Sunday, August 20, 2017

Activate Microsoft, she cried in the wilderness - Poem: He Sees Everything

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, sitting and car

Max, 4, at Ocean City, N J.

Am trying to get up my nerve now to call Staples b/c my new Word package has not yet been activated.

Am typing on my laptop dans le living but will go upstairs now and call.

Wait a sec, she said, trembling.

Ate at Mom and Ellen's for lunch. I brought my Nature's Promise hot dogs. Lynn brought Hormel baked beans.

And, yes, there was dessert.

Breyer's coffee ice cream with frozen blubberies.

You will not have seconds, Ruthie, I told myself.

 This yellow squash is about 10 inches long. Put it in my slow cooker. It is now done. Pierced thru the center.
 Plucked it from the front lawn before it could be et.

 At my feet are tiny solar lights I bought at the Depot. 6 for $18. Most of my old ones flared out like the sun will do in FIVE BILLION YEARS.

Do you think I have time to get my nails done?  Toes, that is. Try a pedicure some time. Feels great.
Scott did research for his new upstairs baffroom. And found everything he needs.

 Ma... MA....MOM!  Hard of hearing. Lynn bought her this lovely gray shirt.
 After one bite - on Dave's Killer Bread - the entire thing collapsed like The Bridge at San Luis Rey.
Lynn showed us pix of Baby Girl on her iPhone.

Verbena outside Mom's house, swarming w  cecropia moths.


And the Lord God cried out
who's mucking up Planet Earth
I created in only six days
with tiny creatures for your
pleasure like the honey bee
streaming in and out of their
hives over on Terwood Road
and everybody's favorites
the baleen whales.
They never need dental floss
as humans do.

Insanity, thy name is
DJT. What's needed now
is leadership in these
United States, not a
crass Shakespearean actor
who makes up his lines
as he goes along.

The good people of America
have banded together in
cities across the land.
In the name of righteousness,
freedom for all, these
helpers take the upper hand
to make America proud again and
to this you can say Amen.

Saturday, August 19, 2017

New short story Our Libby - Removing statues - Poem: Eliza from my Lips

The Times had an excellent story about the racist Robert E Lee. Read it here.

I knew I must poetate upon it. Took about 45 minutes.

I do think it's quite good. 


Oh, he was a big man
our master Robert E Lee
clanking about my kitchen
with his endless questions
When are those cinnamon buns
gonna be done, he'd say, or
even Do you think if you
were ever freed you could
learn to speak the King's
English or do mathematics?

I never looked him full in
the face cept when that
big white head of his
was turned away

Oh, he loved to
deliver lashes
to his slaves
lashes, mind you,

When the war was over
he refused to free us
as they call it, free us
like we were yoked oxen

We ran away and that man
with the clanking sword
never knew that Eliza
could read and write
and that in my flowery
dress I kept a recipe book
I had carefully printed out
with ham bone soup and
corn fritters and my
sticky cinnamon buns
that became the
rage of the tethered-
together nation.


Full house at Beatriz's this afternoon. Excellent work, as always. Beatriz had enough energy to write about her homeland of Argentina and her stubborn little sister, Raquel, a brilliant child. Sadly she was killed by a drunk driver so her talents were never fully realized.

Rem continued with his radio show where Randy interviews fascinating individuals. Today we heard from Vladimir Putin, who admitted on the radio show, that he was a godlike figure, perhaps Apollo, and also an alien from outer space.

Judy led a discussion on the new unhappiness and anger of people since President Trump refused to wholeheartedly condemn white supremacist racists in Charlottesville, VA. She also read a zenlike piece which both Beatriz and I thought was "special" and very different. She pooh-poohed our thoughts, Winnie.

Just went on The Times where a former racist and white supremacist voiced his opinion of the Virginia rally. His godfather is David Duke. Read it here.

So you see, Virginia, some people can change.

Can my bad dreams be blamed on the upheaval our country is undergoing?

Let me continue. Ken Ivins - no relation to the spicy iced cookie that comes out near Halloween - wrote part two of a very unusual relationship. The chauffeur gets close - let's say intimate - to the insanely rich widow he drives around.

Awfully good. He wanted to see what it was like to be wealthy so he inhabited that situation, living in splendor and wearing Armani suits and other expensive clothes. He inherited from the dying Amanda - she had a heart condition that was killing her - an emerald necklace and earrings - so her estranged children would not get them.

Image result for emerald necklace and earrings set

Three spectacular poems by Linda Barrett, including one for David Kime whose apartment burned down.

Marf wrote about Ash and Odin - father and son from Norway - and Miss Rosamunde. She did lots of research to find out what it's like sailing in a yacht. A yacht doesn't have to be one of those huge Steven Spielberg yachts, but can be any motorboat.

