Typo's Waiting

The editor of the Talking Stick, an annual regional publication of poetry, short fiction and creative non-fiction, called yesterday and asked if I could proofread the 22nd edition. Two hundred and fifty pages. Turn around in a week, please.
Of course, I said yes. Each year, it is a great little volume, one of the first I was published in.  In 2008, I wrote a poem about cosmos flowers and a short piece about the sounds of my summer world--rainbird sprinklers, the early morning birds outside the bedroom window, cars towing fishing boats down the highway, mosquitoes. Neither won honors, but I sure was proud to see my name in the Table of Contents. Naturally, I bought copies to send to my family.

This year's title is 'Recollect," and many of the submissions cluster around the themes of dying, lost love, Alzheimer's, growing up in the 1940's, and living in woods and near lakes in northern Minnesota. One poem is titled 'Nascar', and is about Nascar racing.
'The Potatoes Only Sing When It's Raining' is a short story. (I haven't gotten to page 180 yet, so I can't tell you what it's about. It sounds intriguing, though.)
I'm going to take some supper to my husband, who is mowing more hay, and then get back to proofreading. I've found a few typos, and there may be a few more waiting for me.