2 bottles max, which must be quaffed inside the 'ropes' of the Beer Garden.
Here's a YouTube video about President Obama, the King of the Universe, riding around with Jerry Seinfeld, The King of Comedy.
Last night "Stan" drove me to the Abington Hospital Psych Ward to visit his wife "Stella."
He arrived at 7:10 while I was watching The Blacklist, oh so good. Dressed warmly, I got in his car and buckled meself in.
He used to work at the township, so knew exactly where to park. We took the elevator to the psych ward in the new Buerger Bldg.
You've gotta put all your stuff in a locker.
They let you in exactly at 7:30 pm, visiting hours. There was Stella straight ahead in the dining room, a cheerful-looking place with not too many patients.
She sat at a table with a 94-yo woman who looked healthy. She had nice curly hair.
Stella looked awful. She's about 74 and was emaciated. Why won't she eat? The mean nurses, she told me, were forcing her to eat.
If you don't eat, I said, you'll starve to death.
She didn't seem to care. She's not in her right mind and has been taking Zyprexa.
Stan and the rest of her family worry she'll never get her mind back.
I assured them it's just a matter of time before the meds kick in.
Hope I'm right. Dr Worthington, who's 81, came in earlier that day, she told me, and assessed her and the other patients.
A brilliant doc, he's a fan of ECT as a last resort.
Stella yelled at Stan - very loudly - a couple of times. I was in shock! Stan handled it well. I guess he's used to it.
I was not and jumped! I couldn't stand the fluorescent lights, they were terribly bright. On the second outburst, a nurse came over and stood in front of her, staring, as Stan and I left to go home.
He's a terrific driver. He opened the front door of his car for me and I cracked my head on the top of the door.
Oh, I'm fine, I lied.
My head was killing me. I held it as it throbbed.
All night I had a headache, mild. I wanted to make some coffee but knew I had to sleep. Coffee helps with headaches.
Scott was very impressed. He ordered a tuna hoagie with cheese.
I got a Thanksgiving hoagie - toasted hoagie with turkey, cranberry sauce and stuffing.
We're watching something on his TV.
Mad Swirl, which didn't publish my New Year's Eve poem, wrote back "Mad Greetings and a Swirling New Year, Ruth!
Forgive the late response, we got caught up in our Holiday Mayhem over
the New Year."
I was very pleased.
A poem of mine will be published Monday by Bookends.
I'd also wrin a Guest Column for the Intell which was not published. Probly bc I sent it to the wrong email address, you fool, you!
It's 30 degrees out now. And I'm gonna write a quick poem about me mom.
BERN THE BE
Bern the B
she won’t remember
Dad used to call her that
She never cusses
would never say
she’s pissed at herself
for falling on the drive
and injuring that
ancient body of hers
Brings it up though
when she speaks
to her phone pals
all across the nation
a regular Cronkite
bruised and bloody
bruised and bloody
Never do we think
we’ll end up like her
but she’s our mom
we’ve got her blood
and find ourselves
loving her more than ever
and telling her so with
each fading breath
of our own.