The Belle of Cowbell: The Bipolar Therapist from Willow Grove, PA

Sharon Piercy comes for lunch - we swap kidney t'plant stories and walk The Pennypack - The John Robinson Story

2012-02-01T15:59:00.027-05:00

Sharon Piercy, a new woman, after her kidney transplant on Jan. 3. Her 31-yo donor died in a car collision.

Sharon had never met my boyfriend, so at 1:45 pm, after we walked in the Pennypack.....

Turtles sunning themselves in the pond from the Pennypack website

we entered his house to see if he was awake. I tiptoed upstairs and sure enough he was in his darkened bedroom - he puts a huge piece of cardboard over the windows so no light will filter in - and he was online playing chess.

They talked a few minutes in Scott's dining room. I noted they each have light eyes - Scott's are green, Sharon's blue, she has cute dimples too. She's a remarkable woman with a wonderful laugh.

We ate this delicious Veggie Bean Soup with Scallops. I used dried lima beans, black eyed peas, and chick peas. We put grated Cheddar over the soup.

I told Sharon the good news about our grant. Here's the envelope which I have hanging on my wall.

The much-awaited grant money, which I drove over to my bank this morning, along with the door receipts from last nite's excellent meeting. I learned tonite, when I spoke to Carole and Greg Hodges, who run our Family Member Group, that it's important to hear both the family member's story as well as the patient's story. You get a more complete picture of what's going on. Hail Rashomon!
American Heritage - when you bring in loose change you put it in a money-counting machine. At our New Directions meeting last nite, someone brot in five silver dollars. They use them at Horsham Clinic for the vending machines. We always have new people from Horsham.

I found this gorgeous house for sale online. It's only $995,000. Oh, if only the decimal point were after the first '9'.

c. 1760 Colonial Stone Mill House

Known as The "Little House" at Pearson's Corner, this home sits [on Creek Road] adjacent to Pennypack Ecological Restoration Trust, an 800-acre preserve in Huntingdon Valley. Located down a winding road, above the burbling Pennypack Creek, the lush setting is surrounded by wilderness trails, native plants, ponds & meadows, but only minutes to shopping, mass transit and major highways.

Click here for more views of the house.

Sharon has a beautiful piece of property in the Poconos, where she lives. One time her late miniature schnauser, Shotzi, was looking out the back window, so Sharon looked out too. Imagine her surprise when she saw a six-foot bear peeking in the house.

Sharon is staying at her daughter's house in Upper Darby for six weeks. She goes in for regular checkups to Penn to make sure her kidney is doing well. Everything is A-Okay.

Sharon had missed her horse, Charlie, so a friend drove her up for a weekend visit. She was afraid her horse wouldn't recognize her, but of course he did. Hello Charlie!

The other nite on PBS there was an outstanding documentary called "Get Off Your Knees," the triumphant story of John Robinson, who was born without hands and feet. If you wanna watch, here's the link.

I must tell you I really enjoyed every moment of February 1, 2012. Alas, what comes, must leave. Everything is in the past tense. Let's turn on the music. How bout this?

G'morning Pink Buddha - G'bye Pink Bedroom / Poem: Going Down

2012-01-31T22:36:00.013-05:00

Buddha and I spent a couple minutes meditating together on the front lawn. Buddha seems perfectly happy in his new home. Wonder how the birds and squirrels will feel about him.

Rich Claire, a self-employed painter for 39 yrs, will paint the pink room an ivory color. I'm turning it back into a bedroom. Will buy a sofa-bed and put it in there and go upstairs and read on my lunch hour. Current reading material: Diabetes Forecast mag, Street Lawyer by John Grisham about homeless people, and Jacob's Room by Va. Woolf.

Richard is a talker! Like me, he takes photos. I told him about the Times' Lens Blog and when he returns on Friday to paint the room will tell him about Bill's photo-journalism blog up in AK where he recently wrote it was 30 below.

On my CD player was Karl Richter playing Bach Organ Toccatas. Rich said he likes harp music and Spanish geetar. I told him to look em up on YouTube. My latest find on there is Old Dog Blue, a blues classic, sung by Jim Jackson, tho I prefer a woman from Appalachia whose name I can't remember. Alan Lomax traveled the country - and indeed the world - preserving these songs on recordings.

Sarah's old bedroom became a huge walk-in closet.

My poems were in neat piles on the pink carpet according to categories such as Birds (The Bluejay's Day), Animals, Intake Clients (Backseat Motel), Neighbors, Famous People (Ode to Gandhi), Love Poems (The Third Time He Died).

I brewed myself some decaf, sat down on the floor and put them all in a big pile.

Sarah made the above border on the door of her bedroom when she lived here. At 17, she went to college, and never came home again.

Here's a poem I found in the pile called "Places or Institutions." It's from the days when I worked as a therapist at Bristol-Bensalem Human Services. The agency was housed in a former elementary school. Today it's nothing but a big housing development! No trace of any of us except droplets in the air that are still resounding with all the conversations we held.

GOING DOWN

I knew by the way my boss moved across my office
toward the empty chair,
a man who never sat,
a man who never rested,
full of loose grace and a misplaced
assurance that he was - to what avail? -
descended from a line of Scottish royalty,
knew without a word that I had lost my job.

Knew, too, by the way he sank in the chair,
the whoosh of it,
the sigh of it,
that it was something greater than myself,
greater than my endless worries of pleasing my clients
or whether my charts were done up
in the proper shade of blank ink.

Finally, he said, it's come to this:
our flawed, failing, panic-stricken
agency was shutting down for good.
Bankrupt on promises.
He sat in one of my for-company-only chairs
an impossibly gorgeous blue upholstered
chair with dust so old I couldn't
budget it from the corners
even with moistened fingers.

Now he was seated,
the man who never sits,
one tree-trunk leg crossed over the other,
shiny black policeman's shoes
reflecting the light of day,
the future King of England
had things gone his way.

I loved our newfound virgin closeness, the
pretense that he would share with me the rumble of
his discontent; his massive ambition knocked silly,
the man who sat atop tables at meetings and consulted his
watch with flourish. Henry the Eighth I called him,
and waited for them to take him down, his
incompetence legion.

Instead, we'd end our lives together,
and an I, an odd, out of sync pair,
sinking together.

Welcome to your new home, Buddha - Bubby visits Grace on her lunch hour

2012-01-30T19:31:00.010-05:00

Donna and I hung out together yesterday and she introduced me to the Art of Shopping. She's an expert. As a reward for our shopping spree I introduced her to Heavenly Ham at the Marshall's shopping center in Willow Grove.

