Saturday, December 31, 2016
Last Day of 2016 - The late Carrie Fisher on Charlie Rose (thanks Marce!) Poems: My Soul Resides in a Pond of Silence - I Can't Concentrate - Waking Up in a Bright New Morning
Scott and I celebrated New Year's at NOON at the Willow Inn - official name DiMarzio's Willow Inn.
Didn't bring my camera but here's what I wore
Scott and I sat in an outer room at the Willow Inn. Donna was our waitress. At the other end of the room was a large party. I heard the name Silvestri mentioned
Maybe 20 years ago the Silvestris owned a huge farm on County Line Road. I'd shop at their roadside stand and can remember buying fresh lima beans encased in thick pods.
No, not those pods!
Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
I was friends with Rocky Silvestri, who my sister Donna also knew. Rocky would take me back to the refrigerated section and tell me hair-raising stories. Wonder if Donna still remembers him. Probly.
Hold on, I'll give her a quick call.
Donna said that when Silvestri's was sold the Huntingdon Valley Starbucks was put in. Along with many other stores. Wall to wall shops instead of land!
Land? What's land, they'll say on earth in 25 years.
Scott and I talked a lot as we overlooked York Road. I could barely see outside bc of my shortness, but he said there was a steady stream of people going to the Wawa.
I forgot to look for it, so now no one can see it if you're not a subscriber.
Nancy Myers across the street saved a copy for me.
Well, here's a poem I just got published you can read in the Loch Raven Review.... My Soul Resides in a Pond of Silence.
The best line is the title, which I did not write.
Watch the late Carrie Fisher on Charlie Rose, thanks to my friend Marcy. Then it segues into many other interviews including with Ellen Degeneres who is a really snazzy dresser.
Not to mention RZD, all decked out in her holiday digs
I CAN'T CONCENTRATE
Am reading "David's Ankles" online
about the perilous state of
Instead I am dining with Scott
at the Willow Inn. Only 53 more
minutes to go.
I sip on my medium roast
the first coffee of the day
and scan the menu with my
Shall I bring my transitional
object, like a baby its blankie,
mine would be the stories of
I'm all dressed, in black,
it so happens, and listen
to the squawk of the
crows, right now, shouting
Come and get it, fellows,
nice juicy rabbit down here.
Don't you love waking to
a bright new morning? Today
was something, New Years eve.
Closing my eyes, book on chest,
I was back on Glenmore, babysitting
for the Biskinds.
The house smelled like June's pickles
fermenting all along
the kitchen floor. The kids were
in bed and I'd drunk the Coke they
left me in the fridge.
The dark-paneled den was lined with books.
Where should I start? I'd finished What
Makes Sammy Run by Bud Schulberg, then
stood on a bench and took down a couple
from the highest shelf.
Mahalia Jackson was singing In the Upper Room
on the television as I paged through the medical
books. Elephantiasis stared me in the face as
did obstetrical oddities. And old tools like
What if they came home now and found me, their
shy next door neighbor? I carefully replaced
the books, lay down on the couch, en couche,
and decided motherhood was not for me.