January 24: Hoopy Frood, Poetry Workshop, Christmas Eve Tonight

Back to towels . . .

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value.  For some reason, if a strag (strag:  non-hitchhiker) discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, washcloth, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc.  Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitchhiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitchhiker might accidentally have "lost."  What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the Galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through and still know where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase which has passed into hitchhiking slang, as in, "Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect?  There's a frood who really knows where his towel is."  (Sass:  know, be aware of, meet, have sex with; hoopy:  really together guy; frood:  really amazingly together guy."

I have spent a good portion of the afternoon planning for my poetry workshop this evening.  So, at the moment, I'm feeling like a hoopy frood.  I've got my books together, my thoughts gathered, my book bag packed.  In about half an hour, I'll be heading out the door.

The snow has begun to fall, and the temperature is dropping.  By tomorrow morning, the polar vortex will be sitting on the shoulder of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan like a vulture, glaring down with frozen eyes.  Not looking forward to the change in weather.  I've been enjoying the fairly snowless, warm patch that we've been experiencing.  But, all good things must come to an end.

Because of this switch in weather, I'm not sure who is going to show up for my workshop tonight.  It may be only three or four people.  (It's not just the weather.  There's a ballet, as well, that's competing with poetry.)  I don't mind smaller, more intimate groups.  It brings a whole other dynamic to a workshop.  In my experience, participants are more willing to open up and share.

Poetry has a way of energizing me.  When I'm talking about it, reading it, writing it, I feel more alive.  Everything seems present and sparking.  Those non-poets out there might not understand what I'm saying.  If you're a runner, it's like going out for a five- or ten-mile jog.  If you fish, it's like casting your line into a lake.  If you're an actor, it's like standing in front of an audience.

So, tonight, even though I'm a little tired at the moment, I will feel like it's Christmas Eve when the workshop begins.

Saint Marty is lucky to know his passion.