She was also unfamiliar with the concept of Park far away and walk to your destination. You not only get exercise but you stay away from the congestion of people pulling in and out. We did in fact see a fanny-to-fanny crash.

She loved the Heavenly Ham. Here's what I order when I go there once every four years: Croissant w/ham, lettuce and tomato - I don't want cheese to deter from the delicious taste of the ham - and honey mustard dressing.

Donna introduced me to HomeGoods, at the former Toys R Us. It's huge. It's also a mish-mash of assorting bright and shiny things - and damaged things - for the home, which probly explains why the prices are so good.

I bought a beautiful 'throw rug' which, when I examined it at home - was full of white sputters. I returned it this morning and got my $30 back.

I did, however, purchase the below Buddha - be sure to spell it right - you know, laffing BuddHA - who was damaged, so the manager reduced it from $25 to $15 and told me to spray it with a sealant.

Since A C Moore is in the same shopping center, I went over and bought a can, in addition to pink spray paint, to paint my Buddha and put him outdoors. My late friend Elaine Restifo had a Buddha in her backyard.

A few years ago I made the above painting with spray paint. I went out in the backyard, laid some interesting shapes on it like leaves and pine cones and this is what I got.

There was also a fence in the backyard where I spraypainted huge swatches of black and red. Looked very dramatic.

Here's some of my tiny clay sculptures, some of which I paint w/ acrylic. Jilly at A C Moore and I were discussing our art work as I paid for the spray paints. They have astronomically high acrylic painting classes there but a reasonable make-your-own vase for Valentine's Day which I signed up for. I wanna get back into the visual arts.

Guess who I had lunch with today? Nicole started work today. Her mom, Barb Toohey, will watch Grace during the week. "It's just like being a new mother," said Barb.

I joined them for lunch, bringing my shrimp and cocktail sauce and a spinach salad with thousand island dressing. Grace didn't even cry when mom left for work. She was in a fantastic mood when I was there.

Like Scott, I try to make enough food to last a few days. Here's my bean-vegetable soup w/ frozen tiny scallops. I used three types of beans.

After I drive Scott to the train station, I'm gonna work on a new short story. Got the idea today when I returned the film "The English Patient" to my library. I spoke with our library director, who I love, and got an idea from her.

It's about a swimming pool.

Home movies - Part Two

2012-01-29T16:55:00.023-05:00

Donna's former BF Jimmy Argeros at mom's Passover seder. Donna and Jimmy met at a meeting and we all liked him. When my BF Chris Ray broke up with me and my heart was broken, Jimmy took me for a ride on his motorcycle. I literally went screaming thru the streets of Philadelphia. It was like riding a roller coaster.

Okay, we watched the movies at my sister Donna's in Hatboro, the condo which massively flooded about three months ago. Donna now has a whole new downstairs thanks to the flood money. Looks great. Here's her grandson Paddy tickling the ivories w/a jazz composition. Both Paddy and big bro Quinn have performed at the downtown restaurant Opera, where waiters often break out in opera tunes.

Much of the home movies focused on my niece Jade, now 23, who will be married in June. Watch for your invitation. Donna will do the calligraphy envelopes.

Donna used to babysit for Jade several times a week while her parents Lynn and Warren worked at the Now and Then Shop in New Hope.

It's extremely hard getting a decent photo off a moving screen.

You can barely see this beautiful lounging lady on Aunt Ethel's sofa in her living room. She has thick white hair and is talking on a phone with a chord. She also takes lithium for her manic-depression and it is slowly ruining her kidneys. She is 44 years old and is going to grad school to become a psychotherapist.

Ruth lives with her two children. Here's Daniel. In a moment he is going to slide down the banister. He is about 12 years old. When he is 13 he persuades his mom to have him fitted for contact lenses.

Here's Sarah, about 15 years old, doing her party trick of sticking a spoon on her nose.

Here's Ruth again with that thick white hair. On the wall above the couch is a framed poster of an aerial view of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Wonder where it is now.

Here's teenager Sarah at her grandmother's house. Donna and Cousin Melissa are in the b/ground.

Passover Seder at mom's house. I believe mom is 70 years old, a mere 19 yrs ago.

Donna, at the Seder, has always read the part in the Hagaddah of The Rebellious Son.

Jimmy's daughter Athena is bored out of her mind at the Seder. When Sarah and I left (Dan wasn't there), Sarah said on camera, Gbye Athena, sorry you didn't have a good time.

Lynn and Jade at the Seder table.

Paddy was asleep upstairs, but Quinn got to watch movies of himself as a little baby.

Hello baby Quinn, kick your feet for us, smile for us, coo for us. He did all things which you can't capture in this 'still' shot.

Family gathering in New Hope, PA - Part One

2012-01-29T01:11:00.030-05:00

Main Street, New Hope, PA

The famous Havana's restaurant. Imagine eating outside in January!

I just came back to life after going on the exercise bike for 17 minutes to work off one of the best dinners ever! My blood sugar is 116 after a meal that included at least six Girl Scout Cookies for dessert! And a dish of chocolate ice cream on the side.

The first newspaper article I got published in the old Philadelphia Evening Bulletin was on Girl Scout Cookies. The last two sentences were something like: Make mine Thin Mints. Please pass the milk.

Sarah was in town to help her cousin Jade w/the marriage vows she'll take w/ fiance Matt. This will be the first marriage Sarah will perform as an Internet minister.

I picked up my sister Donna and we drove to New Hope. Our plan was to eat in New Hope but then we decided it would be cheaper to eat at my sister Lynn's house and more delicious b/c Sarah would be the chef.

She made one of the most exquisite meals we'd ever eaten - a fish stew w/mussels, shrimp, scallops, mushrooms, and the delicious spice Tarragon.

For my beverage I chose a glass bottle of Perrier Sparkling Water. We all drank green tea.

Afterward, we drove to Donna's to watch Home Movies.

New Hope is famous for its small craft shops. What beautiful cowboy boots, Roy, Dale, Gene and Hopalong.

I give up! Don't shoot. Two guns yet! Hopalong was played by William Boyd, who his close friends like myself called just plain Bill.

The leather shop also sold hand-made knives inside, a nice addition to the American killing trade.

My sister Lynn once lived here on Waterloo Street w/then-husband Warren. They had a b'ful view of the Delaware River.

