Sunday, June 17, 2018

Help me Jesus - God (I pray every night and thank God I'm still alive)


HOLY JESUS

I'm downstairs in the coolest room of the house
when I hear my gardeners knock on the door.

I throw my book aside, tromp barefoot upstairs
and see my new visitors.
My reaction is fast, practiced, possibly unkind.

Two young men stand out there. One looks like
Alan Mumper back in third grade.

Fresh-faced, trusting, believing that goodness
prevails, I hold up my right hand, like giving
the Girl Scout Pledge.

Jesus? I exclaim.

Sorry, not interested.

Good luck. Have a nice day.

After I walk away from the door, I think, I should have invited them in.

Sat them down for some lemonade and Milano cookies, neither of which I have.

Let them talk about their Jesus. My guess is they're Jehovah's Witnesses, tho
they could be Mormons.

Of course it may take a while to get them out of my house. I'll make an excuse.
Really, a lie. Would Jesus condone lies?

Certainly not.

The last day I talked to the Witnesses was on September 11, 2011. They were right here
at my door.

They had no idea what had just happened. The start of a new epoch in these failing United States of America.

*

Image result for john p crevelingJohn P Creveling and his wife Christina Robertson.

In 2009 John was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. He had deep brain surgery which helped reduce his tremors.

He sent me his book, MORE THAN WHAT YOU SEE.

I emailed him my impressions of the book, which contain his photographs and paintings. The book is written entirely in verse!

Your illustrations, I wrote, remind me of the work of Marc Chagall and Arshile Gorky.

Image result for marc chagall

God only knows how I remembered the name of Gorky, a pseudonym.

Image result for arshile gorky

Gorky could not withstand the effects of the Armenian Genocide and took his own life.

*
Great music now on WXPN. "Julian Booker is my name."

He saw Paul Simon last night at the Wells Fargo Stadium.

*

My Facebook poem o the day is called GOD. Gonna write it right now.

Ahem! Blowing of nose. Eat breakfast of Philadelphia Cream Cheese with Chives and Onions... thanks for reaching it, ma'am, on the top shelf

Was just outside sprinking and thought of some more things to add. Don't wanna make it too long.

*
GOD

The Holocaust, of course
Armenian Genocide
Josef Stalin in moustache and military uniform, dies of natural causes unlike the coward Hitler

Pretzel rods by Snyder's of Hanover, PA
Sarah
Dan

Our peach tree weighed down with baby peaches
Peach Pie a la mode
Robin Franklin at "our" Giant

Colony collapse disorder
Six colorful bee houses on Huntingdon Road

Scott
Scott
Scott

The late Horace Silver on piano, playing Song for my Father
My five radios
Listening to audio book in kitchen while I eat or cook

The smell of rain
Quick, little worms,
go back underground
before you dry up
like a crust of bread
we fed to Hansel and Gretel

Vladimir Putin
Syria
Bashar Assad-hole

Happy Father's Day to myself (I was both mom n dad to Sarah and Dan)
and other dads who be the best they know how.



Saturday, June 16, 2018

PART TWO - LETTER TO TEXAS SENATORS.... FROM MY AUNT MARY

Letter to Texas Senators, Cornyn and Cruz and Congressman Burgess

I write this even though I am not naïve enough to believe that any of your staff members will ever let you see this message.  But, I go on.
Who are you?  Did you ever have the illusion that you were once a man of honesty, dignity and a man sure of his personal integrity?  If you ever did, you need to rethink who you are now.
Do you really have nothing to say about children being torn from their mothers who followed the law of seeking asylum only to have their children taken away?
Do you believe you are a true Christian and, thus, support Jeff Sessions in advocating this policy as defined by the Apostle Paul?  Do you really believe that to persist in this abhorrent and evil policy is doing, as Sarah Sanders says, following the edict that it is “biblical to follow the law”?  If you believe that, Jesus is hanging his head in shame!  As should you.
A special place in HELL for PM Trudeau?  Canada is a threat to Homeland Security? Canada burned down the White House in 1812? Douglas Frederick is still alive? Conservative values against increased deficit spending?  Alienating our closest allies?  Walking away from the Paris Climate Accords?  Childish name calling by America’s President?  Walking away from TPP?  (Go China!) Obama opening relationships with Cuba!  Have you see Rep. Lee Zellers rant against that effort?  Uh, yeah, Trump really did well in North Korea.  Sorry, that should be North Korea did really well with Trump.  No more exercises with South Korea. (Go Kim Jung Un!)
You know I could go on.  Bottom line?  You and many of your fellow Republicans are cowed and bowed with your only reason for being, for living, is to be re-elected.  Damn the oath you took to protect the Constitution.  It’s not about America and our democracy.  It is all about you, only about you.
I have only one question to ask.  Is this the legacy you want to leave your children?