Wiki - In modern use of the term, yachts differ from working ships mainly by their leisure purpose. There are two different classes of yachts: sailing and power boats. With the rise of the steamboat and other types of powerboat, sailing vessels in general came to be perceived as luxury, or recreational vessels. Later the term came to encompass large motor boats for primarily private pleasure purposes as well.

What about

Image result for kontiki      My frustration is boundless! For about $750 I bought a new HP desk top computer. You must REGISTER your Microsoft package.


Enough said othan it's not registered.

Our family has a friend named Libby who suffered a rather serious stroke. I wanted to write about it. We all grew up together in "fashionable Shaker Heights, Ohio," sez I in my story, which contains many true details.

My sister Lynn had been her special friend back then. I emailed Lynn at 7 am about details about Libby. She called me and we talked.

Five hours later - including a 20-minute nap - I presented Our Libby to our writing group.

Brava! they shouted to a man and lifted me up, opened up B's patio door, and threw me out on my fat ass.

Tonight I dined in elegance - but w/o candles - in the Willow Grove Giant beer garden. Ate lobster bisque and chicken salad on a croissant. Cold. Heat it in the microwave. I ate it cold. Very good!

Lemme tell you something pathetic. I could not remember the word "croissant." Kept thinking the word began with "p."

Just heard from my number one reviewer, sister Lynn, who really liked the Libby story including the surprise ending. I knew Libby, who overcame her stroke, was gonna die, but I didn't know how until I came to the right place in the story.

Anything else, Dear Reader?

In that case, I bid you a wonderful night, as we close in on the Total Solar Eclipse this Monday.

Image result for eclipse

Friday, August 18, 2017

Whew! Becky of Staples to the Rescue - Poems: Trixie Belden, the Red Trailer Mystery - My New Shark Cordless Vac - -

Before the deluge, I brought my downstairs laptop to the Willow Grove Staples.

Luckily it's only 10 minutes away.

Not a raindrop fell as my sturdy steed and I pranced over.

Becky is a wiz. She was helping other people so I was there about an hour. Spent time reading my new Trixie Belden book.

What I wanted was for her to find the Blogger Dashboard so I could continue blogging.

She has enormous confidence. I also told her it's a pleasure to work with her b/c she's always in a good mood.

Where did I get the Trixie Belden book? Read on.

Went to the Giant and got five plastic containers of salads. Brought em to Mom and Ellen's.

Mom and I stuffed ourselves. Ellen had brought her own food.

What a pleasure it is eating with Mom!

My friend Dorothy wrote a poetry book and sent it to me. Received it this morning.

Told Mom and Ellen I would read the whole thing after I ate.

Ellen joked it would take her a year to finish it.

It was very well done. I have to shout when I'm with Mom. She'll get hearing aids very soon from Costco.

One of the many things we talked about were toilets.

I said, All I've gotta do is go on my blog and I'll find Bob Frisch putting in my new toilet.

View it here.

I still don't like it. Old people are sposed to like sitting on a high toilet. Not me. Gimme a low-down toilet any time or a pit in the back yard.

After leaving Mom's, I started driving home and stopped at Masons Mill Park. Used to take my kids there when they were little and I also played Volleyball there every Sunday.

Randy Johnson where are you now!

To walk off my food, I quickly walked about 20 minutes. They have these little exercise pods and I exercised on every single one of em.

For example, they had a slanting bar. I simply bent down, this ole body of mine, and went under the bar.

Great fun!!!

In Sarah's old bedroom, I had a pile of about 20 books. Put em all in plastic bags and brought em to the library.

Getting ready for Doomsday!

BTW, the Total Eclipse in Monday.

Here's what to do and I explained it to Mom and Ellen. There are dozens of science sites but here's one of em.

I asked George, one of the Meat Men, at the Giant what healthy hot dogs to eat. He recommmended Nature's Promise - oops - almost wrote Nature's Poison - uncured beef hot dogs. I dunno what uncured means, do you?

Every time I leave Blogger it takes forever to get back on here.

Rainbow above the trees.

Bill Adams came over and stood on the stoop.

Ruth, he said. I jumped like the frog of Calveras County.

Don't mean to scare you, he said, but there's a rainbow.

Look Max, Look Grace!  Rainbow.

Scuse me while I get anudder bowl of Trail Mix.

Actually I'm too lazy.

This one website is raving about the Total Solar Eclipse next Monday. 


Driving home from Mom and Ellen's
where we ate salads I brought
from Giant - such sweet
watermelon, honeydew,
strawberries and blueberries

I waved goodbye and drove
slowly so I could listen
to Hatchet by Gary Paulsen,
and stopped at Masons Mill Park
to walk off my food, hardly
anyone was there

A guy shooting hoops
Tiny tots in the playground
The heat oppressive as
in a Steam Bath in Romania

And then I saw it!
The FREE BOOK cabinet.
Be there! Be there!
I prayed.
And it was!
the Trixie Belden book.

Last time I refused to take it.
I'd read the Nancy Drews and
Raggedy Anns, but somehow
skipped ole Trixie.