Warren now lives in Venice CA on a houseboat. In the Waterloo house Warren, a very creative and daring man, bot an Orbitron exercise machine for the back yard. B/c of its strange nature - it whirled you upside down - it was cemented into the ground.

It's still there, said Lynnie!

Careful of your pocket change when you flip upside down!

View of the Delaware River and the chain-link bridge to Lambertville, NJ.

Kidney pals, Sarah and Mom. Now we're at Lynn's condo in New Hope where she raised her two kids to adulthood - Jade and Miles. Miles is now studying in Madrid. Lives w/a wealthy family who have a cook. They're not allowed to speak English to Miles.

We hung out in the kitchen and helped Sarah make dinner by chopping parsley, and preparing the cauliflower and asparagus for baking.

Nikki's boys - Quinn and Paddy - watched TV dans le living. One show they watched was Home Run Derby. Never heard of it, did you? Another way of making money and wasting people's time instead of contemplating the nature of the universe and why we're here.

Bon nuit Paddy and Quinn.

Quinn likes to set the table. His full name is Quinn David Roche. Never knew his mil name was David. Probly named after my late brother.

Sarah ran eight miles this morning on the New Hope Towpath ending up in Stockton, NJ, and then running back. She said it was wonderful, really peaceful.

Oops! A lovely wine glass broke and Neil cleaned it up.

I had mussels for the first time. Delish! I'll buy em at the Giant from now on.

Thin mints, as good as they ever were. Samoans. Name changed to something forgettable.

Magic Eye Book.

Magic Eye is a series of books published by N.E. Thing Enterprises (renamed in 1996 to Magic Eye Inc.). The books feature autostereograms (precisely, random dot autostereogram), which allow people to see 3D images by focusing on 2D patterns. The viewer must diverge his or her eyes in order to see a hidden three-dimensional image within the pattern. (accdg to Wiki)

The moment you're able to 'see' the pattern change from flat to 3D is, like, WOW, I can't believe this is happening.

Find Sarah's book in Lynn's hallway book shelf.

Ah, here it is now. Every home with a child should have a copy.

Got our grant - Reactions to my new short story The Seminarian: Tommy boy on the Ladder of the World

2012-01-28T10:35:00.011-05:00

I'm sitting on my flowered couch typing yet another draft of my new short story - The Seminarian - when the phone rings. I see from the above photo she called at 2:35 pm.

I knew, of course, who it was, and why she was calling.

"Hi, this is Ruth," I said.

"This is Laura McKenna, and I have some very good news for you!"

"Wow, this is fantastic, Laura," I said.

She said the board of directors had met the day before and had discussed all the good work we do and were so impressed they would give us X amount for the next three years.

Whoopee!

"Be sure to tell your group about it," she said. "When's the next meeting?"

"Tuesday nite, January 31," I said.

I never know the date of the next meeting but I'd just uploaded our website.

As soon as I hung up, I went back to The Seminarian.

The story was inspired by a former member of our support group who was sexually molested by a 'brother' at LaSalle College.

In my original story, I have a fantastic end scene where Tommy Boy, the hero of our story, is molested by Father Monaghan his very first day at seminary.

My friend Martha, however, nixed the idea saying Ruth, most priests are fine, why ruin the b'ful story by something that rarely happens.

Well, I took her advice. But I still have the wonderful ending I had where Tommy Boy repulses the advances of the priest.

Can't decide which one to stick with.

Also reading the story was my devout Catholic friend Carolyn Constable, who loved it. She enjoyed one of the sex scenes that Tommy Boy had before he entered the priesthood. It was a Bill Clinton type scene, however, if you know what I mean.

Dan and Nicole were here this morning. They helped me unfriend someone on Facebook. A bipolar man with a big following who never pays any attention to anything I write him.

We also changed my Facebook photo. In the new photo, I look really terrible, but the truth is the truth.

Grace, 17 mos old, stands by the coffee table. Underneath the glass, I have old photos of The Three Demings, Ruth, Sarah and Dan. Les Trois, as I call us.

Dan showed me a photo of a meatloaf in the shape of a baby, made by his high school friend Laura.

At nite, I felt the need to go out and celebrate our successful grant. Who wrote the grant? My grantwriter , also the bringer of the Kidney to her mama: Sarah Lynn Deming!

Photo is a representation of a tomato pie and strawberry ice cream w/chocolate sauce.

I decided to go to Dunkin Donuts and bring home a cup of decaf and a donut. I went online and discovered donuts don't have too many carbs!

But on the way I passed a pizza place and thot, hmmm, you have five minutes to make up your mind.

When I got to Fitzwatertown and Easton Roads, I turned into Tony-Roni Pizza and ordered a slice of Tomato Pie and a glass of water. The pie had a delicious crisp crust and altho I enjoyed the sauce it obviously came out of a can and was not specially made.

They had no dessert, so I drove right across the street to a Chinese restaurant, where Walter and I used to go, and ordered strawberry ice cream to go.

At home I poured on my special - half the carbs but w/ no artificial ingredients which I never eat - Hershey's Syrup.

I ate the delicious ice cream while talking to Carolyn about The Seminarian.

Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Riding thru the Glen and other adventures near and far

2012-01-26T22:14:00.021-05:00

Thought I'd surprise Bill Hess, if he looks my way, with these superb photos I gleaned from his blog earlier today. Top shot is a man on the street. Below that are some of the luminaries in the photography world who appeared at a Photography Seminar Bill attended in NYC.

The rumpled guy on the right works for the Times and created their "Lens" photography blog.

Bill Hess has created one of the web's best photo-journals. He has 1230 friends on FB, 1100 more than I do.

I'll bet neither Bill nor You - anybody out there? - watched the old program The Adventures of Robin Hood, aired on British and American TV from 1955-60. Scott never heard of it. That's cuz he was three when the show went off the air.

The history of the show is fascinating, but first take a look at these photos I got off my telly:

Littlejohn is cutting Robin Hood's hair. Robin is played by handsome British actor Richard Greene - 1918 – 1985 - dead at 66 of cardiac arrest.

Friar Tuck, with his incredibly sweet face, died at age 46 of "an overdose."

Maid Marian, played by the lovely Patricia Driscoll, is still alive at age 84.

I chanced upon the program when I was on my lunch hour. My very demanding boss, Ruth Z Deming, gave me time off for an hour, and what better way to spend it than watching TV shows from my youth.