Dr. Mary Begis
PS - MARY told me she has gotten lots of requests to circulate her letter.

Friday, June 15, 2018

PART ONE Letter to Texas legislators from Mary Jill Begis, PhD

Have you met my aunt, Mary Begis? She was married to my Uncle Don, my mom's younger brother, who died many yrs ago of esophageal cancer.

Mary is an extremely active woman. She's traveled around the world, worked as a psychologist, and goes around to mental health centers evaluating them for accreditation. She's owned several daycare facilities and is interested in the welfare of children.

Mary is the mother of three children, David, Cooper and Jill, and has several grandchildren.

Her last name is pronounced BEE-gus. Short for Beginsky, when the family arrived from eastern Europe.

Here's a letter she mailed off, something she had to do because of the state of our country. I did write her back and told her how much I admire her for sending this out. Who knows? It might have an impact.

PR0CEED TO PART TWO, AS THE BELOW IS TOO SMALL TO READ

Click  here.   http://ruthzdeming.blogspot.com/2018/06/part-two-letter-to-texas-senators-from.html




Letter to Texas Senators, Cornyn and Cruz and Congressman Burgess


I write this even though I am not naïve enough to believe that any of your staff members will ever let you see this message.  But, I go on.
Who are you?  Did you ever have the illusion that you were once a man of honesty, dignity and a man sure of his personal integrity?  If you ever did, you need to rethink who you are now.
Do you really have nothing to say about children being torn from their mothers who followed the law of seeking asylum only to have their children taken away?
Do you believe you are a true Christian and, thus, support Jeff Sessions in advocating this policy as defined by the Apostle Paul?  Do you really believe that to persist in this abhorrent and evil policy is doing, as Sarah Sanders says, following the edict that it is “biblical to follow the law”?  If you believe that, Jesus is hanging his head in shame!  As should you.
A special place in HELL for PM Trudeau?  Canada is a threat to Homeland Security? Canada burned down the White House in 1812? Douglas Frederick is still alive? Conservative values against increased deficit spending?  Alienating our closest allies?  Walking away from the Paris Climate Accords?  Childish name calling by America’s President?  Walking away from TPP?  (Go China!) Obama opening relationships with Cuba!  Have you see Rep. Lee Zellers rant against that effort?  Uh, yeah, Trump really did well in North Korea.  Sorry, that should be North Korea did really well with Trump.  No more exercises with South Korea.  (Go Kim Jung Un!)
You know I could go on.  Bottom line?  You and many of your fellow Republicans are cowed and bowed with your only reason for being, for living, is to be re-elected.  Damn the oath you took to protect the Constitution.  It’s not about America and our democracy.  It is all about you, only about you.
I have only one question to ask.  Is this the legacy you want to leave your children?
Dr. Mary Begis

Sunday, June 10, 2018

PART TWO More on Car Show - loose poems - What Happened to Me? Dialysis


Read about The STAIRCASE director's thoughts on his film.  His name is Jean-Xavier de Lestrade

At the end of this blog, I'll have published a poem. At the car show yesterday, I spoke to a woman whose friend is a dialysis nurse. She presided over the death of a 17-yo boy on dialysis. He died.

Bc I live alone and at night listen to blaring music, I have a tickling in the back of my mind that someone has let themselves into my house.

Was doing my feet exercises on one of the steps. How easy it would be, thinks I, to tumble backwards down the steps, and meet my maker.

Image result for david robertson pennypack


OUR EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR AND HIS WIFE LEAVE FOR HIGHER GROUNDS

How shall I remember David?
The usuals, good-natured, kindly,
ready with an answer or if not,
a referral.

Who's that singing in the backyard?
A cardinal? A whippowill? A lonesome sparrow?

When the birds sing,
when they awaken me at dawn,
and I grouse at my early rising,
I won't be mad for long, knowing,
it's David. David Robertson.

And put a PhD after that. He earned
his keep.


HANDS SHAKE AS SHE ATTEMPTS
TO USE HER i PHONE

A tanned freckled woman
sits alone waiting for
Ellen and Anthony in
the Giant Coffee Shop.

