We went down to the tavern last night to send off Rebecca who is leaving the colony today (sounds more serious, vaguely SF, Logan's Run-like when you put it that way) and to have one final chance to take advantage of her earnestness -- I mean, enjoy her company. Although we did manage to make her believe for just a few seconds the other night that gullible was not in the dictionary (really!).
We were a little concerned because the "pub" looked a bit more swank than we had thought, but we went straight to the bar and it was small and quiet. The bartender said they had "just about everything" which turned out to be a gross exaggeration. Not only did they not have Bass (even!), but they had nothing at all on draft. A quick look at the beer list showed an awful lot of run-of-the-mill lowbrow brews (many--horrors!--ending in "lite"). But they did feature a couple of Rogue brews, although not the special Chef Morimoto brews. I started with a Dead Man, but after tasting Rebecca's stout, I too ordered a Shakespeare Stout. The bartender said he drank it because he was a writer -- I think the story tends to work better when the entire table doesn't eagerly answer "We're writers, too!" He did not stay to discuss writerly things.
The TV was on but not blaring (and only playing a Cirque du Soleil video anyway, colorful distraction) and the music was a succession of quietly played standards. Just right for talking -- and picking on Rebecca. Perhaps I was just a little too ebullient but I was under the impression that it was not just geeks who know that action figures are highly articulated; guess I was wrong.
We did actually talk about writing -- and teaching. Rebecca, a poet, was worried about teaching a fiction class, so Agymah and I talked about our experiences. I must say I envy Agymah's courses, capped at 15. I don't think I'd be happy teaching only creative writing, but I would not be averse to trying it for a while. We tried in vain to get Agymah to share his driver's license, suspecting (apparently correctly) that it had his given name, so to punish him we made him walk back just as fast as we had set out (when he first complained about the pace). The fireflies were out last night, lending a touch of fairy-like beauty to the evening. I remember sitting on the porch back in Connecticut, watching all the lightning bugs sparkle at the edge of the wood:
Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.
"Fireflies in the Garden"