Just got off my stationery bike as I ate a high carb meal at the Willow Grove Giant. Talked to Mom as I rode my bike to nowhere, with a huff and a puff.
It's nearly 800 pages and is utterly fascinating. Robert Triplett was born in 1933. His educated parents, who lived in Mississippi, had no idea what was wrong with their young son. They finally got a diagnosis from renowned psychiatrist Leo Kanner.
Autism: Impaired communication and social interaction. The earlier you're diagnosed the better treatment you will get.
My brother David, who had autism, was born in 1963. He died when he was 29.
Mom still feels guilty about his death. It's a topic I should not have brought up. She just called me back and said she took him to a doctor at Columbia Presbyterian in NY. "He's the best," someone told her.
He lived in a lonely world, a prisoner of his mind.
Excellent tips such as putting a basket by your front door. When
you come in the house with your arms full - or if the mail has just
come - dump everything in the basket.
I gave her a cyclamen as a gift. She'd never seen one before.
Amy also discussed scams, which you can find on FBI. gov. Tres interesting! Lots of good ideas for you con men out there.
Did my errands today in Hatboro. Stopped in to see Mark Amos at Bux-Mont Stationers to talk about our upcoming Compass. Bought some name tags there. He gave me a yellow receipt for them.
Then I visit the Hatboro post office, right next door. Usually there's nothing there, but aha!
A check for New Directions from Merck pharmaceuticals.
Next stop is the Wawa where I use my gift card and buy French Vanilla coffee and broccoli cheddar soup.
On my way out, two guys in a ServPro van, call out to me.
You lost a receipt, they say. It's rolling up there by the red car.
Sure enough, that tiny receipt had traveled really far, blown by the wind.
It's not important, I said, thanking them. Nevertheless, I run after it, not liking to litter.
Run run run, little Ruthie, run run.
Turns out it was not a receipt.
It was the check from Merck.
OMG, that was close.
Later on in the day, I get on the phone to the HQ of ServPro. Am transferred to the Abington PA office where I give Kim a message for the two fellows - Rob and Dave - thanking them for taking the time to
yell out to me.
Told them if they wish they can look at my blog later on tonight.
I've probly written two dozen poems about Garbage Night. Here's anudder.
Ye Shall Be Known by Your Recyclables
She likes her caffeine
her coffee from the Wawa
this morning's French Vanilla
she likes her Harney and Son's
hot cinnamon spice Miss
Adryn sells her at the
Giant. Wonder what she puts
on all them Triscuits - tell em
cheese and hummus. A shiny piece
of foil bears the last crumbs
of Thin Mints. The box awaits
her, chilled, in the car. Here
on Cowbell Road, we abide by
the rules of our Township, lest
we're abducted by an alien ship
never to be seen again.
If you knock on her door
and she's nowhere to be found,
send the dogs in after her.
Wave to her when the full
moon rises. She's the
Woman in the Moon.