Sunday, November 7, 2010

Ethiopian man finishes first, wife roots for him back home / Poem: Sciatica

By the time I came limping home with my new Acer laptop, the race was finished! The female winner was also an African, a woman from Kenya, who'd taken a five-year-break from running.

Only problem with my new laptop is I don't have Internet access. Scott and I can't figger out how to set it up. Dan will be over next week. He and his family went to a Farmer's Market in Elkins Park - I think the Weinsteins go there, right Stephen? - and they bought lots of meat - pork, beef and lamb.

Did you know that when man began eating meat hundreds of thousands of years ago their brains soared in size. Don't forget, animal-hunting was also a cooperative endeavor with plenty of planning involved.

Similar to the Marathon. It finished up in Central Park.

A very long time ago, then-boyfriend Paul and I went to a free concert in Central Park...Leonard Bernstein performed Rite of Spring. I think. Don't quote me. I haven't eaten meat since Saturday when I forgot I wasn't sposed to eat meat and after buying the Acer, Scott and I stopped into Slack's Hoagies and I ordered a mealball hoagie.

It was delicious. I finished all but two bites so Scott fed it to the backyard fox.

Although my leg is still killing me - no. 7 on the 10 scale - I decided I was up for making a bread. This is called an Anadama and is from my old Joy of Cooking.

This kidney-healthy bread is made with white flour, cornmeal, an egg, and honey. It's rising in the oven now with a wet towel across the top.

Two loaves of Anadama Bread

Nothing like bread and butter. Because of the egg I added, the bread has a soft cakelike texture. Delicious!

While abed with sciatica I watched loads of cooking shows. I particularly like Mary Ann Esposito and will order her autographed book online. Lydia is also good but a bit too pompous and bossy for me. Lead them gently, Lydia.

Hmm, wonder whatever happened to Lydia Lewis former head of the DBSA. I did a phone interview with her for the Compass but never published it b/c she'd been fired.

Ya know what she said to me on the phone? "I'm not used to answering personal questions."

Ask me anything? Bra size? I don't wear one. Took it off at age 19.

I love this photo of my messy kitchen table. Note the Starbucks cup which holds my hot chocolate.

Took this picture of my backyard just for you. Took it from my backporch. Still have a full maple of green leaves.

Wrote this poem several years ago about another attack of sciatica. Remind me to do my exercises later on.

And to read the instructions on how to use this laptop.


Everything is shut down,
A purple curtain has been drawn
across the place I lie.
Books stacked on the floor
cannot be opened or even
acknowledged as friends.

The ring of the phone goes unanswered
The tump of the mailbox
is merely a sound,
a cqll to which I cannot reply.

For I am lying on the couch,
my new home,
The covers are puylled up to my eyes,
as if peace and softness
can vanquish the misery inside.

One day the leg is mine,
bending, obeying,
the next day it's a freak,
not leg so much as
folded-up ironing board,
hot with pain,
begging to be carried
or laid down to rest,
its sizzling miles of track
crackling at unexpected moments.

Just the two of us,
Pain and I,
lying side by side
under the covers,
an indecent pair,
A tireless lover
who won't leave my side.

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