Evie (say EVVie) and I were to meet at 11:30 but not surprisingly she got lost. She called and spoke to Jerry who directed her from Hatboro.
What a storyteller she is! I could've sat and listened to her for hours but then she asked about me.
I recounted the days of my marriage, the birth of Sarah and Dan, the colleges I attended.
She's in town for a wedding. She has friends and relatives in Phila, including Tom Osher who I remember from elementary school. We're friends on FB.
As a kid, I couldn't believe she was adopted. I'd thought this only happened on television, but learned differently when I spoke to her mom on the phone. Later she got in touch with her bio parents. She sees them fairly often. They're in their 90s and doing well. They're Swedish-Americans.
Evie lived on South Woodland and we lived around the corner on Glenmore Road in Shaker. I forgot to tell her I had a crush on Dwight Johnson, a year ahead of me, in high school.
I ordered eggplant parm and left room for dessert.
Oh, Evie, here's a photo of Scott.
Draeger's Ice Cream....The Rapid Transit and how quiet it was when Nancy Wolen and I rode home on it the day JFK was shot...
Van Aken Blvd where Aunt Ethel lived
She was friends with Harriet Deane, who now lives in Boston. We also talked about Dick Rose who attended Carleton College. The Greenwolds - that's us - lived behind the Rose Family - Elaine and husband Earl - and kids Dick, Barbara and Nancy.
We used to play badminton with the Rose kids. My heart would thump when Dickie came out of the house. I was secretly in love with him. DO NOT TELL A SOUL. We discussed the late Judy Glicksberg who married a classmate, Laurie Schiffman, Barbara Schuler, Vicky Krumhanzl who lived across the 'island' in front of our house. I built a fort there and read Peyton Place inside it.
Stiflingly hot today. Turned on my A/C for the first time. Took a long long nap downstairs, reading and sleeping, reading and sleeping.
Finished this book and wrote a poem about it
Friday night when I came home from the Willow Grove Bible Church cabaret, I wrote a poem about it
IS THIS MY HOUSE? In the pitch-black night I rounded the bend of Cowbell like a rodeo rider and with longing eyes looked for my house Have I entered a time warp? My house was all lit up. What would Gramma Lily say? Could they be home again? Sarah and Dan with their friend Mike Essl? Sipping beer or rum in the kitchen? Alas twas not to be, as I walked through the screen door and my sister Donna yelled Ruth, is that you? Biting my tongue, I wanted to say, No, it's Mommy and (dead) Daddy.
PRAY FOR ME, SAYS THE POPE
And so I shall, Your Holiness,
And if I could, would bring
the light of your book to
every child around the world.
But I am small, not mighty,
and davan over each question
the children pose. I honor
your doubts, for I have them, too.
A boy from Canada asks, What did
God do before he made the world?
Your answer was as luscious as
icing on a carrot cake.
"Before creating anything,
God loved. That's what God
was doing. God was loving.God
always loves. God IS love."
Like you, Your Holiness, I
view each day as a miracle.
Waking up, I fling open my
lavender drapes and look out
upon the little spit of land
where I dwell. The birds
twitter and pick on one another
in the birdbath, or threaten
the baby sparrows who peek
from their nest.
Yet their joy is boundless, what
a tasty worm from MaMA, and the
warmth of her feathers and the
cacophenous melodies of the doves
the bluejays the cardinals and people
Smiling, I think, is a good way
to show love. And asking questions
to your neighbor to show you care.