Friday, January 6, 2017

Newborn in the family - Poems: Laundry Day - Melting away like Whipped Cream - The First Snowfall - Hot Water in the Tea Cup Helping Marla - Princess Leia

Luckily, when I went on bike, after eating my delicious spaghetti,  the late Mike Nichols was featured on American Masters. The documentary was directed by his former wife Elaine May. Mike was 83 when he died (1931 - 2014).

Great story about how he left Hitler's Germany as a young boy. He can still speak German, but who would he talk to? he quipped.

His real name is Mikhail Igor Peschkowsky

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His fifth and last wife was Diane Sawyer.

Image result for diane sawyer

My niece Jade Greene and her husband Matt drove to the birthing center and gave birth to their baby girl. Lynn, who will be called Nana, showed the Greenwold Girls a photo.

We're waiting to hear the baby's name.

Any ideas?  Here's a few that come to mind.... Chloe, Ruth, Zali

Don't you worry! You will be the first to know.

Am typing upstairs so I don't have access to my personal photos, only online ones.

Yes, I know how disappointing that is.

Now, I had done very well with Scarlet Leaf Publishing. Roxana had published all the short stories I sent her.


She did not publish An American Love Story, loosely based on a used car salesman who used to come to ND. He hit the jackpot and married a very wealthy woman.

And tonight I just sent Roxana one of my favorite stories, The Psychiatrist in a Bikini. It involves parasailing in Cape Map.

Image result for parasailing in cape may nj  Not only is it a great story, she said modestly, but it includes fascinating history about one of the first vacation resorts in America.

Beach Avenue, from the sea Scott and I haven't gone in a couple yrs since we both had bad backs.

A couple of poems and then I'm gonna tell you how I helped a depressed woman today.

Actually, the fellow below was also, well, not depressed, but just in a funk. The last line tells how he'll get out of it.


Vacuum cleaners
two-door fridge
with a water dispenser
on the outside

Is it any wonder
they risk their
lives to come
to America?

The poet's been here
his entire life.
Jersey-born, his
folks both dead,
he drives to the
laundromat, lugging
a wicker basket
full of dirty clothes.

He sorts the darks and
the lights, like his
mama done taught him,
then sits on a bench
fist on chin, Rodin's "Thinker."

The windows are steamed up
A young Indian couple, she
in sari, push their way
in through the steamy door,
and with business-like precision,
do what is necessary

The poet watches his
striped pajamas swirl
with merriment and glee
in the glass-windowed
dryer, sits up
and has an idea for a poem.


Coach Iris sent me the name of a new magazine that features 'invisible illnesses.' I sent the editor a few things and was quickly rejected.

I was FURIOUS! In her note where she 'respectfully' denied my entries, she told me to remain engaged with the mag.

"believe me, i will not," I wrote back.

I did have a poem on there, which YOU, yes YOU, can read here for the first time:


The life of the party in the nursing home
drank piping hot coffee six times a day
Although he didn’t say it, coffee clears
the mind, which, in his case, 
was on the lam.

Do they always want to know what day it is?
Or forget to zip up their pants?
Or insist on sharing his meal with me as
he pondered my breasts and what to do
with them?

One day he was simply not there. They’d
moved him to the other unit. The one called
Reflections, of who Joe used to be.
Let me mourn him in my own way, viewing his
photo and his stand-up white hair.
Damn you, God! Damn you, Joe!  


Marla, fake name, called me with a shaking voice that meant she was in real trouble. She kept apologizing for taking my time when I'm 'so busy,' which of course is untrue.

I had her write a To-Do list and follow it.

Tomro she'll see her shrink. "He's good, right?" she kept asking me. "Yes," I said, "he has a great reputation but I'm not sure he's doing well by you."

She lives with her pipe-smoking BF. Have him give you frequent hugs, I said. He will.

I also told her to invest in a stationery bike.

Oh, she said, I'm sposed to ride a bike. It's bad for my back. I can only do water aerobics.

Go to Sears, I said, and ride a bike and see how your back feels.

Exercise can make you feel better, temporarily.

She also has kidney problems which her female doc said are not that serious. Stage three.

Go on a special diet now, I said.

But my doctor didn't mention that, she said.

Do it, I said.

Image result for pies

A mental health advocate named Carol Caruso was buried today. Dead, of course. Cancer.

Read about her in my blog.

Carol Caruso and husband, Jerry.

Two poems below. Carol makes an appearance in the second one. 


Has it come yet?
When will it start?
How do you explain
snow to the prisoners
in Guantanamo?

A fateful day, a
neighbor turned them
in, they speak Arabic
all day long

On the landing of my house
I thought I saw it
just as I did during
the summer months
and the fall
This must be it, I thought,
as all PJ'd up, I ran
down the stairs, into
the dark freezing living
room, and opened up the front
door. Yes, she said, Yes.



I woke up late. Who,
after all, goes to
sleep at 4 am?
After a hot breakfast
I sat down on the red
couch. The birds whistled
outside, Linda yelled
at her little dog, and
I was cold.

These homes, after all,
were built on cement
slabs. Do not think
of mortuaries or of
Carol Caruso who lost
her battle with
cancer. She'll be
buried today. A mental
health advocate.

The tea kettle sang.
I cleaned out my best
cup and poured the
hot water steaming
into my cup.

Bon voyage, Carol,
as she sails away
to the Cape May sunset.



How could she?
She of the milky white
skin of a farm girl
tossing seeds to
feed the chickens
in the English

"Meet me tonight
in the back yard,"
she tells young Luke
and they lie on
the soft wet grass.

The moon comes down
to meet them, then
carries them away
in a silver chariot,
a new constellation
for the questers
to view.  

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