Producer of Robin Hood is a woman named Hannah Weinstein. An American journalist and political activist, she moved to London to avoid the anti-communist persecution and McCarthyism rampant in the US. She became a television producer and brought the once-popular but now waning-in-popularity Richard Greene a second chance to become a big star.

The series was a huge hit. Weinstein (1911-84) hired dozens of blacklisted American writers who ghost-wrote for the show. No wonder it was so good! All these writers, banished in their own countries by the hysteria of the day, had a second chance to do what they loved most: write!

My friend Ron Abrams took this serious shot of me when we went to Morris Arboretum a few years ago. He took lots of photos and gave them to me. I've used them ever since as postcards. In this case, I tucked one in the birthday envelope to my friend who is fainting away at The Artman Home.

I think, boys and girls, I'll go up and read the new selection for my library book club: Jacob's Room by VA Woolf.

I engage in such compartmentalization that I neglected to mention I finished another short story I've been working on for two days. I write myself notes such as:

show a bit more of his character in the beginning - what does he like, what's in in his BR.

Forgot to do dat. Tomro's anudder day and Helen and Larry are skiing in Boulder.

BPD Seminar at the Giant - Mom sees Dr Goldberg again - My anti-lithium comment on psych site

2012-01-25T16:26:00.014-05:00

Marsha Linehan, famous person w/borderline personality disorder. Read Times story here.

I love nothing better than putting on a special program at the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket. But, boy, those upstairs classrooms fill up fast.

Fortunately, we snagged Sat., Feb. 11, from 1 to 2:30 for our next presentation. The speaker is terrific! She and I gave a seminar one time at the Upper Moreland Public Library.

Here's the description I sent out to a dozen places who will then send it on to their large email lists:

Talya Lewis discusses her long struggle and ultimate victory over borderline personality disorder. This difficult condition includes self-injury, chaotic relationships, and fear of abandonment. Saturday, Feb. 11 from 1 to 2:30 pm at the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket, 315 York Road, Willow Grove, upstairs classroom. Free. Presented by New Directions Support Group.

Don't miss this candid and inspirational talk!

Talya presents workshops for mental health professionals in which she teaches techniques for understanding and responding to self-injury. A two-time guest on National Public Radio, she runs a support group for women with borderline personality. View her website here.

She is married and has three children.

I purposely missed Obama's State of the Union Speech last nite tho I did see excerpts when I watched the analysis on Charlie Rose. My god, how those liberals stick up for their man, and how the Republicans can't stand him.

Got an insight into my mother this morning, when Ellen and I drove her to the orthopedic doctor.

First of all, she wants to do things by herself. She doesn't want help. Very important to realize.

Goldberg gave her several diagnoses. We knew none of them and neither had her other doctors told her this. Goldberg is an orthopod, slang for orthopedic physician. Here's the def:

The branch of medicine that deals with the prevention or correction of injuries or disorders of the skeletal system and associated muscles, joints, and ligaments.

Just by looking at mom walk, he knew she had neuropathy in her feet - peripheral neuropathy. Her small blood vessels had closed up and she couldn't feel when her feet were landing on the ground!

He said she wasn't too bad yet b/c she was looking straight ahead and not on the floor.

I asked him to write down her diagnoses for us.

Here's Goldberg dictating the results of his visit to mom's doctor Jim Foxhall. He recommended Physical Therapy.

Smile, Aunt Ethel, I said to mom. She looks just like my Aunt Ethel who died at 91 or 92. And guess who I look like? Yep, Aunt Ethel.

It's so important to have the very best doctors you can. Mom got a winner with Richard A Goldberg, DO.

Stayed up till about 2 last nite sending my short story "Estelle" to several places hoping to get it published.

I subscribe to Clinical Psychiatry News and left a comment about lithium usage:

In my opinion, lithium should not be used longer than 10 years, according to research I have read. I run a support group in the Philadelphia area for people w/bipolar disorder - NewDirectionsSupport.org. Ten of us - all over 60 - have either had kidney transplants or are on dialysis. There are numerous other drugs that should be tried first. Why risk the LIFE of your patient? - Ruth Z Deming, MGPGP

Down Jenkintown Way

2012-01-24T14:57:00.014-05:00

Look, Ma! No snow.

Every couple of weeks I go to Quest Diagnostics (extreme left) to get lab tests for my new kidney.

Met a woman in the waiting room who asked me how I was doing. Fine, I said, I come to get tested after my kidney transplant.

Her sister, she said, has refused to go on dialysis.

I told her I understood, it really does a number on you. But, I cautioned, she should be on a kidney-healthy diet. I wrote down my name and phone no. and told her to call me.

Took a scenic stroll before I left for home. Am hardly up Jenkintown way, so, camera in hand, I walked up York Road.

This, my friends, is the old Strawbridge & Clothier Company. Look at its great art-deco lines and that little rotunda on the left.

Detail of rotunda. Am wondering if it used to be a restaurant. Let's do a little Internet research. It's been designated a Historic Landmark, which is why Outback Steakhouse and Morgan Stanley, among other companies, now reside there. It cannot be knocked down, we hope.

Designed by Herbert B Beidler, it's known as "the 1930s brand of modernism." Beidler had also designed The Bond Clothing Store in Cleveland which I definitely remember as I grew up there.

Stopped in at a lovely jewelry store - Beifeld Jewelry - where I was buzzed inside. Needed a new battery for the $21 watch I bought at Rite-Aid.

Next stop Dunkin Donuts for some delicious decaf.

Mmmm, the empty cup smells delicious. I wonder if I drink some hot water and sniff the cup if my brain will be fooled into thinking I'm drinking decaf.

Back in Cleveland, on the Mr Wizard show, he had a couple of kids on, one of whom was eating a slice of raw potato, thother holding an apple slice under the potato-eater's nose. Sure enuf, he thot he was eating an apple.

Please, Ruthie, no need to do research on Mr Wizard. Just get on w/the show.

This morning's prep for the cream of broccoli zoup.

Blend smoothly in my Oster Blender, age 37 years old. Bought it in TX for baby Sarah. Made all her baby food in there. And, yes, it still works beautifully.

Soup fini, with grated cheese and parsley.

The cheese grater is the best there is. It's probly 30 years old. Sarah made a beautiful still-life when she went to Abington Friends. Who the heck was her art teacher? Mine, at Byron Jr High in Shaker, was none other than Cinderella Paradiso!!! Wonderful wonderful teacher.

