Today’s Tête-à-TêteThursday guest is the brilliant and beautiful Leigh Anne Hornfeldt. She is truly a woman after my own heart. Through Two of Cups Press, and in conjunction with Teneice Durrant Delgado, Leigh Anne will be releasing an anthology of bourbon-themed poetry entitled Small Batch next month. I am thrilled that my poem "Naysayers and Dayplayers" will be included.
In addition, Leigh Anne is a Kentucky native whose work has appeared in Foundling Review, Spry, Lunch Ticket, New Southerner and other journals. In 2013 her poem “Laika” placed second in the Argos Competition (Dorianne Laux judge). She is the recipient of the Kudzu Prize, a semi-finalist for both the Mary Kay Ballard and James Baker Hall Memorial prizes in poetry, and the editor of Two of Cups Press. Her chapbook, East Main Aviary, is available through Flutter Press.
The Bourbonista: Tell me about yourself in 50 words or less. At least one word must begin with the letter “X” and none can begin with the letter “S.”
Leigh Anne: Mom of 3 boys (which, I’m told, guarantees me a place in Heaven) wife of one wonderfully patient husband, herder of two ungrateful cats, warden of one dog, poet, publisher, tidier of nests, lover of fried food, loyal friend. Hungry-minded with no time for xenophobia or doubt.
The Bourbonista: Hungry-mided. I like that visual image. I can just see a big brain slathering information in Miracle Whip and gobbling it down. Lord, I even envision my brain using condiments. No wonder I'm zaftig. So, if you were a circus performer, what would you be and why?
Leigh Anne: Lion tamer, though I wish I were the lion.
The Bourbonista: But if you were the lion you'd be made to sleep in a cage and be controlled with a whip...oh, sorry...maybe you're in to that...no judgment...whatever it takes to keep the romance alive. Moving on, what would you do if you won the lottery?
Leigh Anne: After donating to charity and spoiling my family and friends I’d dine my way across the globe before eventually retiring in a swansong of cheese on an island in the Mediterranean.
The Bourbonista: Hell to the yes, I could totally spend a cool million on cheese, and never regret a penny of it. While we’re on the topic of food, if you were on death row…don’t act like you don’t know who you killed to get there…what would be your last supper?
Leigh Anne: A platter of garlic hummus, pita bread, tabbouleh, falafel, stuffed grape leaves, and a lamb gyro. For dessert, my grandpa’s key lime pie and a cup of strong coffee.
The Bourbonista: Greek, nice. That will make your transition to an afterlife of feasting with the Gods on Mount Olympus an easy one. Give Dionysus a hug for me, and tell him he is doing a great job overseeing wine and ecstasy...at least, in my life. If you were to write a short “Thank You” letter to your future self for all the cool shit you’ve done twenty years from now.
Dear Leigh Anne,
Thanks for knowing when to be in control and also recognizing when things were beyond your control. Thanks for taking risks, which is another way of saying thanks for trusting yourself no matter what your brain might have said. Also, thanks for all the working out and moisturizing.
The Bourbonista: Working out and moisturizing...I knew I forgot to do a couple of things this morning. So, this question is a serious one. If you were a booze, which booze would you be and who would you want to drink you?
Leigh Anne: Champagne & honey but I wouldn’t want to be kept on the shelf until there was something to celebrate. I’d want to be opened and enjoyed even if it’s a week night, even if it’s just a pajama and Taco Bell night. Especially then.
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There aliens among us, dangerous beyond belief, wandering free (mainly because they think you should pay their tab). They come from a planet called Quinlavinus, which in earthling means “The Land of Entitlement.” Each of these extraterrestrials share one common belief system…that they are innately superior to us and therefore should be given special treatment at every turn. On their planet, everyone is a Little Prince and Pretty Princess. We, being the mundane mortals that we are, should always treat them as such, and never question the fact that they refuse to play by the rules of decent society. Instead we should laud them for basically behaving like selfish brats. Why? Because, they’re simply TOO smart and sparkly in their own minds to show any regard for other people.
Here are other ways you can recognize them:
There is only one thing to do with these insidious parasites. Avoid them. Avoid them at ALL costs.
I shall die at 90 years old. How can I be certain? Because upon turning 45, I went into a full blown midlife crisis. My biggest fear has always been not living up to my potential, which has come to full fruition. I know I’m not dead yet and you can argue there’s still time…My counter argument, “Yeah, I’ve got the time, but I ain’t got the energy.” I am tired of the hustle…the six-month goal setting…the schedules that I make for myself and never keep…the book rankings and reviews that I’m scrambling for with no results…the weight I vow to lose but never do…the drawers I organize only to find back in complete disarray the next day.
I just want to be happy for a while without it having anything to do with word count or blog traffic or calories.
I thought when I moved to the lake, I’d be out of the rat race. But, were you aware that rat’s can swim? It’s been even worse here, because I have the time and the space and therefore NO excuse for not writing, working out, networking, blogging daily, and mastering the art of canning or some other hipster hobby. But, I just haven’t fucking felt like it.
And life down here is hard, people. Just walking the dogs to the shore to shit is a thirty minute ordeal. I can’t leave the dock to go into town without first spending two hours battening down the hatches, locking up the valuables, turning off the water and disconnecting anything else that could sink the boat, and hauling trash/laundry across Spider Alley. I have to drive 5 miles of treacherous roads just to get a gallon of milk. Every day is a simultaneous combination of solitude, but no privacy. Random fishermen have no problem pulling up within three feet of the boat in the middle of the night and shining their spotlights right into our bedroom. Maybe that’s why Mama needs a nap. And when she wakes up, she will begin her new life as an “I don’t care if I ever write another word, ever fit into an 8, have a clean house, post a status, make a homemade meal, recycle, or learn a skill” kind of bitch.
I am taking a sabbatical from success. I am going to do my best not to give a damn about anything other than existing is some state of copacetic calm. In order to accomplish this, I will study the classic slacker/stoners in movies such as “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure,” “Grandma’s Boy,” “The Big Lebowski,” "Fast Times at Ridgemont High," “Pineapple Express” …in typing this, I just realized than none of the legendary slackers are women. I’d take on the challenge of becoming the first, but that would be an accomplishment, which completely goes against my current sabbatical from success. Anyway, I will watch these movies while lying on the couch and allow myself to absorb their “Got a roof over my head, bong full of herb, and enough cash to get a bag of White Castles, so what’s to worry about?” mentality. And, I am going to learn to enjoy doing nothing in this beautiful place and appreciating a simple life of just tossing cheerios to the ducks, floating on a noodle, reading tragic novels, having lots of sex, and eating cheeseburgers from The Village Inn.
Sharing All I KNOW about the fine art of voluptuating. here's to living the lush life.