Thursday, July 7, 2016: It's all about the book

Thursday, July 7: It’s all about the book

After meditation and breakfast, I was at my laptop, working on the book solidly from 9 to 12:30. I got all the content copied into new files reflecting the new organization. After lunch I made a mid-course correction and broke out two new sections, so it will be a book in six parts, rather than four.

By 3:30 I had organized all that. I think I’ll need to read through the entire thing in one sweep tomorrow (Friday). I am amazed at how much progress I made.

At about 5:30, after a walk, I decided to join the group of writers on the porch. There were about 20, and most were drinking wine and chatting happily, but between my hearing loss and the correction made by my hearing aids, I couldn’t understand a word.

So I returned to the lobby area, which was silent, and wrote a poem about my hearing problem. Its just a sillylittle poem, but I liked it enough to read at the evening readings after dinner.

Say what?

I can’t decode the cocktail party banter
hubbity hub bub, hubbity hub.
Can they even understand each other?
cackle-cackle, haw haw, he he he
What’s the joke? Should I laugh along?
mumbly, mumbly, mumbly-peg
How much of the world passes me by, misunderstood?
huh? huh? Pardon me, something-or-other, wha’d he say?
I guess it doesn’t matter, anyway.

--James W. Kershner, Wildacres, July 2016

The lobby, where we have the evening readings, is a very large room—about 40-by-60—with glass walls framed by oak woodwork on three sides. There is a huge stone fireplace and leather furniture reminiscent of a Victorian Library. Everyone is very supportive in the readings.

Thanks to Elaine Cahoon Miller for this panoramic photo of the evening readings in the lobby.

 

Wednesday, July 6, 2016: Poetry homework

 

Wednesday. July 6, 2016: Homework

Frustrated by lack of vision on my memoir, I decided to do the homework for next week’s poetry class with Janice Fuller. She asked us to read a long essay by poet Tony Hoagland titled “On Disproportion.” He discusses the difference between poems that lean toward “well-wrought” and “shapely, as opposed to those more “admirably lopsided, zany and subversive.” (I love thinking of the word “subversive” in terms of “verse.” What lies beneath the verse?)

Hoagland refers to poet Susan Mitchell’s book Rapture, and its tension between “Mitchell’s desire to be consumed by experience and the guarded indifference required by life in the material world.”

It is that “desire to be consumed by experience” that seems to be motivating me in my need to go off on adventures, to ride my motorcycle alone for 2,000 miles and to jump into an icy mountain waterfall.

The next essay was “Four Temperaments and the Forms of Poetry” by Greg Orr. He concludes that, “the goal will always be to have all four temperaments [story, structure, music, imagination] present, though some will arrive as guests and others must be learned and labored for.”

A third essay, “Writing Off the Subject,” by Richard Hugs urges poets to let go of the triggering subject of a poem and let the music of the words take over.

(About the book: I was thrilled to come up with my new organizational structure, but when I got around to cutting and pasting words, it felt like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. But I feel now like I really must complete that process and see how the whole thing turns out. I might be pleasantly surprised. I ended up copying a list of chapters from version 2 and listing where each part should go in my newest, which I’ll call version 4.)

In the evening I read the invocation I had written for the interfaith service after Orlando. I added in references to Zimbabwe and Nepal, and the next morning, the man from Zimbabwe and the man from Nepal both thanked me.

Later, Will and I sat on the porch of the guest house and watched a beautiful lightning storm.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016: Crabtree falls

 

Tuesday, July 5, 2016: Crabtree Falls

The same five showed up for meditation this morning. After breakfast I worked all morning on my Happiness book. Got a little discouraged, but it’ll be OK.

After lunch Marsha organized a trip to Crabtree Falls. Just as we were about to leave (at 1:30), a severe thunderstorm rolled in. We decided to wait it out and see how things looked at 2:15. When that time came, most of the 12 people who had planned to go decided to try again another day. But by 2:30 things looked more promising, and five of us die-hards decided to go anyway. We all fit in Celisa’s car, so I didn’t bring the motorcycle, after all.

Crabtree Falls.

Standing under Crabtree Falls.

The Crabtree Falls parking area is about five miles down the parkway, and then the hike to the falls is about 1.5 miles each way. There is a significant change in elevation, making the return trip quite strenuous. Although the weather remained a little misty and damp, it was lots of fun. And Celisa and I both got into the pool at the bottom of the waterfall and ducked into the falls. It was frigid and invigorating. This was my fourth time to the waterfall, and I like it more every time.

