September 27, 2025
Sorry I missed yesterday, I got home from work at 9 and still had preparations to do for today, and I just didn't get on the blog.  So tonight I will share the Word Stage at the Garlic and Arts Festival.  It was a beautiful day for it and lots of good readers. 


Jo picked Amie and me up around 10 and we drove out to Orange to the Festival grounds.   The colors are beginning to mean something.  We got there a little early, but it was great to see everyone.  It's a wonderful community of writers and friends.  



Of course, photographing a word festival is a little silly because you cannot hear the writing, which is of course the most important part.  But these photos are pretty good representation of our community of writers here in Western Massachusetts.  Some came from the Worchester area and some came from the Connecticut group.  People drive to Orange and we meet in the woods and read to each other, buy books from one another and enjoy each other.   








Human Error Publishing supports the event, which runs over two days.  Many of the writers are published with Human Error.  The event works to expose people to our writing and our books, promote books and be a place where we can gather and feel like a community.  






There are pictures of me reading taken by some of these women.  I should've probably pulled one off fb.   But, alas.




Dina sets up the Wind Phone and creates a direct line for us to speak to past loved ones.  She also brings tons of mums in and lines the stage and path into the site with deep rich colored mums.   

Today the writings were political, they were hard hitting, they were about the earth and the climate, and they were about love.  Some document lives, some express the world now,  some make us laugh at ourselves, and others do make us cry.   

I didn't get to see any other parts of the Festival.  Clara went and got me food.  But these horses have always been one of my favorite parts of the day.   I haven't ridden in one of the wagons since EJ was 3.  I've got to do that next year.   

photo by Clara
She just sent me a bunch.  Thanks, Clara.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
  January 3, 2025 The Complexity (what I refer to as the texture) of Life This is a photo of Michael Whiton, eldest child of Jean O. Whiton.  If you knew our mother, you know whose eyes he inherited.  Picture was taken by Linda Boardman.        I did not take pictures today, nor was my brain very able.  So tonight you get a poem I wrote 25 years ago that is more spirited than I could write tonight. I Believe in Color   I believe in red the changing forever-ness of red.  A pure rich red: cotton tee shirt red, berries on the bushes in the dead of  New England winters, cherries in June next to a slab of ripe brie. Magenta, a little redder than wine, blood as it begins to dry, the curtains I always wanted, floor length heavy velvet. Orange red on the skins of a tangelo; blood oranges in a light blue porcelain bowl on a small table near stark white walls. Dusty rose of an old flannel duvet, the height of fashion in 1980. I believe i...
Read more
Image
January  4, 2025 Michael E. Whiton  June 30, 1944 - January 4, 2025     I always talk about patterns, it is my researcher's brain.  This morning I texted with my niece, Grace, and asked her what her 12 year old was really into. She told me math.  He plays the flute in his school band.  I had an epiphany when the 2 things got put together.  To grow up with music as a constant all through your childhood you are exposed to patterns.  You become aware of what can follow what.  My 3 year old great niece makes up little songs, repetitive musical patterns.  Her father repeats them or adds to them.  She already knows how to put notes together.  That's math.  That's what Liam does.        So what does all that have to do with Michael's leaving us on this plain today.  Well, one pattern is that we all seem to be good with babies.   When Mike was 21, Jason was born.  He was good to babies....
Read more
Image
  January 2, 2025 Time is both too soon and too late.   Just keeps slipping.     I believe it was 1996 or 7 when I flew out to Bainbridge Island to see my brother, Mike.  He was very ill and my Mom was worried and wanted me to go assess the situation, which I did, probably in not such a diplomatic way.  He really was ill.  His liver was failing and he wasn't getting put on the transplant list, yet.  I've never quite understand the whys and the wherefores of all that.  But for the next 4 or so years he maintained, so sick, sometimes optimistic, sometimes beaten, but he made it to a liver transplant in August 2000 in Worchester.       24 years ago, holy shit.  EJ's entire life, a third of mine; and again he kept living, kept listening to music and trying to be kind and never regaining any reliable health.   His story is fascinating, and I'll tell it sometime, but not tonight.  Tonight I just want to ...
Read more