We love our teachers! They need better pay. It's probably the number one most important job in the world. Right, Nikki, Nicole, Roberto and other teacher friends of mine.

Hard to see, but there's a Susi garlic press, my wooden recipe box and a wooden spoon.

See you around.

Estelle - Crime at college - Anyone wanna try on my new wig?

2012-01-23T22:19:00.018-05:00

The new Giant gas station on York Road. $3.35 per gallon. In goes my Giant bonus card - you have no points, it says insultingly - and then in goes my credit card.

My sister Donna explained that you only get bonus points during a set time. Then it's a mad rush. So, Giant likes to play games. I guess they like excitement as much as the next guy.

Spent a few hours with Donna today. I surprised her by coming over in my new wig. Here she is trying it out.

Here I am in my $125 new wig. I wore it to the pharmacy and showed Bob the pharmacist when I picked up my diabetes paraphernalia.

"Can you tell I'm wearing a wig?" I asked him.

An older man w/a hearing aid was sitting in a nearby chair.

He nodded No.

I made a new friend in the produce aisle, tattooed young William, who knows a lot about food. I told him I was making cream of broccoli soup and he told me to saute it in rosemary and onions.

Donna also gave me some tips cuz she's a great cook.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling! Carlos Guerrero calling.

Here I am listening to Carlos on speaker-phone. I had Donna take a picture of me to see how fat I am. She also brewed me a couple cups of delicious Starbucks Decaf.

Carlos is a long-time friend of our family, as is his artist wife Barbara Postel. She's gonna have an exhibit at the Lambertville Coryell Gallery.

I told Carlos that one of the characters in my novel is named Angel Guerrero. Like Carlos, he's from Ecuador.

Carlos loved that! Writers make use of every bit of knowledge that passes us by, even if we're not paying attention to it.

Donna discovered this new cereal. Did you know that the original Mr. Kellogg made nothing but healthy cereals?
Ah, here's Will Keith Kellogg now from Battle Creek, Michigan. As a Seventh-Day Adventist, he was a vegetarian and lived to be 91 years of age.

That's a year older than Estelle, the character of my new short story. I sent it to three people for their review. "Claire" wrote me back with some great feedback.

I willed myself to write the story last nite, Sunday nite. I began around 8 pm. I had no idea what the next sentence would be, but it flowed fairly easily. It's not a great story, but it's pretty good. The more stories I write, the better I'll get. Remember, Grandma Moses - Anna Mary Robertson Moses - began her career at an advanced age.

I do have an assignment for tonite. I was gonna write another short story, this time about a friend of mine, "Craig Norton," who wanted to be a priest. He attended La Salle College and was sexually assaulted by a brother. My friend Claire, a devout Catholic, said her brother was also approached and knew other young men as well. She said there's a lawsuit under way, but Craig's assaulter died many many years ago of a heart attack. I know he wouldn't be interested b/c it dredges up horrible memories.

Claire told me to forget the short story. Write some more poems. She loves my poems and wants to see them published. So, if you'll excuse me, it's Poem Time. Shall I brew myself some decaf now?

So many good movies to watch and so little time, right Judy? Added bonus: Today's politics are like a bad movie you wanna leave but can't

2012-01-22T12:15:00.037-05:00

My friend Judy Diaz and I love to talk about movies, politics, gardening, and food. We were on the phone last nite when the SC primary returns were coming in. We were flabbergasted that the racist prevaricator Gingrich won.

Hey, when times are tough, politicians conjure up scapegoats. Why dyou think Hitler, from Austria, was so successful? Bit by bit he raised his voice against the Jews and the desperate jobless population followed his every hysterical word.
America, according to Gingrich, is being adulterated [sic] by the poor, especially the blacks, and the voters in the Palmetto State, none of whom do their research, are swayed by the snake-oil salesman that is Gingrich, who made a fortune doing the work of a lobbyist.

Before I go to sleep at nite, I actually think about these outrageous things that are taking down our country: the creeps who are running for president, and Obama, who is the plaything of the corporations.

We are owned by corporations. The little guy has absolutely no say.

David Stockman, former budget director under Reagan, who disagreed w/his boss's fiscal policies, was a guest last night on the Bill Moyers Show. I'll end my political rant w/a quote from Stockman, b. 1946, found on Wiki:

The Republican Party has totally abdicated its job in our democracy, which is to act as the guardian of fiscal discipline and responsibility. They're on an anti-tax jihad -- one that benefits the prosperous classes.

Oops, one more rant. Democracy? Try plutocracy.

*

Because I subscribe to Top Documentary Films, I watched a British documentary called Curiosity: Did God Create the Universe? It was narrated by Stephen Hawking, the great cosmologist/thinker, who is now 70 years of age.

For the first time, while watching "Curiosity" I minorly understood the theory of the Big Bang, which is neatly explained by a law of physics called negative energy. I will watch it again b/c I'm supremely interested in quantum physics and alternate universes. Scott knows a lot about this and helps explain it to me.

The film begins with these words:

Hello, my name is Stephen Hawkings, physicist, cosmologist, and something of a dreamer. Although I cannot move and I have to speak through a computer, in my mind I am free.

Do you think it's true, that as Dr Martin Luther King said, "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice"

There's a lot of violence going on in the billions upon billions of galaxies up there, but of course they're not sentient beings as we are.

Hawking concludes by saying the Universe created itself. Time began with the Big Bang. Had God created the Big Bang and the immutable laws that govern the universe, he would have had no time to do so, since Time did not exist before the universe was created.

The universe spontaneously created itself.

Sadly, said Hawking, this leads me to believe there is no heaven or afterlife. We've got to appreciate the Grand Design of the Universe while we are here, and for that I am very grateful.

Last nite, Scott and I watched a great film on Channel 12: Shake Hands with the Devil, a 1959 flick set in 1921 Dublin about the Irish Revolution.

Great cast starring James Cagney - Don Murray, still alive at 82 - Glynis Johns, still alive at 88 - and Dana Winter, who passed this year at 79.

Richard Harris played a true hero.

Unforgettable scene with Cagney and Dana Wynter. Cagney played a man w/two faces: a master surgeon who saved people's lives and a brutal member of the IRA who loved nothing more than killing people. Will he succeed in killing Dana Wynter? Or will Richard Harris, as he promised, save her?

This morning we watched The Great Gatsby, a beautifully photographed film starring Robert Redford, Mia Farrow and Sam Waterston.

