Sunday, November 14, 2010

Freda made me promise....

About eight years ago I got a call from a stranger named Freda Samuels. "My husband and I would like to meet you," she said. "Come for dinner."

I'd written an article for the local paper on - what else? - bipolar disorder and that's how she and I became friends.

On the eve of their trip to China a few years ago, her husband Bernie had a slight pain in his chest. Gas, he told his wife.

She took him to the doctor and it was not gas. It was the start of what would've been a major heart attack. He had major surgery.

"He would've been dead," she said, "while we were flying to China. Bashert!" she said, the Yiddish word for fate.

Just promised her last nite I'll go to a rheumatologist for my sciatica.


Bob Gordon turned me onto a free online documentary series called Documentary Heaven.

Great name, n'est-ce pas?

Took me forever to decide what docs to watch. Started to watch one about a psychopath, a man who killed his brother just for the fun of it, but I didn't like the idea of his manipulating me and everyone else, so I shut it off. Psychopaths are master manipulators.

Watched a fascinating film about the rise of Vladimir Putin. Vladimir the Terrible they should call him, a truly awful dictator who has set Russia back to the days of Stalin, his idol. Kill everyone who opposes you. Or lock them up.

My support group has gone hiking at the Schuylkill Nature Center, followed by lunch at Bruno's in Chestnut Hill. Last time I was at Bruno's I had macaroni and cheese.

I'll be eating that after my kidney transplant. Cheese is out for me now. No dairy. It contains phosphorus.

Can you imagine a life without cheese? It can be done.

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