They'll be along soon to
meet her and to buy half-dozen
particularly delicious
lo-sodium soups.

"Pops" is a slim new volume
the woman has checked out of
her library. She is aghast!
One of the main characters,
only a kid, has discovered his "people"
in Paris at a fashion show.

She herself, has just finished a short story
about a young black man, who has
discovered the art of sewing menswear
with his Brother sewing machine.

In Pops, the little boy, dresses in men's clothes
and hats at his prep school, and accepts
the taunts and bullying of the other kids.

As we know, no matter how good a book is,
tiredness, or true exhaustion, can never
win, and she leans back in the chair,
removes her reading glasses and naps.

Next to her is a table where they
discuss meds for a psychiatric
condition. She wishes they'd
turn up the volume, the patient
seems to be at Belmont, and when
she glances over, a a nervous
grandmotherly type looks her way.

After the nap, the iPhone is pulled out.
Her fingers tremble as she calls her
answering machine at home. What the hell
is the number? These numbers on the
iPhone are in different places.

Like looking in your drawer for your
favorite sweater and finding you're
in your underwear and passport drawer.

Okay, they're not coming, but it was
worth reading a wonderful book -
please, she thinks, don't let it
fizzle out as she reads on -
and then she walks confidently
from the store. Tonight
is pizza night with the
cauliflower crust.

She hasn't spent a penny
at the million-dollar
super store.

BIRDSONG

Reading in bed
while the moon shines,
I fail to hear the first
of the bird songs.

How rude!
Like going to
the orchestra and
coming in late.

My bedroom window
lets in cold air.
Back in my winter PJs
this first week of June,
I stare at the blaring moon
and where the pipes are
buried in the middle
of the streets.

Hail the workmen in hard hats
who did a job well done
a few looked like half-men,
centaurs? deep in the ditch
shoveling blacktop.


STEP ABOARD, PLEASE, THERE'S
PLENTY OF ROOM

People can surprise you
no doubt about that.

Although I live in a modest
split-level house in a
Philadelphia suburb

With mulberries sullying
the bricks at the side door

I've gained access through
the process of Imagination

of this yacht LUNA docking
in Dubai.

If Dubai's not on your
bucket list, take a chance
and join me.

Or not.

You may get sicksick or
fall overboard to your
death like Natalie Wood.

A stray iceberg that
killed many on the Titanic?

Who knows, now that our
government has shut
down rules on caring
for our environment

Our environment who
babied us in the loving
arms of Motherhood.

TRASH DAY

A quick 20-yard dash to the
green recyclable before they arrive
their hissing, lilting, stop-n-go
green trash truck we so love on
Thursdays

Shaped like a baby humpback whale
it stops in front of my house
and collects detritus from the week
- plastic salad containers, a coffee bottle,
cardboard pieces, birdseed bags -
and my last-ditch effort, as I run out
in my shorts and black tank top

Tom's Toothpaste. As I run, I squeeze
out the last precious drops onto my tongue
and will brush the moment I go in.

Then, standing at attention at my door,
I wave and thank them in their fine
day-glo yellow vests.

Wave! Wave!
And the stout one with the beard waves
As does the one with graying hair.

As I go back inside I think, maybe
I'll stop coloring my hair. His gray
looked so becoming.


FEELING IMPORTANT

Ages ago, when manic-depression
turned my brain into an up and
down escalator, I told my
psychiatrist, Alex Glijansky,
that I never felt important.

Do you? I asked.

Of course, he answered.

Today as I watered our crops,
enclosed in a deer-defying cage,
I felt important.

Sprinkling the tomatoes, the
cucumbers, the assorted raspberry plants
from the one and only Barry Bush, then onto
the blue hydrangea, hidden under mounds
of weeds, but resurrecting themselves
like Jesus,

I felt important.

What a feeling. Just don't
let other people know about it.

Also, chronic suicidal thoughts typically indicate that an unhealed wound needs healing, whether that wound arises from past trauma, mental illness, grave loss, or some other cause.

MY LITTLE SPACE OF HEAVEN

Glenn Gould playing Bach's Inventions
always raises the mood after reading
about yet another suicide, this time a chef,
Anthony Bourdain.

Strolling outside on the little piece
of land granted me by William Penn,
the Lenne Lenape, and a piece of paper

Small, silent activity crosses my path
The chicodee brings a piece of straw
into the green birdhouse. It sways
in approval.

