On Super Bowl Sunday, the game, the game, the game was everywhere. During our drive up to Cotati, I held Dore’s small plastic radio in my hands so he could listen to the game. The big TV screen in Cotati’s Redwood Cafe was playing the game (without the sound) when we walked in. There was no escape, even when we were there for a poetry reading.
The Giants scored first. Then the Patriots made a comeback. But the poets were busy untangling cables and setting up mikes. The audience trickled in half-filling the cafe. There were more than a few people who didn’t care about the game.
And when the poets came on stage someone turned off the screen. No wonder the owner of the cafe stayed home today. Super Bowl was forgotten and nobody bothered to check the score after the reading.
It was a super evening to have my son Lawrence and his friend Cameron accompany my reading with their music. It was super to hear Jack and Adelle Foley, and to read with Jack. One of the teams in the game would walk away depressed. There was no such feelings among us.
Photo by Wen Hsu.
Game? What game? All I remember from last night is a wonderful, inter-generational reading. Now, what was that reader’s name? Oh, yes. Hsu. Clara. She was great.