Monday, July 10, 2017

PART ONE "Beatles" Concert at Masons Mill Park - Poems: Reading a Newspaper and Thank you Thank You

The park has something for everyone.

Used to take Sarah and Dan here while I played volleyball and tennis. Sarah just called to say bon voyage. She's flying to the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris and will stay with a boxing friend!

I congratulated her again on the sale of her book(s).
 You could smell the water when you walked by. Pssshh! Don't you love fountains?
 Six months before my 'nervous breakdown," I lost motor coordination. Couldn't play tennis and lost my volleyball serve.
Studio Too - a faux Beatles band - were quite good!

Ages ago, Ann Harris and her late husband Dr. Kevin with the magical hands that healed his tiny charges, whisked me downtown where we saw an amazing Beatles show. I believe they were called Rain.

(I am patting myself on the back for remembering that name)

From my Babette series. Big women!


When I'm nervous I suck on
an Altoids, that 'curiously
strong mint'

I just phoned the township
utility yard, leaving a
message that said
Pick up the carefully
tied branches at
204 Cowbell

Moments earlier I'd
heard the unmistakable
melody of the green truck
as it sauntered down our

Stepped outside in my
bare feet, and thanked
the guys clinging for
dear life onto the
back of the truck
wearing matching
Key Lime Pie matching

Look! They've just
come round again!
Missing the carefully
tied bundles.

Another curiously strong
Altoid please!


They DID return and picked up the sticks. Scott worked out in the heat for hours and hours with his new chainsaw. His back yard now looks like pasture land for cows.


Last night before delving into the
latest John Sandford thriller
I spread the newspaper across
the sheets, a gentle breeze
rustling the pages, and
began to read.

The world began to come to life.
It was as if I knew these people!
Sure, I get the digital version
of the Times, but nothing seems

In letters to the editor,
I read the misguided words of
a man who believes climate
change is a hoax, that becomes
clearer every day.

Most of the writers, I noticed,
were men. I'll make up for that
later this week.

A husband and wife took off in
their motorcycles searching for
an 86-year-old with Alzheimer's.

And found him! He had a broken hand
and needed lots of water.

I reached for my own glass of water
on the bedside table.

Not much of a sports fan, I reveled
at the "action verbs" the sports-
writers used. "Rallied," for one.
And sports capture the entire world:
soccer, tennis, golf, auto racing.

We wish racer John Andretti
godspeed as he returns to the garage
after battling cancer, which might
have been prevented, says the story,
by having a simple test.

I had put the paper away and then
remembered: The Obits. A young man called
"Our Bubbies" had lost his battle
with addiction.

And a man, only 66, a banker with
nicely combed white hair - yes,
the paper is in full color now - has
lost his battle with whatever. It's
best to tell us how the person died.

My first newspaper story, but not the last,
appeared in The Public Spirit in Hatboro.
The editor, whose name I forget, died of
leukemia at age 48.

Fearful, I thought I'd never write again.

If I had my druthers, I'd still be sitting
at the Intelligencer/Record on Easton Road,
promoted to a real reporter, instead of
begging writing stories to the managing editor,
and would be off, this Saturday morning,
profiling new mothers and the challenges
they have with the next generation
of grown-ups.


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