I met the Girls last night – this time I had 4 instead of 1. This is a good thing. Dean was enthusiastic, which wasn’t surprising. Fey and Fern were skeptical. Rose was downright scathing. And I was underprepared. A mistake I won’t make again. Particularly because Rose was so scathing.
Seriously, though. The Girls are all pushing 80 at best. And there Rose was sitting at the back of the classroom waiting for me to say something stupid. It is never a long wait, unfortunately. I have a lot of respect for her self-posession, but I wanted to say “ease up, woman. I’m making it up as I go here.” But then you don’t offer yourself up to lead a poetry workshop and then tell everyone you have no idea what you are doing. Bad form.
Last week, I left Dean with the encouragement to start writing down memories of her mother, pointing her in the direction of concrete details. I told her I’d work on a poem about my mother in return. She didn’t even start, but we talked about our mothers around the room (all except Rose, who wouldn’t write down any words that she associated with her mother) and how the small stories might make for a written something that other people could access.
Anyway, I got the start of a poem about my mother out of the deal. We’ll see if the Girls come up with anything for next Thursday night. Meanwhile, I’ve got some preparing to do.