable in Galesburg, I was not only impressed but grateful for the care that arrived when I paid for it or someone else did: the driver this morning brought me a cup of Starbucks coffee "on the house" when I said I was tired, and I settled into leather seats feeling safe and indifferent about my flight for nearly half an hour, and read Niedecker. Then: the Denver airport is fun, it's true. You move along from line to train, to shopping, to exhibit, to the gates close by. I didn't manage to eat, I forgot.
It was the end of the winter term, and all the exhaustion of grading and conferencing for four twelve-hour days, and the teaching crash, and the post-reading crash hit hard. I was weepy on the way out there, and nervous about the Friday reading, and almost too sore to rise on Saturday. I needed care and silence and good conversation and found it with my hosts, my wonderful hosts, Jake and Carol, who fed me shrimp, potatoes, corn, and guacamole, and who also have the little silver and cobalt glass shakers (mine have no S&P) on their table, and St. Christopher, and Burt's Bees Carrot Creme for faces, and Hart Crane's worm (for now I have it too), and on this one miraculous faux spring day, they are Carol in short-sleeved green linen and Jake in an embossed white cotton button-down. And sandals. And sangria.
Two views: from their living room, sunset, mountain range, blue and salmon cumulus (precisely like the Tucson sky). From the dining room, night and the glittering city.
Thank you, both.
