You never know...

I am a "You never know.." collector. That means that my house is packed with a variety of items that may someday come in handy. You never know when someone will call and ask if you know where they can find...a picture frame, a quick birthday gift, a certain color of ribbon..You never know when someone will ask you to put on a dinner for 50, or perhaps just table decor for that dinner. You never know when someone may ask for a notebook, a guest book, a gift wrapping, a card, a sign. I could provide any or all of these at the drop of a hat. Which is why my third floor, in the words of a likewise-oriented friend, has more levels than the Pentagon. This is why my daughters could 'shop' in my closet for anything from a shower gift to a birthday card, a picture frame to a printer cord. I collect things against those eventualities. This is why I have three hammers, a multitude of yardsticks, a drawer full of CD cases, an office-load of office supplies, and paper that, if reconstituted to its source, would probably be a giant redwood.

It says something about me, I suspect. It says that I enjoy being a go-to person; someone who knows how to do things, or how to get them done. It says I can make flowers bloom in the desert, if necessary, or produce something clever and creative out of (apparently) thin air. If you need something, I've got it. If I don't have it, I can craft a substitute. I am superwoman. I am prepared.

Perhaps this is what enables my lifestyle. I can afford to coast along on projects until the last minute, because I know I can always pull something out of my hat--or my desk drawer. There's always something to decorate with, or make something out of, or wrap prettily and carry along. Until now.

Today, I've begun the Great Disassembly of the Gift and Entertaining Factory. The boxes of silk flowers--gone. Baskets, likewise. I bet noone else has a box full (yes, FULL) of picture frames. Not old ones, not containing pictures, just NEW empty picture frames of multiple sizes and shapes, in case I need a quick gift. (Frame that poem or picture or recipe. Wrap it up.) How many colors of computer paper does the normal person have on hand. How many weights and textures and patterns? (Don't ask. I'll never tell.) Take a guess at how many boxes of Christmas decorations are required for a 2-person house? (You don't want to know.) Then try Easter, or Halloween, or Valentines Day...

The time has come. I am hopeful that I can find deserving recipients for my stash. A pre-school, perhaps. Or a day camp. The problem I face is parting with it all. After all, you never know....

Spring at last!

Spring at last! Spring at last! Great God Almighty, it's spring, at last! As I write this, I can look out my patio door and see daffodils blooming, lilacs budding, and my neighbor's Bradford pear showering the patio with white petals blown free by the wind last night. It is assuredly spring, though the temperatures aren't QUITE in tune with the scenery yet. I can deal with that.

It's been a long, cold, crazy winter and I'm looking forward to planting my assorted urns and pots and tiny flower bed with things colorful and interesting. (though, pessimist that I am, I will be waiting to do so till after the last frost date here...) I want to go back to the farmers' market and repopulate my herb garden with chives and thyme and basil and mint. I am anxious to rearrange furniture and toss out clutter and clear the decks for a less-encumbered summer existence. It's time for a clean slate, a new beginning, a new and improved me.

I might even diet and exercise.

Looking back...

Now that my three years in the role of poet laureate are coming to an end, I've looked back and tried to analyze the experience--both for my own benefit and for the sake of the program,. What might I have to say to my successor if he/she were to ask me about my lessons learned?

I think --in the most prosaic terms-- that you get out of the job what you put into it. From this end of the telescope, I can see that there were many instances where I could have done more, been more, reached out more. I tend to be more of an idea generator than an implementer. Hence, the Burns Dinner that never was, and the Poetry Month activities that could have been, but somehow, got lost in the shuffle. I have never been a long-range planner, and that, too, would have been a good idea. The program and its goals are better served by an action plan, rather than a hit-or-miss (ah, my style in spades!) series of activities.

