Thursday, September 24, 2015

Swim and Dine at The Fabulous Fleishers - My Home Made Cards - Poem: Seven Minutes of Hell

 When I arrived, Ada was swimming laps. I lowered myself in and did my own laps. Earlier that day I had an eye appt with Dr Eric George so I wore my sunglasses, fortified with their own paper dark glasses. Took about 6 hours before the dilation returned to normal.

While there, I took the Visual Field Test. When Michele came in to switch back on the lights, I asked her, How long does the test take - for each eye?

Seven minutes, she said.

Seven minutes of hell, I said.

She said everyone thinks the same thing.

Image result for visual field machine

I was so excited when Ada left both a phone and email message to come over.

 Best honeydew I've ever had. Available at Wegman's. It's called King of the West.
Fruit lovers know the little dustbowl of a town near San Jose in California called Turlock produces the world's best-tasting melons. Honeydews from here, grown and packed by 'King of the West', are sumptuous. They weigh a ton, emanate their sweet bouquet from miles away (ok - not quite miles, but far) and have a real lime-y color to their flesh. Be patient and let them ripen fully before diving in. Your reward will be pure succulence.

Rich and I sat in the den and watched the PBS Evening News Hour.

The Pope is in Washington, DC.
 Ada had marinated the steak meat. It was a thick piece that took at least 20 minutes on the grill. Bet the Pope, coming from cattle country - Argentina - would have loved it!
 Discussing when to remove from grill.
My medium rare piece was scrumptious, as was the salad, below right, tossed with Ken's Balsamic Vinegar Dressing, and how about those grilled vegetables on the lower right.

 Ada's Chocolate Chip cookies. I had about four, excusing myself to inject more insulin. When I got home my sugar was normal. I think I injected 30 units while I was there. She also served her incredible carrot pudding.

Who's on the phone? Their son, Aaron, discussing whether his parents should come down to DC. Aaron gave direx to avoid Pope traffic.

On the way home I drove I drove down Morgan Mill Road, close to my house, and found a treasure-trove of items in the trash. The people are moving.

It was pitch-dark. A couple of nice white lawn chairs.

I took the toys, which are still in my back seat.

Puppy-dog with open mouth, teddy bear, and doll carriage.

Wait! You think I've finished already?

Hold on! Here are some home-made cards I mailed out two days ago.

 The small tulip poplar leaf I mailed to Grace and Max. The large oak leaf is for my Aunt Selma in Cleveland. I put it in an envelope.
This is for Robin Franklin of the Giant, thanking her for all her help in getting us rooms. I used my aqua spray paint.

Mom gave me a coverless children's book The Chinese Children Next Door. Robin is a new grandmom to red-haired Taylor Michelle, so I thought she'd appreciate this children's book, PLUS she was raised on the Pearl S Buck estate in Perkasie, PA.

My artist friend Claudia is a huge inspiration. 

Bought this basket at her recent open house.


What happened to the flashing
brown eyes I had as a kid?
Rest your chin here, your forehead
pressed to the top, says Michele.
Do not blink.
My eyes flutter.
I’m ready, I say, and
hold button in hand.
The visual field machine
grinds. The room is dark.
I am alone. Fright
fills my soul, afraid I’ve
got glaucoma in my
Medicare years.
Click, goes the button,
click click click.
Whenever you see
the flashing light. Ah,
there’s one up top,
click, like catching a
high drive in right field,
click, a grounder near
first base, Yoga Berra,
newly dead at ninety,
concentrate, I yell inside,
what if I go blind, I’ll kill
myself, they make you
fill a coffee cup by weight,
not sight, a regular Jimmy
Piersall, still alive at 85, I snag
a ball from centerfield, grateful
for my dexterity, still playing
at sixty-nine. Light enters
the room. Michele is back.
Time for the other eye.
I ask the only question possible
How long does it take?

Seven minutes on each eye, she says.
Seven minutes of hell, I reply.    

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