"Blogger" refused to 'publish' my blog post. It was in a state of suspended motion. Up to bed I'd go, exhausted, sleep a while, then jolt awake and come downstairs to see if it would 'publish.'
I wrote four blog posts, every one of them expunged.
I have every confidence, said Ruth Obama Deming, that we will be successful now.
The above mementos were passed out in the audience. It's a photograf, signed by David.
When I got home I had to shift gears and think of something to write. Finally, it came to me. Revise Fronts Sheered Off. I did.
Her other poem is about all the friends she's lucky enough to have. The first one was our own Allan Heller, poet laureate of Hatboro, and author of fascinating books about cemeteries.
Linda wrote "The Blond's Revenge" about a female CEO who wanted to kill one of her employees for being nasty to her. "She slammed her cartridge into her gun."
Linda, I've always been nice to you, haven't I? pleaded Ruthie.
Donna wrote a poem "Heart Sister" about a woman who also lost a child to meningitis. Shortly after Mariel died, there was a TV news item about another young woman who'd lost her life to the same disease. Donna called up the TV station and got the phone no. of the woman.
They've been friends ever since.
Carly wrote a short nonfiction piece called "The Anniversary Gift." Hmmm, wonder what that could be about. A diamond ring? A Porsche? A.... what? A death wish?
Yes, Carly wrote about the famous Brittany Maynard case, where a new bride was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, and wanted to die with dignity. So she and her family moved from Los Angeles to a small town in Oregon, where physician-assisted suicide is legal.
Good story, Carly, told from the viewpoint of the 29-yo bride as well as her bridegroom.
The real Brittany ended her on Saturday, the day of our meeting.
I'm a member of Compassionate Choices and sent a donation to help with the expenses incurred by the Maynard family.
Beatriz wrote about aromatic Night Gardens. My friends, the Levines, of Southampton, had such a garden when Bobby was alive. Sensational!
I just checked the following book outa the lib
Wonderful! Told from the point of view of the bees. Quote by Karl von Frisch in the frontispiece. When I read that book as a teenager, I became passionate about bees and nature.
Beatriz, herself, pets bees, stroking their furry hide.
Okay, worker bees, drones and the Queen, I'm gonna put my poem in now and then press publish. Who shall I pray to that it works?
FRONTS SHEERED OFF
As I lie falling asleep at night
bedroom facing the street
I picture the walls of my
yellow house crumbling away.
Here I am revealed to all in
my striped pajamas
curled up on my side
books, reading glasses and
tissues strewn on the
husband’s side of the bed.
I lie under the tiger blanket
used by Father when he was
dying, a white feather comforter
atop that, an occasional duck
feather quacking its way out.
Noises are few. The furnace
clears its throat. The fridge
hums a Beethoven sonata
and the water dispenser on
the outside is lit up when I
enter the dark kitchen
like the Milky Way.
I sit up.
An unfamiliar noise. Is it
the intruder I’ve been
waiting for all my life?
I open the front door.
The stars pounce on me.
The bird houses quiver.
Barefoot, I step outside, feeling the
cold stone steps, littered
with autumn leaves.
I pick up a red maple and
press it to my mouth.
A star fallen to earth.