Mia Farrow as the shallow, wooed-by-riches Daisy who literally gets away w/murder. "You know rich girls can't marry poor boys," she said to Jay Gatsby who truly loved her.

Well, Gatsby, who pompously called everyone "old sport," worked his way up in the world - behold his castle - never mind that he was a bootlegger - and won his Daisy over for a little while, but she was a prudent woman and went back to her philandering husband.

How lucky can a snowed-in girl get? While preparing dinner, I watched this sci fi thriller on Channel 17. Maybe there is a god after all.

Help! Help! It's coming our way.

Poor Leo G Carroll (five bonus points if you remember what TV show he was in) is a scientist who invented a growth hormone that created the grotesquely huge insect w/ toxic venom.

John Agar also starred. His acting career got off to a good start but then he was relegated into B movies, like this one, which is quite good.

Mara Corday is the exquisitely beautiful assistant of Leo Carroll and GF of Agar. A life-long friend of Clint Eastwood - they're both 81 or 82 - he got her stalled career back on track again.

Delicious bean soup w/ veggies and grated cheddar on top.

What did You do on this First Day of Snow?

2012-01-21T14:05:00.027-05:00

First thing I did today, rightly or wrongly, was cancel our Writer's Group. I'd gotten an email from our Township saying Stay off the Roads.

The roads are fine. But Carly wrote back saying, Good, I'll just snuggle up under my blanket and have another cup of coffee.

I plan to watch movies with Scott. Last nite we watched The Perfect Storm, a true story starring Geo Clooney and Mark Wahlberg. The title, according to Wiki, is: A powerful hurricane or other major weather disturbance, especially as produced by a combination of meteorological conditions.

Classified as a disaster movie, it was absolutely thrilling. I was a nervous wreck as the "Andrea Gail" fishing boat - piloted by the unlucky, impulsive Clooney - began breaking up under the ravages of the hurricane and two other fearsome squalls - but Scott was totally nonchalant.

This morning, while watching last nite's Charlie Rose Show on my laptop, Dan called. Gee, I hadn't realized my phone was an AT&T.

He arranged for a conference call for les trois - the three Demings!

Sarah is working on our Kidney Memoir and wanted Dan's impressions of when she boxed in the Golden Gloves at Madison Square Garden and got a bloody nose. She lost but felt victorious cuz her opponent was so much better than my little girl was.

I remember when the announcer introduced Sarah, mentioning she'd been a comp lit major at Brown, [with a minor in religion].

Since Dan, Sarah and I would be on the phone for a while, I hopped on my exercise bike and pedaled for 25 minutes.

Talking to my kids was even better than riding to The Rifleman or two great Rockford Files I saw recently. One time Rockford got locked up in an insane asylum, a positively brilliant episode.

Here's how I looked when I got off the horse:

Then I brewed myself two cups of 12 O'Clock Coffee, A and P's brand, which had been sitting in my fridge a good three years or so. It was delicious!!!

Yesterday, my sisters Ellen and Donna met at the Starbucks on County Line Road where Donna works. I had their delicious strong decaf and Donna gave us a sample taste of their new Blonde Roast, which they came up with to compete with Dunkin Donuts.

After one sip, I turned to Donna and said, "Are you f'ing kidding me? This doesn't even taste like coffee."

The Charlie Rose Show featured another installment of his fantastic Brain Series, this time on the strange occurrence of loss of ability to recognize objects, persons, sounds, shapes, or smells while the specific sense is not defective nor ... this from Wiki.

The great Nobelist Eric Kandel was moderator. He's 82 and won the 2000 prize for his research on the physiological basis of memory storage in neurons.

When I was 19 and at Goddard College, two friends and I took a mescaline trip. I can still see what I then believed was the way memory storage worked: very fast flipping through tiny cards like in a Rolodex. Actually, that is how the memory works, according to the show. We compare new memories with old ones.

Artist Chuck Close has a form of anosias. He has difficulty remembering faces, including a woman he lived with for two years. He said he's "driven" to paint people's faces.

It would be overwhelming, he said, unless he broke up the painting - which may take as long as a year to complete - into small sections, hence his using tiny dots to complete the painting.

Here's one he did of my cousin Mark:

Oops! That my pharmacist Dr. Bob. They still owe me 60 tabs of tacrolimus, my chief antirejection med, but I've got plenty.

Several years ago, my family and I went to an opening at the DC Moore Gallery to view Mark's most recent work. Afterward, my sisters Donna and Ellen, Mark's mom Aunt Selma, then 89, and I visited Chuck Close's studio. I blogged about it w/great photos but apparently it was on my old blog. Chuck showed us his amazing wheelchair which he had specially made.

Another shot of Chuck Close taken at close range from my Acer laptop, which has at least two teaspoons of food between the keys.

Some people have mezuzas by their door, which I do at my front door, but I have photos of the kids as talismans by the family room door.

Snow view.

Ken the mailman came on time. I threw all my "mail" away.

When's the last time YOU got any good mail?

Have you been to the new Jewish Museum?

2012-01-19T23:35:00.030-05:00

As a gift for my 66th birthday, Ada and Rich Fleisher took me to the new National Museum of Jewish History at Independence Mall. What a treat!

Photos not allowed in museum, only at entry way. Here's the all-important stair way. We were advised to start on the fourth floor and work ourselves down.

There was so much to see we only finished the third floor!

Since it was Weds., there weren't too many people. Suddenly I saw a rush of people come in, definitely not Jewish.

I asked one of them who they were. She was from a nearby company and a dozen people came for "Diversity Day." Pretty cool, huh?

The museum is built on a tiny corner. Looks like it's made all of glass. Even the stairways are see-through.

They have a little theater with continually playing movies - some narrated by the great singer-actor Mandy Patinkin - where we got to see greats from the Yiddish theater in New York and vaudeville.

I'd never seen Eddie Cantor before. Peppy little guy who could dance and sing. I was trying to catch a brief nap while sitting down, but Cantor energized me and I kept jerking awake.

Eddie Cantor from 1923.

Here's Fanny Brice, hitherto known only by Streisand's performance of Brice in Funny Girl.

Oops, that's Baby Grace who is now a year and a half.

Fanny Brice (1891-1961). Fania Borach was her real name. Popular comedienne, singer, performer.

The Jewish Museum's theater reminded us of The Stoogeum - the Three Stooges Museum in Ambler. The Stooges also appeared in the cavalcade of Jewish stars.