I don't know exactly what it is about getting right into the waterfall, but I love it. It is very natural, very elemental. The first time I was there I was drawn in with such force, that I forgot that I had my cell phone in my pocket and hearing aids in my ears. Fortunately the hearing aids survived, and I was able to replace the cell phone. Now I take more precautions, but I just can't help going for that momentary exhilaration of standing under a waterfall.

After dinner, the evening readings were excellent. There are some excellent writers here.  Back at the guest house, I fell asleep while listening to Will teaching Marsha some new guitar chords downstairs.

 

Monday, July 4:The Fourth of July.

Monday, July 4:The Fourth of July.

There were five of us at meditation this morning. It was delightful to sit with other kindred souls in silence before breakfast.

After breakfast, I sat in the lodge lobby and used the Wildacres connection to update my blog. But it was so slow that I couldn’t successfully down load and upload photos from my camera to the blog. I think there is a way to send a picture from the camera to the blog, but I haven’t figured that one out yet. Will and I rode in his pickup truck into the Wal-Mart, about 15 miles away. I got some Diet Mountain Dew—so much for my resolution to stop drinking that awful stuff. It’s a pretty strong addiction.

At lunch, two retreat groups intersect. They interact, but not much. There are writers and potters. Some of the writers have T-shirts with sayings printed on them. Yesterday I saw, “I’m silently correcting your grammar.” Also, a strictly Wildacres witticism, “What happens on the balcony stays on the balcony.” Today one of the potters had a T-shirt reading “The Dark and Stormy Night Potters Guild.” Seems like that phrase should stay in the writers’ territory.

What am I doing here? The book:

My book—Happy, or I Just Want to Be Happy, or Happiness—is ready. I just need a good beginning and ending, and some paring down of redundancies. Guess I should pick a title—or maybe that doesn’t matter. Let me think this out. Here’s the story. I used to be very unhappy. Then I figured out why. Then I figured out some ways to overcome those reasons. The more I follow these guidelines, the happier I am. Now I am happy

Worked all afternoon on my Happiness book. Good organizational breakthrough…

In the evening we had readings in the lobby. I read my “Pee and Politics in North Carolina, and it was well received.

Sunday, July 3, 2016: “Dedicated to the betterment of human relations.”

Sunday, July 3, 2016: “Dedicated to the betterment of human relations.”

Brandon and I had breakfast together at the inn early Sunday morning. We had expected there to be an interfaith church service at the campground campfire circle, but for some reason, there was no service this Sunday. So Brandon and I sat and held our own brief service, with a few words about gratitude and some meditation.

While I was breaking camp and packing up, I had a nice chat with Jim, the motorcyclist from a nearby site. His bike is more of a sport bike, or “crotch rocket,” whereas mine is more of a cruiser, meant for slow, easy riding. He discussed a ride he had planned for the day and said he would be “wicking and barking” down the parkway. I asked him to explain that phrase and he made a perfect imitation of a sport bike winding out at higher and higher rpm’s and then downshifting to go into a turn.

“Wi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ick… bark, bark, bark.”

My motorcycle, on the other hand, made a comparatively quiet hum as I cruised back up north on the Blue Ridge Parkway Sunday afternoon. I stopped in Asheville for gas, passed Mount Mitchel and Craggy gardens and arrived at Wildacres Retreat Center around 4. Several people I remembered from my three previous retreats were there when I pulled up, and they greeted me enthusiastically.

“You out-cooled us all, James,” said Mike, the resident manager of the property.

My fried Marsha, who has been at three of my four Wildacres retreats took a picture of me on my motorcycle in front of the sign declaring that the Wildacres Retreat is “a conference center dedicated to the betterment of human relations.”

Arriving at Wildacres Retreat.

 I was delighted that Judi, the retreat director, once again, assigned Will and me to the two little rooms off the balcony in the guest house. There were some announcements after dinner, and I invited folks to meditate with me at 7:30 every morning in the meeting room off the canteen. After dinner, as Will and I sat on the porch admiring the view, five or six other retreatants came down to admire our special view, and we all walked over to the nearby amphitheater and talked about writing until it started to rain.
For the next two weeks, I will be living at Wildacres, writing, learning about writing, and learning about myself.

