Just a moment with Juan Felipe Herrera

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Early this morning Zing and I walked to the old Crest Theater, 10 minutes away, on K Street near the Capitol. Juan Felipe Herrera, the U.S. Poet Laureate, would be there tonight. I was planning to attend. I mean, how great to have Herrera a 10-minute walk away??? I had a ticket, but was afraid to go: Afraid Zing would have a trauma attack when I left and proclaim his own spoken word poetry to all my neighbors.

Later this morning, Zing and I headed to Roseville, a city-suburb on the outer reaches of Sacramento, to learn how to hang the pendulum on our old brass and glass  clock, the one that was a wedding gift to Clark's parents. Clark loved it and wound it faithfully for years. I didn’t know how to take over.

Luckily, there’s an antiques mall in Roseville, where Nick Everett stands in a stall, surrounded by clocks. On the phone, Nick said he’d show me how to start the clock ticking again. Nick treated my clock tenderly, and now it’s on the living room shelf ticking and chiming like it’s alive. 

But back to the poet laureate: Sacramento has an active poetry society. They invited Juan Felipe Herrera to read. I love poetry. I couldn’t believe my luck! So last week I bought a ticket. It was unthinkable to miss it, even though Zing was not invited. I decided to give Zing one of his pills, stirred up in meatballs, so he'd relax enough to be left alone. 

So I did it, and then flipped between friendliness and terror as I mingled and ate a chocolate and bought a book from a local poet,  and marveled at the gaudy splendor of the theater, and chatted with a few people I know. I got a photo of Herrera in the lobby, but ended up so nervous about Zing, that I had to leave before Herrera began to read. But we did it, Zing and I, we separated for an hour without freaking out. I heard no barks on my iPad video of Zing when he was alone. 

Juan Felipe Herrera, the U.S. Poet Laureate