KSJE Write On Four Corners Author Gwynne Spencer and Cosmic Raccoon

Gwynne Spencer
103 Fleischman Lane
PO Box 525
Monmouth, OR 97361
(503) 606-2696
gwynnespencer@aol.com
www.gwynnespencer.com



"Summus quod summus."--Popeye
Cosmic Raccoon January 2008
When I was much much younger-before Christmas was invented-my mother made it a point to teach me how to make her fruitcake. It involved opening many jars of candied fruit, cracking a variety of nuts, and sludging together a sort of doughy cement to hold the other stuff together. Then, after the baking, it was wrapped in cheesecloth, which bore a terrifying resemblance to my younger brother JohnJohn's old diapers (he wasn't potty trained until he went to first grade.) Then the fruitcakes (of course there were multiples) were soaked in Manischewitz wine. Up to the gunwales. Which if you are dealing with fruitcakes means about a quart per fruitcake. Then, these bricklike objects dripping with wine were gift wrapped and given to unsuspecting folks who were never heard from ever again.

'Twas the season in the town of Dallas (not to be confused with the Dalles, or the town in Texas) about seven miles north of here, where once upon a time I taught GED, one of the churches put up a big white tent and advertised LIVE NATIVITY and invited people to watch. A bunch of the boys, who used to hang out in front of the plate glass windows of the health club and watch the ladies jiggling up and down on the workout equipment took that to mean that a baby was going to be born, live, right there, and so the word spread like wildfire and about three hundred boys showed up to watch the miracle of birth. At least there were some live sheep as a consolation and after the live nativity they served punch and fruitcake.

I already shared with you that WOU thoughtfully put up a 200 foot Christmas tree for me, right in the front yard, more or less. And then, as a special gift for my being good, they also provided a seven foot fireplace with a fire, and I didn't even have to cut the wood or split the wood or clean up the ashes. The bad news is that I can't take the dogs and a glass of wine and sit in front of the roaring blaze. I am grateful to have weather like this. It's rainy, it's misty, it's foggy. Then it's sunny with an almost blinding clarity. Sort of like writing.

I am telling you, thankfulness is my middle name so let it suffice to say that fruitcake and fire and lighted trees are never just something that happens by accident. Lest you lose your perspective, I would remind you that fruitcake has an ancient and noble past, reaching back to ancient dynastic Egypt where it was considered a necessity on the journey to the afterlife. So now you know how the Egyptians got rid of THEIR fruitcakes. Some of them are probably still being regifted.

Speaking of regifting, I was reminded of what a lucky family we are when I was traipsing through the parking lot of Chemeketa Community College in the pouring rain one day, and watched a mother with a stomach the size of New Hampshire, all jutting out in front of her the way New Hampshire juts out from whatever state it is that it leans against, hitting her child with an umbrella and screaming at her to "stay by my side, goddammit!" Ho Ho Ho. Give that woman a ticket to the Live Nativity. And a fruitcake.

I realized I was a stranger in a strange land here when I misprounounced the name of a local Indian tribe and was immediately corrected by someone who asked, "How long have you lived here?" the same way a state trooper says, "Can I see your registration and drivers license?" Now when somebody asks me how long I've lived here, I look heavenward and say, "Gee, it seems like when my grandfather…." and trail off, leaving them to finish the sentence themselves and fill in the blanks with whatever they want.

On the brighter side, the weather is quite reminiscent of what I grew up with in Pennsylvania (prounounced penn-sa-VANE-ya) which was grey, wet, cloudy, windy, and largely crappy. I've got a good hat, a good jacket, good gloves and dogs that are now used to walking in the rain. There is the bone chill, which drives you to coffee, but that's okay. There is coffee everywhere. Ubiquitous. I do love that word. You-BICK-wit-us. Who ever thought that one up?

I'm offering my little children's book writing class again and I am going to take a AWA writing class to recharge my own batteries. I haven't taken a writing class since the one I took from Digby Wolfe at UNM. He was one of the writers for Laugh-In. How old am I? As I said, older than dirt. When I was in a Christmas Pageant, I think they used the real baby Jesus in the live nativity.

I got a book, Legacy, on the advice of a friend, which gives you writing prompts to write your life story. I found the best part to be the photos, and so am working on my own book of prompts based on children's books and photos before I teach a class. Most life story writing books remind me of those old leaden "What I did last summer" essays written on white sulfite paper with a red line second from the top (never did figure that one out) and handed out like dispensations from Rome. If you have ideas, please share. This is a work in progress, like my book for dads on how to teach your kiddo to read using stuff from the hardware store.

My life-writing book, on the other hand, is going to be full of prompts ("Turn that Fruit of the Loom underwear inside out and what you will find is….") and starter poems like Billy Collins' The Revenant, a soliloquy by a dead dog that starts out, "This is just to say, I always hated you." Much more provocative, much more likely to spark good writing.

I now know good writing comes in little tidbits, or as Mason Williams sang, "Look at them horse doovers, ain't they sweet? Little piece of cheese and a little piece of meat." Or like little pieces of stuff in a fruitcake.

I do wish there were such things as night clubs where you could go in your nightgown when you wake up in the middle of the night. Someplace where you could companionably share a beer, write for a while, and then shuffle off back to bed to continue the work of the dreamtime.

I'm thankful for a new year, a new job, a new outlook. I hope all of you have regifted your fruitcakes appropriately and survived Christmas. While we all are strengthened by the winter rigors, remember that, "In theory, everything works."

Gwynne

Connie Gotsch www.conniegotsch.com Host Write On Four Corners KSJE FM, Farmington NM www.ksje.com Author two award winning novels Snap Me a Future and A Mouthful of Shell available www.dlsijpress.com