Saturday, July 2, 2016: Dog days of summer

 Saturday, July 2, 2016: Dog days of summer

OK, dog lovers, I know your dogs are members of the family, and you want to include them on your vacations. However, most of us come to national parks like the Blue Ridge Parkway in the hopes of seeing some wildlife, such as bears, deer, wildcats, bobcats, rabbits, raccoons, opossums, squirrels, and a wide variety of birds. Last night the campground was completely full, and several of the campers brought their family dogs, who barked quite a bit in the evening and morning. I’m pretty sure the barking dogs scared away the wildlife, which I think is a shame. Next time, consider leaving your dogs behind and letting your children interact with some non-domesticated animals.

This morning started off chilly, so I collected my laundry and hiked up to the camp store to do my laundry and have a cup of hot tea. By the time it was finished, it was warm and sunny on the mountain.  Now I am writing this in the comfort of the inn office, where a string of guests has been checking out with expressions of delight and unrestrained happiness. Everyone seems to love it here.

Saturday evening, I enjoyed a delightful dinner with my niece Rachel and her boyfriend, and his mother and her boyfriend. They were all from out of town, but by coincidence they were visiting the Asheville area the same time I was. Through the magic of Facebook, we figured it out and arranged to meet for dinner at the lodge. After dinner Rachel and Wylie and I sat around a campfire at my camp site and talked late into the night. Wylie and I bonded over our jobs teaching college writing, and Rachel and I bonded over family relationships. Her father is my brother, which makes for a very close connection, even though she and I haven’t seen each other very often.

 

 

Friday, July 1: "Get in touch with your inner tube."

Friday, July 1, 2016: “Get in touch with your inner tube.”

Friday morning was cold and damp, so I walked up to the Inn for some hot oatmeal and a hot cup of tea for breakfast. Then I rode down to a great place just outside of Asheville on the French Broad River. It’s called Zen Tubing, and their motto is “Get in touch with your inner tube.” We tried it last year, but this year was even more fun because the water level was higher. We parked at their downstream headquarters, and they gave us a ride a few miles upstream, where we got our tubes and splashed into the river. It took about three hours to get back to the put-in place. I had stayed largely dry while floating downstream, but when I was getting out, I lost my balance and fell in the river, getting completely soaked. But I was dressed for it and only lost my dignity. The whole morning was lots of fun.
link to Zen Tubing Website

We had lunch as a Sonic Drive-In which is on my must-do list for Asheville. I love their orange cream slush—it’s like drinking a creamsicle. After lunch I stopped at an REI store to replace my REI travel pants, which split at the knees. Then I noticed that the amber lens of my front left turn signal was missing. A fellow biker directed me to the largest motorcycle shop in Asheville, but they didn’t have the part in stock. A helpful clerk there suggested I use amber tape as a temporary fix, and she even directed me to an auto parts store that had it.  It’s not beautiful, but it ought to do the trick until I can get back to Cape Cod.

Back at the campsite, I notices a man in a nearby campsite had a motorcycle in the back of his pickup truck. I watched him survey the surroundings, trying to figure out the best way to get the bike off the truck. After he turned the bike around and set up some ramps, I walked over and offered to help him. He said he just didn't want to end up as one of those You Tube "fails." "Let me get my camera," I joked. Together we rolled his bike down without incident. More bonding over motorcycles.

In the evening I had dinner at the inn again with Brandon and Poppy Kay. The soup of the day was split pea, and it was so good I had two cups of soup and a salad instead of an entrée.

The campground is full for the Fourth of July weekend, but it doesn’t feel crowded. The campsites are separated enough that we each have our separate spaces. Everyone exchanges friendly greetings when we pass. Everyone seems to appreciate the fact that we are celebrating America’s birthday in one of the most beautiful places in the country.  

Pee and Politics Part 2:

Before I forget, three more thoughts about “pee and politics in North Carolina.” (See my earlier rant.) Last night I heard two little girls as they passed by my campsite.

“Comfort station, but where is the bathroom?” asked one.

“Comfort station means bathroom,” explained the other.

“But how can you get comfortable in a bathroom?” ask the first.

Good point.

I was also reminded of the time Beth and I went to see the Dixie Chicks in concert last month at the Xfinity Center near Boston, a huge venue. At the end of the concert there was the typical huge line at the women’s room, but none at the men’s room. When I went into the men’s room I saw a line of men at the urinals on one side of the room, and a line of women using the stalls on the other side of the room. It seemed like a very reasonable solution, and I didn’t see anyone upset by it. And, finally, I saw a political button at Maliprop’s yesterday that summed up many people’s attitude about the bathroom law known as HB2. It said “HB2: Homophobic bullshit.”