She's come back again
to thrill a new generation.
How bout this for a
complicated first sentence:

"Trixie saw her father's car turn
into the driveway from Glen Road,
and she raced out of the back door
to stop him before he reached the garage."

If you're a writer like me, you redo
each and every sentence, making it
better, better, better, better!

Now get on with you. A storm, they
say, is coming. Hide, little
hummingbird, hide!


Smooth as a bottlenose dolphin
I hold it like a baby in my arms
A perfectly perfect purple
Accented by black
Wah Wah Wah!
It cries like a baby, louder
than a crow on my
outside wire, the
province of squirrels

The suction's amazing
It's sucked up three drafts
of poems, my Verizon bill,
dead leaves I've traipsed in
and if I'm not careful
it will suck me in too
like Jonah's whale.

Wanted dead or alive.
Ruth Z Deming. We've sent
in the fine minds of Mandy
Patinkin and the gang from
Criminal Minds.


We'll call her Charlotte
after E B White.

First met her when I got out
of the car at the Dunkin Donuts.

Holy cow! No, holy spider.
The noiseless patient spider
rolled through my brain
the way hunger pangs
rolled through my belly.

Indifferent to the
events of the world
my Charlotte continued
the job she was given
as I drove home
at thirty miles
an hour.

Please be there, I prayed,
taking a small sip of coffee,
as I got out of the car.

We don't know why she landed
on the back of my car, a deep
field of gray like the sparrow's
wing. The morning sun
lit her up, and there she
will stay until her
weaving is done.


I wanted to put Penelope of the Trojan War in the poem and how she fooled her suitors by unraveling a burial garment she was making for her husband Odysseus. Could not figure out how to do it.

It was raining heavily when I got back from Staples. In fact there was such a racket I actually thought the rain was coming thru my living room roof!


Now how can I remember how to get into Blogger.

Go to "Sign on" and click on the odd-looking thingee. First Microsoft will come up.

Microsoft the scourge of the world.

Always bossing us around and telling us what to do.

What are you doing tonight?

I'm reading two good books. Easy, Ruthie, easy.

Went into Sarah's old room, gathered up about 20 books that I wanted to read, look em all over, saved but one.... a large print of Michael Connelly's The Bronze Project, which is probly the name - and brought every single book over to the library.

Hurray for me!

How bout a nice short poem.

Earlier photos of a doe in the backyard.


A quiet night
I've lived on this
sacred spot of ground
since 1989

A train whistles
in the distance
a moan of lamentation
for all the sadness
I've endured

The phone rings.
Mom thanking me for
the delicious salads
I brought over. I love
the sound of her voice.

Alone again with
the sounds of the
My breathing.
In and out.
In and out.

And the joy of
the cicadas. Their
optimistic mating call.
Ting, Ting, Ting.
Come to me,
Come soon,
Why wait?
Find me over here
in the necking zone
on the sycamore tree.

Monday, August 14, 2017

Outtakes - Or things that didn't fit - Two poems: Getting Ready for the Arts Fest and Missing without a Trace

Cynthia Marcolina paid me a great compliment: You're our Muse, she wrote me. Cyn had been a prolific poet. I was doing the Compass and wrote her, Send me some new poems.

She said she hadn't written any. I was shocked. She was working as a counselor on the night shift.

Then suddenly six weeks ago, she goes on a writing jag. Keeps sending me new and terrific poems.


When I finished blogging about the Arts Fest I went to bed and collapsed with fatigue.

My right arm was killing me. Hannah, the pharmacist, gave me a flu shot. Scott noticed it was covered over with a band-aid that read "Giant."

At first we were gonna do my left arm. Hannah noticed several black n blue marks on there. Why, she wanted to know.

Oh, I said, that's one of the places where I shoot up.

Are you allowed to do dat, she asked.

Allowed? Told her I do it in a fleshy place where it doesn't hurt.

When she first proposed I get my shot I thought, How can I do it on the same day as the Arts Fest? Seemed incongruous.


For the show, I was gonna do a monologue about the upcoming Total Solar Eclipse. This is when the moon covers the sun and casts a shadow on the earth. I typed it up and brought it but there wasn't time to do it.

I'll print it here plus two other poems I didn't have time for. You always bring more than you can do rather than less.


Did I tell you this upstairs computer is on its last legs? My friend Freda originally gave it to me.


EIGHT DAYS until the day of the eclipse.

Millions of Americans will witness the moon moving in between the Earth and the sun to create a total solar eclipse. This spectacular phenomenon occurs when the sun, the moon, and the Earth line up in a row, causing the moon to cast a shadow over the planet.

Although total solar eclipses occur every 18 months on average, this event marks the first total solar eclipse to occur in the continental U.S. since 1979.

1979.  What happened in 1979. I did a search and came up w moderately interesting things like:

January 26 – The Dukes of Hazzard debuts on CBS.

