Friday, July 31, 2015

New Directions Site Down - Obama in my Living Room - Poem: Poor Miss Bissell

First of all, what's this great jazz on WRTI-FM?

"Mosaic" with Art Blakey on drums. Listen to the Jazz Messengers here. 

Here's a note I got from Obama. If you called The White House at 6 pm, you'd hear him talk about the proposed Iran Nuclear Deal.

I dialed the number - 1-866-254-5934 - and was told to hold on, which I did, during which time I reserved two movies at the Upper Moreland Library.

For some reason, I thought the president would be prompt, but it took about 13 minutes before he got on. I had my headphones on and was trying to concentrate.

Meantime, the mother and father chickadee were feeding their open-mouthed babies in the bird house just outside my window.

Here's photo where you can barely make out the open beak of the more aggressive bird, who actually hung outside. Scott said one of the birds was cleaning the nest, taking out the bird doo.

Here's some notes I took while Obama was speaking.

- As big a bully pulpit as I have, it's not enough. [Great word, Mr Prez]

- I want everybody on the phone - you mean, little Ruthie Deming, Mr. President? - to get in touch with their members of Congress. The opponents of the bill are flooding members of Congress. [And they have a lot of money.]

- If we have any rich friends, we should ask for their donations. Wonder if Mommy has any money left? 

- You have to counteract their arguments with facts. [I couldn't write fast enough to get down the facts.]

- Iran is a brutal theocracy that hates Israel, supports terrorism (Hamas, for one) and is a Holocaust-denier. [When he said "brutal theocracy" I thought What a great way of telling the truth about Iran.]

- Thanks for putting up with such a long conference call [I was on the phone for 36.45 minutes]. As citizens, you have a chance to be part of history.

When he said about being part of history, I jumped up on my red couch and began singing "God bless America." He was quite the inspirational speaker.

- Hope you're having a good summer and keeping cool. [Why, he's just a regular guy! The most powerful man in the entire world.]


It takes me two hours to load the new monthly sked of New Directions. Our site was down. I called, our host, at around 11 am, they kept me waiting 20 minutes, so I hung up. Then around dinner time, I reached John in CT who did indeed help me.

He said "Go to Google and type in "IP number." 

Sure enuf, the 10-digit number came up.

Here's what he wrote me:

Hello Ruth,

Thank you for contacting OLM! The details of our phone conversation are outlined below. If you have any additional questions please reply to this message for more assistance or you can also contact our support staff by phone at the following number: 1-877-265-6638. Please be sure when calling to reference this ticket number.

Ticket Creator: John B

Server name: Red

IP Address: I should keep this to myself, right? 

Domain name:

Reason for Call: Unable to access to update site?

Response: Found your public IP address blocked and unblocked it. You were then able to update the site successfully.

Thank you again for contacting OLM!


Just what I need! My Bissell carpet sweeper broke. You know what? I knew I was gonna write a poem about it.

Went to Walmart on Jacksonville Road to buy anudder one, but the prices were too high.

Then I went to Best Buy and Ashleigh helped me purchase an Electrolux for $105. I told Mom about it since she's used her ancient Electrolux for many a year.... since Moses crossed the Red Sea, I believe.

Before I sign off, I found two movies that I'll fall asleep to. One is called "Hitler's Children" and is a documentary.  Thother is "Suddenly" a 1954 film starring Frank Sinatra. This film was highlighted for me. They know my taste.


There was no warning at all
The moment the hired help
turned on the machine
she knew something was wrong

Barely a sound!
Were the bristles spinning?
Yes, but ‘twas more like
sputtering, like the last
gasps of a victim of

Miss Bissell was not a
fancy woman, plain as
pound cake, with a
shapely long leg and
a see-through mouth
like the baleen whale
that showed dirt from
different feet: crinkled-up
leaves from the lawn,
kernels of salted cheddar popcorn,
pink dental floss twined
in her bristles
and oh, those cashews
and pecan crumbs.
She gulped them up
in her prime, proud to
show herself off.

Miss Bissell’s martyrdom –
a hated word – she was not
a Christian – born though she
was in Grand Rapids, Calvinist
country, made itself known
as she hurtled her dying body
under the bed, only to hear
her own death rattle

She looked up at the hired help
and nodded. They both knew it
was time. But, how, they wondered,
to give her a proper burial. They
would sleep on it, and perhaps
the answer would arrive next
morning in a
Technicolor dream.

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