And the winner is.... Moonlight Phone - The Napkin Thief Published - Poem: My New Carpet

When I was on FB, I was shocked to find Mom's vase being advertised on there. It was sold for $350.

BTW, Blogpost in its stupendous wisdom will not allow me to enlarge the photo of the vase, as something else appears and blocks it.

Vintage Fenice Art Pottery Vase Beige Brown w/ Grape Design Made in Italy As Is. It sold for $350. I believe the vase was her mom's, Gramma Lily's.

I'm enjoying my Acrylics Art Class, taught by Jane Behrends, at Abington Adult Evening School.

Last night was Open House. All classes met in one of the cafeterias and displayed their wares on tables.

One class was teaching Ukukele. What a delightful sound they made as a group.

The Watercolor Class featured very professional paintings.

And the Woodcarvers were wonderful. The teacher had never heard of Ralph Nelms, who, in his retirement years, I believe, drove a school bus, and was also a wood carver. His wood carvings were on display at the old Upper Moreland Library. Got in touch with him and wrote a story about him for the Philadelphia Inquirer.

He lived nearby on Division Avenue.

He drove over and gave me this sculpture after he was diagnosed with ALS. His daughter wrote me a note after he had passed.

Many prizes were given away in our Acrylics Class. I was happy that my friend Bill Babb won First Prize for his many-colored Bison.

It was raining when I drove over to the high school, so I wrapped my two paintings in my red sweater and found my way to the brightly-lit noisy cafeteria.

There they were! My class. Really talented people.

I quickly named my two paintings. The winner I titled "Moonlight Phone" and the artist, I wrote, was Ruth Picasso. 

This morning I learned that my story "The Napkin Thief" was published by the publication "Manifest Station."

Dunno the meaning of 'manifest station' - looked it up but couldn't figger it out. I thought maybe it's a phrase used by Tolstoy. That idea just popped into my head.

The Napkin Thief has been rejected numerous times, so I was happy it finally found a home.

Read it here.

Story mentions that when I worked at Maryknoll Missioners in Ossining, NY, I pilfered a beautiful wooden file box from the office and replaced it with a plastic one.

Here they are.

Safe and sound in their new home.

The endless painting of my bedroom and hall continues. I allus like to show before and after photos, so here goes.

 Above is the photo on Facebook of mom's vase.

 I'm the second owner of my house. The first owners, Dave and Arlene Travis, put on three layers of wallpaper in the upstairs hall.

When my sister Donna came over, I said, "What does this remind you of?"

Of course she remembered. When we lived on Glenmore Road in Shaker Heights, my parents had an artist come out and paint a mural on the dining room wall.

The five of us kids had never seen anything like it!!! Nor had Aunt Ethel and Uncle Dave. Or the next-door neighbor, The Turnocks.

I sent David Kime a thank-you note for a donation he made for the Compass. I wanted to write a new poem to include in the envelope.

I sat upstairs in my upstairs office and typed the words

MY NEW CARPET

but couldn't think of a darn thing to day.

I stood, walked around, and began.

Before posting it - it's 9:25 am - I asked Dan's permish.

BTW, was gonna do some grocery shopping early this morning and then pick up Scott from the train, but my car was FILLED with frost and I could NOT get it off the windows, so I went back inside.

MY NEW CARPET

Let’s go for an archeological dig

in my upstairs office

knowing that after I’m

gone someone else

will tear down the walls

and begin again. Remember

when this was Dan’s room?

That weed-smoking, hip-

hop singing, comic-book

reading son of mine blew

my mind with his devil

may care ways, a mind that

unbeknownst to his mom

created a torn-paper collage

of desires, this same boy

who called his nursery school

teacher Miss Bev, “the one with

the big pink lips.”

The new carpet covers all this

buries it, a glimmer of

memory swishing like

mouthwash throughout

the vast room that once

housed the Travis Boys

I sit now, a small sparrow,

inhaling the new carpet smell

eighty-eight percent

Olefin, twelve percent Nylon

it could be grass tickling

my bare feet

or sand from when my

Jewish ancestors lived in

tents with fragrant date

palms flopping in the

hot desert breeze

My rolling desk chair

slides across the nubby

white carpet sprinkled

with flowering pinks and blues

a Matisse of a carpet

with nary a crumb

nor an eyelash nor

a fingernail to mar it

but shall in time

bear the melodies

of Leonard Cohen

Johannes Brahms

and my own queries

of who I am.