February 26

    A total solar eclipse, the last visible from the continental United States until 2017, arcs over northern coterminous USA and southeastern Canada ending in Greenland.

March 4 – The U.S. Voyager 1 spaceprobe photos reveal Jupiter's rings.
March 5 – Voyager 1 makes its closest approach to Jupiter at 172,000 miles.

June – McDonald's introduces the Happy Meal.

September 16 – Two families flee from East Germany by balloon.

The observing path will stretch from Salem, Oregon to Charleston, South Carolina. Observers outside this path will still see a partial solar eclipse where the moon covers part of the sun's disk.


Vacuum the living room,
Do back exercises, go outside
to say hello to the black-eyed
susans, listen to audio book
Selected Works of Roald Dahl
read by the author

Red Garland's on the radio
bee bop? Can I remove my
clogs and sail round
the room?

I can. And did.
Leslie Caron I'm not
dancing with Daddy
Long Legs, Fred Astaire.

Clipboard at the ready.
A regular Bob Fosse
Or back at Bristol-
Bensalem calling up
my clients into my office.

Did I tell you the place
is gone? Memories, tho.
Those iris in my backyard
from Wankel's Nursery.

I found the word "surrender"
on the side of my fridge.
Ed gave it to me. I fondled
it with the back of my

I surrender. Whoever will be
there today will be there.



My new favorite series I watch
until I'm goggle-eyed played
itself out this morning as
I returned my library materials

Left notes on the audio book
SHILOH: Two last discs have
so many scratches you can
hardly hear it!

discs are inaudible.

Then, leaving my car
by the door - the library
opens at one - I walked
around the block.

Tottering in my
brown clogs with
turquoise splats
from painting
the hubcaps in my front yard

I walked down Center Ave.
Nice houses with front
porches and chimes that
jangled in the breeze.

"You must remember
where you are," I said
to myself. "You've got
an occasion later today."

Wide-faced Anthony LaPaglia was
assigned to my case. Sarcastic
and vindictive, he joked to
a colleague about all the
Dairy Queen spoons on the
kitchen window sill.

What worries me, though,
is I am still missing.
Hurry, FBI agents, I have
an occasion this afternoon,
12:30 sharp.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Arts Fest - Part Two

 Donna Krause has experienced many losses. She wrote a poem about her daughter Mariel who died at 15 of meningitis. The audience was so moved they commented on the tragedy.  Donna has written many poems about her beloved daughter.

I mentioned that religion and a belief in the Afterlife was a comfort to so many people who were there. Another woman, Lorraine, had lost her 32-yo son to a heroin overdose.
"Rolling into Town on a Greyhound Bus," sang Vern. And "Come with me, come with me, Corn Maiden." He also read a poem about the death of a young man in the neighborhood Kenny Rankin. Shot to death. Told him at first I thought he was singing about Dave van Ronk, a great folk artist, who was the basis for one of the Coen Brothers films. 

 Fran Hazam drove out from her apartment in downtown in Philly. She lost her husband Denis about a year ago. I have the program from his funeral on my death shelf atop my living room desk. I can summon his mellifluous voice any time I want.

Fran is one of the greatest activists I've ever met. "Got rights?" reads her T-shirt. She's gonna retire in November from MHASP.

 I said I was happy to introduce people we'd never met before who would take the stage.

Bob McGlinski - this may be a repeat - read a very touching poem about his mother who had Alzheimer's for many years. She had been a nurse who suffered from bipolar. Great job, Bob. 

Below is Susan Miller who read an astoundingly good poem WHO AM I ?  She's been through a lot and wrote this poem a week ago.

She also sang! She belted out the Stylistics Betcha By Golly Wow. 

She is a risktaker!

Linda read a series of poems. She had written one this very morning which she read for us. She has her poetry organized in a notebook she buys at Staples and has each page in a laminated sheet.
Her new poem concerned a duel the poet goes through as an evil spirit tries to take her down.
Rem read an epic poem about the ruination of our planet. And then a lighter one.
Ed Lakota was at his best, as he strummed his geetar and played his harmonica. He started with some Roger Miller songs. Then he moved on to the Beatles, including Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. We discussed if the song referred to using LSD. Probably not.

The rhythms were so great I got up and started dancing. I pulled Herb up from his chair and danced with him. He was struck down when he was discharged from the Army. He has a phenomenal mind.
Herb is in the middle below. More about him later. Mary is a peer specialist from Salisbury. And Helen, wearing a cape, surprised us. She had just come from a really long walk.

 Family member Gail Russell also surprised us. She and her friends are frequently on FB. What believers they are! She read some passages I had written her on FB, such as that she sounds the trumpet for hope and triumph against mental illness.
 Maggie and her friend react to Ed's rhythms. We stood up and danced. I pulled Herb out of his chair.