However, given the nature of the post (essentially unpaid and without any historical precedent) it was difficult to know where to start and what to do. There was a limited amount of money available, but it was never really clear to me what I could use it for and how I would access it. It would have been useful to have a direct email account in the city system. Routing any messages from the public through a third party was not an efficient way to contact me or for me to send out messages. Knowing what I know now, I'd have opened a Facebook page for the poet laureate and cultivated fans. Or perhaps twittered. I'd have developed relationships with local newspapers to publicize not only poetry events, but the many poetry groups in the area. I'd have liked to have established some rewards for young poets. The League of American Penwomen sponsor an elementary school poet laureate program here. What about doing something for the high school poets? Or middle school poets? Even adult poets need love--and recognition.

Which brings me to the positive aspects of the role. I have found the poet laureate post to be a valuable--and unexpected--validation of my writing. I have had the opportunity in the past three years to not only write and read in public, but to talk about writing with a wide variety of people, ranging from recognized poets to people who think poetry is one of those lands populated solely by effete snobs. I have spoken to children, to teenagers, to adults, to senior citizens; I have written and read poetry with all kinds of groups, willing and unwilling (and that latter designation is NOT all schoolchildren!) I have talked about the importance of writing, and of writing poetry, in particular, to individuals at cocktail receptions, to friends and relations, to 6th graders, to the city council, to people who write, to people who Power-Point, to anyone who will stand and listen. I have had a platform to speak from, and it has been fun.

I have been challenged to do things I never expected to do. Writing poetry on demand for specific occasions is a task that presents its own set of difficulties. In doing so, I have learned much about the people, the places, the events that have occurred in Alexandria, and have gained a new appreciation of the city and its place in history. Furthermore, I've been given the opportunity to pass on what I've learned to others. In talking about Charles Houston, in explaining about the Freedmen's Cemetery, in noting the accomplishments of the women of Alexandria at the Salute to Women dinner, I hope that I've broadened the scope of the average citizen's knowledge of their city as I have broadened my own.

I am grateful to have had this wonderful experience, am grateful for the opportunities it afforded me to grow--as a writer, a poet, an Alexandrian. I am grateful for the connections I have made, the people I have met, and the events I have been part of. And finally, I am grateful that I live in a city that values the arts, that values literature and poetry, and is willing to step up and support them in concrete fashion. Thank you, Alexandria.

In praise of pockets...

I am not a purse person. I would far rather carry everything I need in my pockets, and did, for many years. I had a lovely little silver card case, just the right size for my jeans pocket, and it could hold (just barely) a drivers license, a credit card, and a twenty-dollar bill, which pretty much covered things as far as I was concerned. I have never been one of those people who carried tissues or makeup or any of the myriad items usually found in ladies' bags. I've always traveled light.

Looking through my current bag (and I spend a lot of time doing that nowadays, as I can never locate anything), I find a cell phone, a camera, a tin of hard candy, a checkbook, a wallet, three sets of keys (because I need them all at various times during the week and can't take the chance of not having them with me when I require them), two sealed teabags (because, god knows, someone has decreed that the only teas available in restaurants are Earl Grey and other perfumed varieties. I hate Earl Grey. And perfume.) Also in the mix is the latest book of Audrey photos, an assortment of notebooks and favorite pens because one never knows when inspiration will strike, and finally, two or three of those nylon bags for groceries that everyone wants us to use, but which I consistently leave in the car. I do sometimes carry lipstick and a comb..and now, bandaids-- as the least scratch (because of my Coumadin) bleeds so copiously that I have to have them handy. Occasionally, I'll have a flashlight, because our alley is pretty dark and hard to negotiate at night. And maybe an umbrella, if the weather warrants it. Beyond this, there is the normal detritus that accumulates, unbidden, throughout a day's errands: cash register receipts, appointment reminders, prescriptions, mail, to-do lists, ticket stubs, brochures, handouts from meetings, dribs and drabs of paper that I've scribbled reminders on.

Has my life become that much more complicated? Or do I simply have fewer pockets to accommodate all this STUFF? I think that both my purse and I should go on a diet. Bare necessities only. We'll both turn out somewhat lighter for the experience.