Barbara J. Hamby

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Summer, You Old Indian Summer

Our summer has dragged on and on. Now that the trees are beginning to glow with many colors, it seems to be leaving us. Today was cloudy and the next two days are expected to be quite rainy.

We have plenty of rainy day tasks and pastimes, so tomorrow can be busy, if we choose. Floyd is alternating between baseball and football games and I’m trying to finish the very long novel I’m reading.

At the Tess Gallagher reading at Broadway Books today, I bought her latest book and, of course, had her autograph it. So I have it to read now, also. I knew she was an interesting person, but I had no idea how fascinating her life has been. Born in 1943, both her mother and father worked in the woods around Port Townsend. Her mother was a choker setter. I remember that women did many unusual jobs during World War II, but I didn’t recall that some worked in the woods. She said her father was a logger, also. Her biography on line says he was a longshoreman. He may have done both jobs at different times during his life.

Tess was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002, but looks healthy and vibrant now. Her long-time love affair (and marriage just before his death) with Raymond Carver was a highlight of her life. She talked about visiting with a widow in Japan and learning that Japanese widows are not allowed to remarry. On the other hand, Tess has found a new love and shared that information with her Japanese counterpart.

A number of incidents in her life, parallel mine. But she has been a much more prolific, famous and financially successful writer. Her humble mannerisms and her ease at schmoozing at the book signing, are clues to her success. I have no desire to take on the kinds of marketing responsibilities that are required to be a famous writer.

But I certainly did enjoy meeting her. A few years ago, when Robert Pinsky was Poet Laureate, I met him at a reading in Seattle. I’ve met a few other poets and writers, more or less famous, and the differences among them are striking.

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