a nap?

December 4, 2001

After a long day at Starship Startup followed by a therapy session in which I could not for the life of me explain why I'm giving up photography and am completely unable to write, I headed over to UMass Lowell (South Campus) for the launch of Issue III of The Bridge Review: Merrimack Valley Culture 'cause my piping plover essay is in issue 3. That's the "A Day at the Beach" thing that Nancy calls 300 years at the beach because I compare what I'm seeing to what Thoreau wrote about Plum Island. I keep pointing out that that's only 150 years at the beach... anyway the essay is finally getting published with the long awaited new web design at The Bridge Review, being unveiled tonight with a reception and readings by several of the writers who have work in this and the two previous issues.

I'm not used to finding the south campus at night (I took courses at the north campus, which is in a whole 'nother universe or at least a whole 'nother relationship to the river), so I got lost. By the time I got unlost and arrived in the auditorium the reading had already begun. Mark Schorr was reading from the Andover anthology and included a Whittier hymn. Whittier is the only poet for whom an Andover street is named. You can amaze your friends with that weird bit of New England trivia when you're not amusing them with tales of my totally insane belief that Whittier was a great poet.

I very much enjoyed the readings and the new look of the web site. Afterwards I talked with Mark Schorr who asked how I was doing and I confessed to him that I have not been able to write poetry since I returned to high-tech. He suggested a nap before dinner. A nap before dinner? He claims it revivifies him after the work day and that it was also effective for Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky? Wasn't his connection to naps the childhood trauma of having to keep silence while his father took a nap before dinner? So is the secret for me to go back in time and somehow cause my father to take a nap before dinner? I must be garbling that in my very tired brain. Maybe it was Dostoevsky's kids who were traumatized by having to keep silent while their father napped. Oh well, I know somebody in the Dostoevsky family was traumatized by a father's nap.

The universe is suddenly totally focused on convincing me to take a nap before dinner. I know it's got to be a conspiracy because when I got on the net to look for some used books (Kossuth's memoir if you must know), my horoscope on ABE books recommended that Aries (that's me) read Endangered Pleasures: In Defense of Naps, Bacon, Martinis, Profanity, and Other Indulgences by Barbara Holland. This is the same Barbara Holland whose One's Company is responsible for my terror of the unblinking light on the answering machine. One's Company depressed me so much I've never been tempted to pick up another Barbara Holland book and here's a literary astrologer recommending her book on naps! I can do without bacon and martinis too. I somehow don't think a martini would do a darn thing to help me write again. Maybe some profanity would. And we don't know about naps.

All the stuff I've read lately on how to get a good night's sleep recommends against taking naps during the day so you'll fall asleep more easily at bedtime. Well, I've been shopping for a new mattress tonight too 'cause another spring sprung in my current one last night and the sleep advice on the mattress dealer's web site claims: "A nap before dinner can go a long way to relaxing you and giving you a fresh start on your day." A fresh start on my day? At night? With Dostoevsky? With bacon, martinis, and profanity? What was Dostoevsky's relationship with bacon, martinis, and profanity? Was Dostoevsky ever in the Merrimack Valley? Aieeeee!

Nap is the Hungarian word for both sun and day. Now that the word nap is on my mind, all I can think of is the silly billboards that were all over the greater Budapest area a couple of summers ago advertising the opening of the new IKEA store. The billboards had the words "Eljon a nap" above a comfy looking blue couch under a smiling yellow sun. I kept thinking it said "Enjoy a nap" and I really wanted to buy the blue couch. I would picture myself napping on that couch instead of sacking out on the floor of the North American room in the herbarium or begging the room key from Carol and going back to the house of wild boars for a midday snooze. Anyway, my rough translation using my Magyar-Angol, Angol-Magyar útiszótár was "Here comes the sun", nothing whatsoever to do with naps on blue couches.

It is now 11:30 PM, far too late for a nap whether before or after dinner never mind on a blue couch on a Hungarian billboard. It's time for an attempt at a full night's sleep on my poor sprung mattress.