June 19 Writing Day and Last Workshop

 I look forward to these unplanned days, but it's hot at 8:00 a.m. 

Managing the heat in an un-airconditioned monastery takes some planning. If you open your windows at night while you're reading in bed, the bats may come in. That's a scary experience. This bug came in last night, and the picture does not do his 4" wingspan justice. I tried to swipe him back outside with a towel, nearly knocked the painting off of the wall, and succeeded in injuring him. I was able to scoop him up with a piece of paper and throw him out the window. The crispy buzzing sound of his wings assured me he was looking for another place to rest.

Once it's 80 outside, which it is already, you have to lean out of your window to shut the outer shutters with an ancient latch, then shut the window, then shut the inner wood shutters. This seals up the window pretty well, but it's still hot. So, you plug in the funny old-fashioned white fan, turn it on rotate, and let it revolve the air around. Moving air feels cooler than still air, but it's still hot.

The coolest place in the monastery is the little room adjacent to the chapel. Several folks already hang out there due to the strong internet connection, and the chairs are lawn, not office, chairs. Since I don't have a desk in my room, this seems like a good idea. I try it for awhile, and make ice in the freezer with four ice cube trays. Every hour I dump the cubes into a bowl, and fill up the trays again. I steal about half of the ice as my monopoly fee.

On a reconnaissance trip to the dining hall, I see one of the kitchen staff bending over something in the corner. An air conditioner!  Voila! Ecco! I stand next to it until the sweat stops running down my legs. I go back to my room, change into my one sundress, and let the AC Marilyn Monroe the skirt. Nobody sees me, but since everyone already knows me as a lovable dork, it would be fine to busted.

"Elvis in Orvieto" was not a hit the other night. One bit of critique occurs often when I workshop poems. "We need to see a struggle here." In fiction and plays, yes, our heroine must overcome the odds. But why is this necessary in a poem? What's wrong with expressing a joyful encounter that may not reveal the true meaning of life but still presents lines, images, thoughts, and emotions (thanks to Brenda Hillman's LITE acronym)? I know I'm not contemporary. I never have been "with it" but I was happy in the moment. Why not share that? I mean, my name means "bringer of joy" so I do feel a sense of obligation at times.

I'm thinking of a poem that talks about wearing coastal grandma clothes in order to be a solo traveller who can move invisibly, but the audience for that would be even smaller than the audience for happy poems.

***

It's evening now. Almost time for our last workshop. How could I draft five very different poems in a day? Maybe being a bit upset that my poems don't connect with many people fueled my creative energy. Or, maybe there was nothing else to do but write, eat, worry about workshop, and write.  Mostly, it's the incredible inspiration we have here, with our field trips and kind cohort. So many interesting and fun people. 

I have six wines to share for tomorrow's wine tasting. I can't wait to see what people like, and to learn whether the wine shop owner in Orvieto steered me in the right direction.

If only I could stop sweating. I don't think anybody's found my cache of ice cubes. Time to go to the chapel for the last workshop. There, I'll tell them we have enough ice for everyone.