 I read one poem. When the pope came to visit. There was an orange Gerbera daisy on the back table. I gave it to Susan Miller as her gift.
 Herb asked if he could do some stand-up comedy. I was skeptical but he was so persuasive. He was GREAT!  Did some voices - Rocky Balboa - a waiter at a Jewish deli - an Indian who owns a gas station. Excellent likenesses. Then he sat down but remembered another act, so did that one too.

Imagine! Herb was so excited about performing! He was a natural. Hope he has the chance to do it again.

Ed and Vern knew each other. They were talking shop. I love to bring people together.

And, yes, we were all together today, Sunday, August 13, from 1 until 4 pm, the exact time we were supposed to be there.

I'm listening now to Mountain Stage from West Virginia. The Chocolate Drops with Rhianon Gibbons.

After we said goodbye to one another, I went downstairs at the Giant and had dinner!

From the Hot Bar I got Chicken Pot Pie, a breaded triangle filled with mac an cheese, and a serving of steamed veggies.

I sat down with my friend "Sherman Johnson," who I've known for years. He has a nice pension but his family in TX won't have anything to do with him b/c of his bipolar disorder.

Does this ever stop? This nonsensical prejudice? He's got a 3-year-old g'daughter 'they' won't let him visit or talk to.

What dyou say? I said Wait a while and then try again. But don't let your g'dtr forget about you.

Cynthia Marcolina from Harleysville is a bundle of energy. She "retired from the "Minutia-scrutiny" of work, as a counselor. "Sunlight and flowers reviving me now. Finally, out of the Cold-dark-den."

She vacationed in Barbados.

Everywhere… blight and beauty.
        Here glass becomes treasure when the sea
        Is done with it.  Crumbling houses merge
        With the ground.  I swam with turtles and
        Floated on waves of iridescent translucence.

And me? I read my pope poem.... Pope Francis came to visit me.

What must he think of this world where he was elected to be king and conscience and fixer-upper and just general Francis-be-good?

Arts Fest a Huge Success! Part One!

 I always go in a little earlier to set up. Made a little money from our Donation Box.
 Here's Sandie in the set-up room of the Giant. Our treats included hot coffee, tea, fresh fruit - bananas, tangerines - protein bars made with quinoa and oats. Bc we're a nonprofit we get a gift card for $25 we use for healthy snacks.
Here's Vern Rose. Originally lived in the Detroit area. When Motor City went quiet, he moved to this area, possibly via Pittsburgh, and now lives and works in Northeast Philly.  I think he's in I T.  Never married, he bought his GF a classic Schwinn 3-speed bike. Used.

Many reasons why a three-speed is superior to our modern 10-speeds. Let's say a coyote is chasing you. You can get away quicker than with the faster bikes which take time to get into gear.

Vern also collects sewing machines. He and Lorraine were discussing this as she is a seamstress.

Met Vern at one of Lynn Levin's poetry workshops at the Huntingdon Valley Library. Was immediately struck with some poetry he shared with us and asked if he'd attend.

His poetry was terrific. He sang Comin to Town in a Greyhound Bus, with several refrains, and also The Corn Maiden.  He also attended a wedding and wrote a poem about the great hot dog soup they served there.

(Am not using my notes now - did I take many? - so hope I'm getting this mostly correct.)

Also, you'll notice that AT LAST I'm uploading pictures up here in my composing room.

Why? Scott taught me how to use my flash drive - called the E drive - to get em up here.

 Look closely at the above photograph. David Kime's apartment was burned down. He's on the top floor. He called the woman a pyromaniac and was extremely pissed off at her, as his raging poetry expressed.

Below is Donna Krause and her brother Bob McGlinski.

I always arrange our Arts Fest on a Sunday so David and his friends can make it.
 Just posted Marie Higgins photo on FB. At halftime, she began Part Two. We did 'chair meditation.' She used a small brass bowl to call us to order - what a sweet sound it made - and it was a wonderful experience. The two of us met thru my friend Ed Quinn who also meditates.

Am I capable of joining the meditators every Saturday morning at 10 am at Pennypack Trust? Hmm, that's when I'm composing my work for our Writers' Group at B's house.
 Marie's daughter is moving out today to go to college.  Presenters wrote name tags. Each was given a gift. "Pick a couple," I'd say, offering them Tic Tacs, Altoids, Sharpened Pencils, a Ferrari and packages of salted cashews, peanuts, trail mix.
Scott stayed for a few minutes. Then went home and watched a movie so he missed the news.

Ya wanna know what's going on? Rioting in Charleston, VA, upon the removal of a statue of Robert E Lee.

 David made his own tie-dye T-shirt.  He passed around his newest sculptures made from chicken wire and - is it wallpaper paste?

I acted as the narrator and em-cee and raved about how David turned his tragedy into an artistic opportunity.

David publishes a 'zine' or small frills-free little magazine. He got lots of new poets for his next issue. Made them happy to know they have a place to publish, right Cynthia? Name of it is Transcendent Visions. It's quite good.

After the fire, which destroyed basically everything he owned, he decided he was finished publishing for good.