At closing time at the museum, we raced downstairs to the fantastic gift shop.

I took photos so I could gaze upon them in the privacy of my home, wearing PJs for comfort and warmth, and drinking hot water to keep me warm. Brrr-cold out today. Right, Bill?

Menorahs for Chanukah, the Festival of Lights. Hello Judah Maccabee, resistance hero.

I love gift shops. When Donna and I drove to Cleveland, we stopped at the Maltz Museum and their superb gift shop.

My purchases. Gave Scott a refrigerator magnet. Bought an extra one. If anyone wants it, send me an email and it's yours.

Now, b/c I'm an insulin-dependent person with diabetes, I had to plan for the entire day. Here's a note I have on my kitchen bulletin board:

I still forget I have diabetes, so while we were viewing some Rebecca Gratz paraphernalia - her tiny nail scissors, tea service - I remembered, OMG, it's been four hours since I ate.

This means that my blood sugar has probly fallen too low. I began to panic, but quickly stopped myself. I had checked my pocketbook in the coat room so didn't have any glucose tabs or Triscuits, but knew that since the museum would be closing soon, I'd retrieve my pocketbook and scarf down the rye Triscuits, eating the cheese with them for a quasi-complete meal.

Reminder: Always carry Glucose tabs in your pocket just in case!

The dinner gong went off. Rich found a superb restaurant online - La Scala at Sixth and Chestnut.

Everyone loved their food. I chose a pork chop - why not? first reform synagogue was in Cincinnati Ohio - you didn't need to keep kosher, we learned that at the museum. The waiter, Dan, assured me it would be tender.

We shared our appetizers. Within three minutes of eating, I bit my tongue - it was horribly painful, but I kept on talking and didn't let on.

What's the strongest muscle in the body? The jaw muscles to tear apart our carnivorous desires.

Blackout! - It worked!

2012-01-18T12:49:00.007-05:00

I don't know about you, but I find the Internet Blackout almost as exciting as when Obama was elected.

Look at how clever the Internet artists are. Think fast! It's a Rorschach test.

Google is wearing a pirate's patch over its eye.

My Mozilla Thunderbird wears widow's weeds.

Hail Jimmy Wales, founder of Wikipedia.

Yes yes Verizon! - No no Republican Candidates - Give me movies to forget about the sorry state of our country

2012-01-17T17:34:00.018-05:00

Last nite, I had a difficult time. I did three things simultaneously, all in my bedroom. My blood sugar was really high, so I watched a terrific Rifleman while biking, and brot my blood sugar down 40 points.

Also watched the Republican debates on my laptop which rested atop my pillow. Charles Blow of the Times has a great editorial about the hypocrisy, elitism, racism, and total lack of compassion in the candidates.

I was riveted to the screen, thinking, "These people are Americans?"

Was also watching the White House celebration of Martin Luther King day. Roll the photos, Ruthie!

Was also working on Chapter 12 of my kidney memoir. Emailed it to my boss this morning (Sarah) who wrote back, "Wow, this is fabulous, Mom."

Believe it or not, I'm on the phone now w/a recorded announcement from Verizon. Joe came out this morning and fixed both my phones, while rendering next-door boyfriend Scott's phone out-of-order.

"They're incompetent!" Scott shouted when I visited him.

Verizon is coming out tomro b/c I've had so many "issues" and they're installing new phone lines for Scott and me, for free.

Verizon has a lot of money, explained Jeff, my Verizon "consultant," when he explained the situation to me.

I only pretended to understand what they're gonna do.

Joe found one squirrel living in the cable box. He removed it, so the squirrel must find a new home.

Hey! What's that scratching I hear on my chimley?

While stepping outside to pick up my Whig at Faith and Hope Boutique, I saw the most amazing sight.

The Fox was nonchalantly crossing Cowbell Road. He didn't have a care in the world. Beautiful posture. Very unlike a dog.

I used to read my kids a book called "The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night" by Peter Spier. Here are the names I goggled before I remembered Spier:

Peter Spickel, Peter Piers, Peter Spier.

Spier, born in 1927 in Holland, is half-Jewish. He was in a concentration camp in what is now the Czech Republic.

Most of the info on my blog is gotten from Wikipedia. They're having a blackout on Wednesday, Jan. 17, tomorrow, to protest a vote our US Congress will take that affects the future of the Internet for us free Americans.

Frankly, I don't know what it's about. I'm waiting for Wiki to tell us. Story from the Times.

"Diabetes Still Life."

Sunday's chili was so good, I made another batch this morning. In addition to dried kidney beans, I used some old chick peas I had in the cupboard, left over from when I was on my kidney-healthy diet.

Visited Mom and Ellen this morning. Mom applauded my use of chick peas, telling me they're very healthy. Wish Mom were healthy. She told me her three major complaints which are certainly whoppers.

Great article in the Times about the last film George Lukas - of Star Wars' fame - will make before he retires to making his own kind of films, personal films, not slated to make tons of money. His last film is called "Red Tails" and is about the Tuskegee Airmen, classic underdog heroes who despite despicable treatment from their own country, performed courageously under fire during WW2, giving their lives for their country.

Is it my imagination or are more people escaping into watching movies? The front page of The Times is frequently filled w/movie news.

While biking - yet again - this time at Scott's house - my sugar was 180 but went down to 80 - I watched American Masterpiece on PBS - a multi-part series on Warner Brothers Film.

Scott was in the kitchen eating lunch. He had just "lifted" in the basement, preserving those big muscles that look so neat. I always tell him to wear a short-sleeve shirt so people can see them but "vanity, thy name is not Scott."

Write that down, Scott, I said about the following films, and we'll get em at the library.

The Color Purple - Spielberg steps out of his familiar future genres
The Unforgiven - Clint Eastwood
Three Kings - violent George Clooney movie about Iraq

Oops, that's Fra Angelico's Three Kings.

I know you'll miss me when I'm gone, but gotta get ready for our New Directions meeting. Must put the guest speaker's flowers in the car.

Verizon man cometh! - Party: Chili, shrimp cocktail, plus food from guests - Ron Rosenbaum Blue Box article

2012-01-15T21:58:00.019-05:00

I found this handy stainless-steel table at curbside on the bottom of my street. The guy who lives there, w/his family and two chihuahuas, said the table had gone to college w/his daughter and she's now married w/ kids.

Whenever I leave home I put what I need on the table top. And forget it anyway.