Five ant hills decided to take up
residence at the bottom of my driveway.
Oh, for a child - a little Daniel or Sarah -
to bend down and examine it. Even an old
grandmother will do, but Gramma Green
has long since left this world, leaving
behind her prayer books and fasting ways.

Have I mentioned my delicious omelet
I ate standing on the porch? The plate
was once Helene's, confined now at
Rydal Park, a better chef you could
not find.

A squeak and a hiss marks the arrival of the
yellow school bus. As a kid I could walk
to Mercer School, so never rode the bus
unless I went home with Suzanne.

Where are you now? And what became of our
report on The Yangtze River?


YEAR OF THE FOOT

Hoofs, no.
Paws, no.
Talons, no.

A commotion-causing
left foot, yes.

A painful commotion-causing
left foot, very much so.

A marathon is out of the question
A swim down the Pennypack Creek
twisting and turning with
the tide, is an imagined feat
I'm getting ready for right now.

Bathing suit on
Towel in hand
The creek is up
the street

How cool the water feels
How free I feel
Foot pain all gone
A bald eagle
soars overhead
his poop just missing me.


THE SENTIMENTS OF THE BELOW POEM, which I'll write in a moment, were brought out in the film Brian's Song. Brian was a football player who at a young age was dying of cancer.

Lemme find a photo of the guy I'm gonna write a poem about.

Image result for male blond teenager


SHALL I WRITE IN ALL CAPS, AS THE PRINT IS TINY?

WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?

I still drive the harbor-grey Sentra to the dialysis center
passing the Seven-Eleven with the Reese Bars and Slurpees
I used to buy with my paperboy money

Open up the heavy glass doors to the center, hear the humming
of a dozen machines like red wagons speeding down distant hills

Put my backpack and shoes in the locker reading M-1 and
walk to an empty machine

Been coming for 120 hours. That's not me in the mirror,
that's a perversion, a mockery, a blimp whose kidneys
can't spit out liquid any more

Am I fond of the machine? Do I greet it like when Uncle Jack
comes to visit with his Scrabble board?

Dunno what I think any more. Death is at the end of the
hallway, though the paperwork's in for a donor.

Shall I welcome death? Shall I go out like our lab retriever
heading for the Thanksgiving ham scraps under the table?

Or making faces at God for letting this happen to me.

You know what? He still loves me. I feel it when I drive
home and watch the trees sway and the piano music
chatters on the radio and I'm not dead yet.






PART ONE - BBQ at Ken's House - Story TUNNELS - Car Show

Image may contain: 4 people, including Ruth Greenwold Deming, people sitting, people standing, table and indoor Got this pic off Facebook.

Why did I get out of bed - it's nearly 2 am - oh, b/c I wanna write a poem.

Went to a Lions Club car show held at Upper Moreland Middle School. Scott took loads of pix but we didn't go together.

I don't take pix anymore bc of my lousy camera uploading problem.

I rarely eat meat anymore but had two delicious burgers that Ken BBQd. Plus cole slaw. I brought Boars Head hummus.

Was mesmerized for two days while watching THE STAIRCASE on Netflix.

Below is the director. Read about documentary film director here. Forget it. won't work. Gotta get out of here. I seem to be trapped.  Michael Peterson, alleged killer, is below.


Friday, June 1, 2018

Coffee coffee coffee

Image result for dunkin donuts near me

I even bought my first one-pound bag of Original Dunkin Dunuts Coffee, 100% Arabica.

Image result for one pound dunkin donuts coffee   Proudly perched on my coffee shelf.




THE THWARTING OF MY SWEET TOOTH, SORT OF

My former lover, Dairy Queen, can be seen
beckoning just over the hill from my supermarket.
The larger-than-life billboards are like pin-ups from
World War II, Jane Russell, Betty Grable,
The Vargas Girls

Instead my car and I drove to
Dunkin' Donuts where I bought
an Iced Chocolate Drink under
the tutelege of the of the owner

Didna tell him it's way too sweet
so I added more ice cubes when
I arrived home just now.

Dunkin's a Venus Fly Trap so
I ordered a croissant, toasted,
and chomped away, dreaming
of eating every single doughnut
on the shelf, hearing the rustling
of the paper as I smoosh each
and every one into me mouth.

AFTER EXERCISING FOR 20 minutes, I plan to start my short story ARREST THAT MAN!