His mood swings had kicked in - manic, depressed, neutral - what a wild ride he went on.

Today's the Arts Fest - One important cancellation, so far - Poems: Getting Ready for our Arts Fest - Without a Trace


Vacuum the living room,
Do back exercises, go outside
to say hello to the black-eyed
susans, listen to audio book
Selected Works of Roald Dahl
read by the author

Red Garland's on the radio
bee bop? Can I remove my
clogs and sail round
the room?

I can. And did.
Leslie Caron I'm not
dancing with Daddy
Long Legs, Fred Astaire.

Clipboard at the ready.
A regular Bob Fosse
Or back at Bristol-
Bensalem calling up
my clients.

Did I tell you the place
is gone? Memories, tho.
Those iris in the backyard
from Wankel's Nursery.

I found the word "surrender"
on the side of my fridge.
Ed gave it to me. I fondled
it with the back of my

I surrender. Whoever will be
there today will be there.


My new favorite series I watch
until I'm goggle-eyed played
itself out this morning as
I returned my library materials

Left notes on the audio book
SHILOH: Two last discs have
so many scratches you can
hardly hear it!

discs are inaudible.

Then, leaving my car
by the door - the library
opens at one - I walked
around the block.

Tottering in my
brown clogs with
turquoise splats
from painting
the hubcaps in my front yard

I walked down Center Ave.
Nice houses with front
porches and chimes that
jangled in the breeze.

"You must remember
where you are," I said
to myself. "You've got
an occasion later today."

Wide-faced Anthony LaPaglia was
assigned to my case. Sarcastic
and vindictive, he joked to
a colleague about all the
Dairy Queen spoons on the
kitchen window sill.

What worries me, though,
is I am still missing.
Hurry, FBI agents, I have
an occasion this afternoon,
12:30 sharp.

I modeled my outfit for Scott, who I heard groaning in his basement. He was lifting weights.

You look very nice, he said.

He'll be there at one pm.

I, meanwhile, must work on my monologue AND I totally forgot to select some poetry!!!

Friday, August 11, 2017

Kitty Foyle (a victim of class systems) - What's remission from bipolar? - Poem: From Behind the Heavy Fence

Howdy pardners,

Just came home from Scott's where we watched Ginger Rogers in Kitty Foyle.

Image result for kitty foyle

She won an Oscar for her performance as a tough Irish woman. She beat our Joan Fontaine in Rebecca, Katherine Hepburn in The Philadelphia Story, and Bette Davis in something, our host Ben Mankiewicz told us.

Ben, speak to us please.

Image result for ben mankiewicz

I get various info from different sources. Newsworks is from WHYY. Read a fascinating story which I emailed to my support group.

Read it here. We hope it's still up. Actually it was reprinted on another website, which I may feature.

I titled it Suicidal Man Writes About His Experiences as an Inpatient.

Here's what I wrote my group:

***Hi everyone,

Interesting article about a suicidal young man in the Philadelphia area who signed himself into a local hospital and the treatment he received there, both compassionate and otherwise.

He's now in med school at Temple University.

Read the story here. He also wrote a similar story on something called MEDIUM. com.

A dozen years ago when I spoke to interns about bipolar d/o at Jefferson Hospital downtown, there were a couple of bipolar students.

Why not? We know the illness the best. And we have the capacity to take meds and become stabilized.

At ND, we've received fairly good reports about inpatient hospitalization at Horsham Clinic.

Anywhere else you're familiar with?

I invited the fellow, whose name I forget, to speak at one of our Willow Grove Giant Community Events.

Will let you know if I hear from him.


Did hear from him - Max Ellithorpe - and he's too busy to speak. When he wrote me back he referred to my REMISSION from bipolar disorder.  I haven't had an episode in SIX YEARS and take no meds.


Dear Reader, if you could eat anything right now you wanted, what would it be.

I pause for only a moment. I think previously I told you the best DQ I ever had was a toffee, chocolate chip chunk, salted caramel. Can't show you a pic as it would take five minutes to get back here.

I'd eat a big fat slice of juicy ripe tomato, covered with a slice of mozzarella cheese and a leaf or two of basil.

My friend Evelyn taught me about the basil. She came out when Simon lived here with a bag of goodies. Can't remember Evelyn's last name. She's doing quite well in her mid 80s, living downtown in a co-op.

She and I used to write for Art Matters.


Yes, I am wasting time.

I lost a quarter of what I'd originally printed and now I've got to reproduce it.

Once or twice a day I go out and water our crops. They're behind a huge fortified fence so the critters don't get inside. I wrote a lovely poem about this, which I'll try to reproduce. No, I'll just write anudder one.


Green hose in hand, I stand outside the
finely netted fence and water the
literally hundreds of tomatoes,
fat ones, swaying happily, and
tiny ones, all trusting their maker,
whomever that may be, to
care for them on this small
spit of land in a place we call

When done, I slip the hose on
its cradle behind the spent
beardless iris, and look once
again at a horrible sight.

