June 5: Good Luck Old Man, "Groundhog Day," Poetry Workshop

Santiago heads out to sea . . . 

"Good luck old man."

"Good luck," the old man said. He fitted the rope lashings of the oars onto the thole pins and, leaning forward against the thrust of the blades in the water, he began to row out of the harbour in the dark. There were other boats from the other beaches going out to sea and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them now the moon was below the hills.

I don't know if I believe in luck, good or bad.  Everything happens for a reason.  If something good happens, celebrate.  If something bad happens, learn from it.

I think that's a pretty good philosophy.  Today, I wrote and read, and I watched the movie Groundhog Day three times.  Yes, there is some irony in that detail, if you are familiar with the film.  The first two times were by myself, as I was writing stuff and planning out my week.  The last time was with my son, who had never seen it before.  He laughed his ass off.

I led a poetry workshop this evening, as well.  Before my son and I indulged in Bill Murray.  There were only three people in the workshop--myself, my son, and a good poet friend whom I've known for many years.  Before she retired, she specialized in the education of gifted and talented children.  She's heard my son sharing his writing in workshops many times over the past year.

After my son read one of the pieces he'd written tonight, my friend told him how exceptional she thought he was.  That out of all of the student poets she's taught, he's one of the most gifted she's encountered.  And I saw my son open up like a tulip bulb in time lapse.  He tried to play it cool.  I mean, he's a 13-year-old boy.

But I think it was exactly what he needed to hear.  He's had a rough week.  A tough weekend.  

If Saint Marty had to pick a day for his son to repeat over and over and over, today wouldn't be such a bad choice.