For my second and final spot at this year's Edmonton Poetry Festival, I found myself featured as a "well-aged" poet in a "vintage poetry" event at a seniors centre.
The long-time host had died. His successor read a poem in his memory.
While I enjoy cukes as much as the next person, I felt ambivalent about being selected for the seniors context.
The hospitality was first-rate, of course.
And a heart-warming collection of former team-mates and high school mates showed up, along with my publisher, Douglas Barbour of NeWest Press.
Everyone felt comfortable enough.
I did sell a book or two.