Atop the cradle, a spider has
woven his web. A big black
ant is caught there. Stuck.
Is he alive? In pain? Sentient,
we hope, he is not.


And now if you'll excuse me, I'm going downstairs to watch Part Four of Missing Persons, or some name like that, which I picked up tonight at the library.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Memory - Diabetes - Postcards - Poem: Anticipation - Poem: Alfred Dunner Apparel

Image result for yves abel offenbach tales of hoffmann

 Before bed, I pedal to Offenbach's Tales of Hoffmann, directed by Yves Abel.

Such a modern version! And scantily clad females running across the stage.

Before this, I chanced upon a BBC production about Genius. Karl Marx, Freud, Einstein, Nietzsche.  For a couple of hours I watched and slept through it. Each one of these individuals was misunderstood in his own time and dreadful things were perpetrated in their names after their deaths.

The Nietzche is particularly striking. To this day, historians ponder his mental breakdown. What was the cause? Simply manic-depression would not explain it. His delusions were not that of a manic individual. Something else is going on.

I succeeded in reading a bit. I got a mag from Einstein Hospital boasting of all the rich and beautiful people who donated. There was a lovely photo of columns - purplish - which I cut out and will save for one of my postcards.

So, it's back to the lusty Offenbach, and I've got to sketch out my short story which I can try and name right now.

Shall We Marry?


It's 10:10 am. Was up earlier but fell back to sleep. Am devoting some of the day to reading.

Awoke in the middle of a dream. Somehow I had a "film property" and was making a movie with Woody Allen.

I decided to ask him a question. Just he and I were in the scene. I was sitting on the floor and motioned for him to help me up. At first he only was gonna use one hand but I nodded that she should use the other too.

So he did. "Woody," I said. "I want your help in making this movie. I'm 60 yrs old and Jewish. Will you?"

Then the phone rang downstairs.

Watch the credits on his next film. What is he, about 83?


Here's a few things I do to help me think. I was born in 1945 and am actually 71,

Yesterday after shopping at the Giant I decided to take the long way home. This, again, was to help me remember. Began driving. Ah! I thought. There's the Dairy Queen. I actually have trouble remembering where it is. York Road.

There's a minor detour. The orange cones. I'm the first and only person in line, but I've gotta THINK in order to drive through them as they zig and zag along.

No problemo.


Last night I walked Scott part way to the train. It's much better exercising out doors than on my bike.

My sugar was fine, oh, about 140. Don't go below 80. We walk and walk. He zooms and I'm sposed to keep up with him. I don't exactly. I walk a couple of paces behind him, like a servant or puppy dog following him home from school.

Hold on. Lemme see who called me. Twas an older woman who wanted to attend today's Daytime Meeting at the Giant. Where and when, said the message. I called back, leaving a message, and urging her to go.

I had actually given her instructions the day before. 


Okay, so I'm coming back from walking Scott to the train station. Am wearing my back pack as it has my glucose tabs in it if I go low. I am sweating profusely. As I walk up the steep hill - the driveway - of Keystone Screw, it's very difficult, and I wonder if I'm low. No matter, I'm nearly home.

I picture myself rolling around on the asphalt.

Then I take the little path home, remembering that when the Travis Family lived in my house - they're the original owners - they threw their living room sofa in the little woods behind our house.

I wonder where it is now and what's left of it. I'm watching various Netflix TV shows where corpses are in various stages of decomposition.


When I reach my house, I water our vegetable garden. Big garden tomatoes, water water water. Small garden tomatoes, then the cukes and the eggplant.

First, tho, I water myself, my soaking wet hair and that nice royal-blue blouse I found in my drawer that says, Shirts I like.


My sugar is 38. I have just seen my new diabetes doctor who tells me that when I eat Chobani to raise my sugar it doesn't reach my brain fast enuf. Eat glucose tabs - 4 or 5, we say in unison - and drink juice.

I munch on the oh-so-sweet glucose tabs, after which I down half a bottle of O J.  I buy a certain kind which cost one dollar for ten of em. Delicious, but not now. Sour after the glucose tabs.

Am dreadfully proud of myself for walking Scott, not to mention not dying of a sugar low. Dr Dan and I discussed that. Told him I doubt I will as I always have the tabs near.

I have fine relationships with all my docs, except this new Dr Dan. He doesn't trust me. He doesn't know me. Next time, tho, I'm gonna see the nurse practitioner b/c when Dr Fitz left to go to Doylestown, there were so many patients.

He asked me about the Nutrition Classes he asked me to take.

Not helpful, I said honestly. Told him a couple things I learned. When driving in the car, do not keep the glucose tabs in the glove compartment. Too far away from me. So I keep a small bottle of them in the drink compartment nearest me.

Also, when I snack on pure protein - cheese or nuts - I don't need to inject.

