She noted that she’s on a 214 day streak. I’m nowhere near that. My streak is at 75, and unlike her, I use the same first word every day. This limits my poetry options slightly, but I suppose there are worse words for a poet than “stare.”
Here’s my poem, not surprisingly focused on my goofy dog, Farley, who believes in the power of the stare. I’m sure the critics will note that it took me five words to find the solution. It was just so I had more options for my poem.
Saturday had it all, but in my case, I didn’t realize it until the day was fully underway. A month ago, I got a text from my friend, Kent, saying he was planning to be in Brooklyn on the 14th, visiting his daughter (since every single daughter of a certain age seems to live in Brooklyn right now). He suggested that we get together for a meal, either dinner or brunch. Another friend of ours already lives in Brooklyn, and I’m only a 90-minute drive, so there’s a confluence of high school friends already. We settled on brunch.
The night before our brunch date, Nancy informed me that she had a funeral to attend on Saturday. “But we’re going to Brooklyn tomorrow,” I said.
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. All right, I guess I won’t be able to go to the funeral.” She reminded me again that if I’d sent her a calendar invitation, she wouldn’t have to keep all these confluences…er conflicts in her head.
When we woke up on Saturday, Nancy shared that the dog, Farley, was a bit miffed this morning. He heard that we were heading to the city. March 14 is, after all, his Gotcha Day, an anniversary traditionally celebrated by showering even more attention, love, and snacks on the family’s central figure than other days. To not only forget the day, but then plan to leave the central figure at home alone seemed to be adding ear washes to baths (the dog version of that double-indignity expression). Yikes.
Irrationally, I actually felt pangs of guilt, even though I am fully aware that Farley has no concept of calendars, anniversaries, Gotcha Days, milestones, or really any moments more than five minutes in the past. I knew, though, that it would bother Nancy. She vowed to make it up to him on Sunday…and I knew she would.
Then it occurred to me. If it was Farley’s Gotcha Day, that meant it was also Pi Day. How could I have forgotten that? I had made no references to it in school on Friday, no reference to it in any posts on my blog, and had pain no homages to pies in my writing or dining. How could I be so negligent? Clearly too much was happening on this one day.
I blame these oversights on Daylight Savings Time, mostly because it’s a defenseless idea that can’t argue back.
In any case, we devoted Sunday to rectifying the situation. Farley received an extra-long walk, a bath, green beans, and a new toy.
The center of the known universe with his new toy.
And I am now reposting a pi visual that though short on actual flavor, is still a beautiful confluence of pie and pi.
FiveHundredaDay 
