The Book Signing Event
By Eydie Wight
Last Saturday I had the “coming out” party for my poetry book at the open house for our county’s Arts Council. I was pretty nervous that no one would show up and I would sit there at the table with an ever increasing mountain of books and a stack of brand new Sarasa black gel pens listening to the clock tick, tick, tick as I tried not to fidget too much in my black velvet skirt, glittery velvet top, and knee high black polished boots. I figured it would have been stretching the eccentric writer persona a bit far to show up in my everyday apparel. Do they make book signing pajamas? Hmmm. They should.
But, not to worry. When Sammy and I arrived Mom and my “earth sister” Joanne were already there and had broken the ice for me. Mom had brought a big batch of my dad’s chocolate dipped peanut butter candy balls and had introduced herself to everyone. My dad’s name is John Richard (he’s called “Dick”) and I tried not to cringe as Mom asked people if they wanted to try Dick’s chocolate balls. It was sort of like a South Park episode. (Brother John here… OMG! It’s as bad as when Granny used to compliment Dad on his cooking… “This is GOOD DICK”).
Friend Dave provides some soothing acoustical jazz on his acoustic guitar as background music for the day. Dave also had several CD’s of his own available for signing (and, of course, purchase.) You can check out his sound at: CD Baby. Dave also has an independent recording studio in the basement of his home where he records local musicians and poets. He also generously donates his equipment and efforts as the “sound man” at coffee house.
I signed and sold my first seven books! They were all to Mom! But that was okay! It was exciting! For Mom, shopping is pure joy! The gallery of the Arts Council was chock full of wonderful local artwork for display and purchase. All artisans are Perry County Residents or members of the Council and the variety and talent contained in our humble country county always makes me proud. To mention a small cross section: Framed photography, oil painting, and watercolors, pen and ink sketches, handmade note cards, a gorgeous hand crafted mandolin (not the best sound in the world when I tried it out, but a pretty showpiece). Lots of jewelry, dicroic glass, stained glass, ceramic beads, bent wire creations. Knitted, crocheted, woven and textile hats, scarves, gloves, purses, shawls, sweaters, and coats. And, or course, books of poetry, local history, children’s books, and novels. Mom shopped before, during, and after. My mentor Tony filled his entire holiday shopping list.
Three generations together… Mom, Me, and my son Roger. Roger had orders from the high command to at least make an appearance. I was tickled that not only did Rog show up, but also several of his friends.
The afternoon flew by. So many of my friends came out to show their support. Some of them hadn’t even been begged beforehand to casually “stop in.” I signed and sold a few more books, one to a perfect stranger, and then during a lull in the crowd we decided to play the part of “starving artists” and all go across the street to the local coffeehouse, “Espresso Yourself.” There were ten of us including Mom and Joanne, Tony, Siggy, Jonas, Dave, Gary, Beekeeper Dan, Rog, Sammy, and me. Mom and Tony were in rare ribald humor and Dad’s chocolate balls were the source of much raucous hilarity. I smiled so much my face hurt. Of course I hugged everyone and the glitter on my velvet blouse left it’s mark everywhere I went. Tony had glitter in his beard, Mom had a little glitter speck on her cheek, Beekeeper Dan had glitter on his shirt sleeve, Sammy had glitter on one eyebrow, Dave had glitter on his guitar.
Notice the orbs around me? Some spirit close by that day, according to friend Vikki. I often notice orbs in pictures that we have taken. I’m not sure what they are, combinations of light and reflective surfaces. But, if I let my mind roam into the world of “other” possibilities, I’d have to say that photo orbs have appeared in many pictures where I might expect spirits to take an interest. The Gettysburg Battlefield especially yielded many interesting orbs and shadows.
How we first discovered Mead.
By Eydie Wight
My first experience with Mead came from a fellow writer from my writer’s group. Jim was a song smith, a rather opinionated and gruff sort. The first time I attended Writer’s Group I sat shaking in my sandals as Jim systematically told it like it was to the poets and narrators who proceeded me. When it was my turn and I read my poem, “When Lydia Was Ten“, Jim took a sip of this amber colored stuff he had in a paper cup, and shoved the copy of my poem back at me. I thought, “Oh god, it was so horrible he doesn’t even want to have a copy of it. I’m about to be drummed out of the group on my very first visit.” I started to put the paper back in my folder (my special blue plastic folder with the hippie flowers on it that I had bought special for the meeting) and he said, “Hey, what are you doing with that?” I swallowed and thought, “What, does he want me to crumple it up and throw it away so the taint will be removed from the hallowed hall? Do I need to ceremoniously set fire to it?” He said, “I want you to sign that and give it back, it’ll be worth something one day.” And then the poet laureate of Perry County, a beautiful young woman named Elizabeth, a woman so talented and radiant I had only been able to sneak glimpses of her throughout the meeting, said, in an affected tone of voice, “Well, you know you aren’t supposed to walk in here from off the street and show us all up.” And then they all clapped for me and passed me a cup of the amber stuff. I took a sip of that pure honey rush and knew that I would carry that moment with me for the rest of life as one my best top five.
Jim died a week after that in a freak canoe accident, caught in flood waters and an undercut rock. He would meet some friends every year to canoe and camp. He had taken some of the poems from the writer’s group to share with his friends and mine was one he had with him. Jim’s wife brought in some of Jim’s homemade mead, which I found out was the amber stuff in the cups, from time to time to share with writer’s group and that was how my husband Sammy got his first taste of it.
The Adventures of Eydie and Sammy Wight 