Okay, I'm recovering from the minor trauma of being low. Am eating rye bread - 2 pieces - one spread with cream cheese, thother w pB.

I go out on the front porch. Nowhere to sit. The green lawn chair is way over there, with a diagonal slash of bird poop.

I sit on the front porch with my rye breads. Hmm. I should keep a cushion out here, I think. I tushion. I've gotta get the food down, into my brain.

Symptoms, as I told Dr Dan, are 'holes' in my vision. And of course sweating and trembling. He knows his stuff, so he says, OR do you GET symptoms?

He chose diabetes and the endocrine glands b/c in med school he had a really good mentor he worked well with.

Mentor. WHO'S YOUR mentor?

Hold that question and think about it.

Can birds be a mentor? 

So, after my diabetes low, I'm outside. I've brought the next book for our book club. Dear God and our forefathers that brought us upon the earth, please let it be good. I've missed so many of these groups. One of my fears, late at night, is that I won't remember how to talk in book clubs.

The book is FINE. It's by Lauren Groff. Believe me, I have my problems with it, I'm on page 6. She's a poet and every sentence finely hewn like a .... like a.... rare diamond. The writing is too 'precious' for me.


On Charlie Rose - the bags under his eyes weren't all that bad and his hair didn't look as bad as usual - he had on the comedy team of Samantha Bee.

I have never heard of this woman. She was quite attractive with long blond hair. She'd traveled to one of the 'stans' - Uzbeck, no, another one. Anyway, funny it was not.

I'd drunk coffee that morning - not THIS morning, tho - so I knew I'd be awake for quite awhile, unless, that is, I fall asleep to Netflix and films on YouTube.

Quite accidentally I find the famous P G Woodhouse characters Bertie and Jeeves on YouTube. Uncut, no commercials.

The presentation is fantastic...the music, the cartoons, the acting. Stephen Fry as Jeeves and the famous Hugh Laurie as Bertie.

Quickly, I look up Hugh Laurie. So that's WHO he is. This morning I email it to Sarah, who's always enjoyed the books. The books, may, in fact, be downstairs in a very heavy carton of her former books.

What should I do with them?

I am trying to clean up in case I die suddenly.

It's not unthinkable but probly will not happen for quite a while.


Whilst walking home from the train station - I only went as far as the top of the hill - I'd passed the rented apartment of Kevin H and got an idea of a short story to write about.

I also saw the man with the very bad leg. Scott told me he's required to walk three miles a day, to fix his leg. As I passed him, I mentioned this, and he said "Right, it only takes me 45 minutes."

I had to think about this for 5 minutes before I understand what he was talking about. That's b/c I was writing stories in my head.


Watched Ed Slott on PBS in the middle of the night. He kept interrupting Bill Cunningham, who was trying to get money from us. Since I've gotta pay my taxes in September, I got a new idea on how to pay em. I R As. Will call my advisor shortly. I emailed him at 4 in the morning asking when I should call.



I think it was my friend
Ellen Rosenberg who
said, What are you
sposed to wear on a
day like today?

I label the drawers of
my bureau. A mistake,
but they won't come off.

In the "Shirts I Like"
compartment I found
a gorgeous long-sleeved
blouse with fake jewels
along the frontispiece,
so secure they will
never fall out.

And the long slacks
I chose to go with!
My body is hugged,
caressed, by invisible
fingers, hands.

Was there ever a happier
girl in the morning, as
she sits on Red Couch
sipping Rum Coffee
from the Caribbean?


Woke up slightly before 7 this morning. Do read this Facebook poem ONLY b/c it pertains what I'm gonna say next.


7  am is when they usually come.
Four trips.
Like making four trips into the house
from the market.

First, lugging
the eggs, the cheese,
the flimsy box of
Ortego tacos.

The sound is at hand!

Like the prelude of Lohengrin.
Louder and louder it gets.

Look! The green grinding machine's
stopped in front of my house.
Muscled men in neon vests empty
my squirrel-proof trash can,
while the squirrels themselves
scold, a reincarnated
Burt Lancaster?

So, I remembered I wanted to get rid of the Giant brand of iced coffee. It rested half full in the fridge. Throwing a blue blouse over my sexy nightgown, I ran the 'coffee box' outside and put it in the trash.

The day after Mom's birthday party I mailed out at least a dozen post cards.

Grace, 6, got hers, but 4-yo Max hadn't received his.

Yesterday I ran after the mailman. Dante is on vacation so you never know when the mail's gonna come.

Mailed a $16 donation to the Lakota Bad Boys, my term, up in S.D. Please send me, I wrote, the BLUE BACKPACK.

Since giving up my canvas backpack of the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon, I can't find one I like.

Will this be it?

For breakfast, I ate a DELICIOUS two eggs with chopped cheddar inside and also sauteed onion inside.

That was at 7 am.

Now it's 11:10. May I eat again, Dear Readers?

And WHO, for godssakes, are YOU?