When 17-month-old Grace came over this morning, we found she had crawled onto the bottom shelf and didn't know to get out!

I couldn't believe it, but Nicole assured me, No, she can't figure it out. Finally, she did, and then, according to Nicole, she did her "fake fall" below.

Grace is so fast you can't blink your eyes or she'll get into mischief.

I was all prepared for my party today. Here's my partial guest list:

T.J. Although his family hails from India, he's lived all over the country and has what sounds like a broad midwestern accent. His wife couldn't come cuz she's recovering from a cold.

Margaret, also from India, demonstrated her iPhone to us Luddites. "Look at the way she swipes her finger over the screen," I yelled in amazement. Margaret enjoyed my vegetarian chili using dried kidney beans and navy beans.

She brot healthy snax: celery and carrot sticks, both low in carbs.

Ann Gaugler is part of the Red Cross Disaster Relief team. She's been around the world including to Katrina in New Orleans, which she described at the party. She particularly remembers one old couple whose house stunk from mildew and were awaiting the insurance adjusters: the people who hold the reins of power in this country and make a huge profit from denying people what is rightfully theirs.

I said, Why doesn't the US military go down there and clean the place up? Of course, that makes too much sense, rules and regs prohibiting it, but it would certainly make sense. Hold on, I'll send Obama an email.

Just did it using this website.

Scott came over after all six of us were gathered today. After he came, we had a lively political discussion. When talking about politicians his fave expression is "he's a fraud." Oh, not you, Mr. Obama, certainly not you. Especially b/c you're gonna send the troops who were stationed in Iraq down to Louisiana to fix the ravages of the hurricane.

Linda came late, bearing gifts of red apples and string cheese. I set em up on a living room chair - ever the great hostess! - w/a scissors to cut into the cheese and a k-nife for apple slices.

I only had one apple slice since it's high in carbs and really does a no. on my blood sugar.

I kept the storm door open during the party cuz I like a lot of light.

"Here comes your Verizon man," said Scott who could see outside.

I went out to greet Ed. He's working on Sunday b/c there's so much work to do on account of the high winds we had last week. He lives in Southampton but keeps his Verizon truck with the other herd behind Carr & Duff on Byberry Road.

I told him both my phones went out. He went out back to check and then returned with the diagnosis.

The problem was caused by a family of squirrels who had made a nest in the thick black plastic cable.

Ed tapped the cable w/a long pole before he clumb up and The Verizon Squirrel Family quickly evacuated the nest. They had chewed up the phone wires real bad, said Ed. Yum! Nothing so delicious as vibrating phone wires. Feels good on my teeth. I get to sharpen them that way. And my claws too.

Ed speaks the language of the squirrels.

He'll be out tomorrow and I don't even have to be home.

Tomro is Martin Luther King Day. No mail. They played great songs on the rad today in honor of MLK including Sam Cook's posthumous hit "A Change is Gonna Come . He died at age 33 in a motel shooting in CA that is still disputed today.

All this broken phone talk reminded me of one of the best articles I've ever read: Ron Rosenbaum's "Secrets of the Little Blue Box" in a 1971 Esquire magazine. I lived in TX at the time and was employed as a secretary by Herbert G Tigner. It's the story of some clever teenagers - many of them blind - who outfoxed Ma Bell and figgered out how to make long distance calls for free.

There are 71 comments so far. I just HAD to comment. Remember, process your emotions.

Goggle blogger won't let me put in the link. But you can copy and paste it if you wish. I'll try again tomro. Sometimes goggle is just plain tired and needs a good nite's sleep.

http://www.slate.com/articles/technology/the_spectator/2011/10/steve_jobs_and_the_little_blue_box_how_ron_rosenbaum_s_1971_arti.html

Hey Mr. Verizon Man!

2012-01-14T18:59:00.010-05:00

This photo I snagged off the Internet looks like it could be in my own neighborhood. I keep an orange hazard cone near my driveway so people can find my house. Don't American neighborhoods look mostly the same?

Both my telephones are on the fritz!

The New Directions phone is downstairs. I keep it off the hook so I won't hear it ring. Some people call at 3 am wanting to know who the guest speaker is.

That was bad enough, but then my Ruth Deming phone wouldn't work either!

Mr. Verizon is coming out on Monday sometime from 9 am until 5 pm. I'll either be right here in the living room on the computer or I'll be riding my exercise bike upstairs.

A frantic man I'll call Xavier Shottenstein called the ND line.

His area code was 215, same as mine.

I called him from my cellphone.

Hello, I said, is Xavier there please?

Xavier? There's no Xavier here.

Is this 215-333-3333?

No, said the woman. This is the 717 area code. You've reached the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

Amazing, I said. Sorry to have bothered you.

Someone's wires are crossed and they sure aren't mine.

Whenever it's windy, Scott's phone wouldn't work. This went on for a couple of years.

It was very windy thother day so I guess it's my turn.

I spose you're wondering what my next brilliant move is.

Well, I made the chili for tomro's party and now I'm gonna make yogurt for myself. That Chobani Greek yogurt is, like, a couple dollars for one lousy bucket.

It'll be ready at 7 am tomro, a continuation of a 4,000-year-old tradition that began in the Middle East, Here o Israel, the Lord our God is One, Sh'ma Yisrael.

Oh, I didn't know you were Jewish, Ruthie!

Clang! Clang! Here comes #9 down the track!

2012-01-14T14:54:00.027-05:00

Scott and I drove to a very well-attended train show in Richboro, straight down Route 232, which deadends in New Hope, or, if you're former anchor woman Jessica Savitch, deadends by your date driving into the Delaware Canal.

I know New Hope and Route 232 quite well as it's where my dad had his famous head shop - the Now and Then Shop - and it's where I met my ex-husband who is singing hosannas in the afterlife.

The Abington Lines Clubhouse, as it's called, is owned by the train club. They bought it when it was a run down "biker's bar," said the woman who greeted us at the door.

In fact, the place had a funny smell to it - I'm sure Scott didn't notice - but it smelled like something greasy was cooking.

All different sorts of people were there. I tried to get a shot of a man w/a long ponytail who brot his two kids, but he moved at the last moment.

The tiny quarters were absolutely filled up w/trains, small ones, small gauges they're called. Scott's absolutely awesome train set takes up most of his basement and is the larger gauge Lionel.

Volunteers manned different posts around the tracks. Most of the volunteers were 60-yo or older, except for Connor, below.
Hi Connor of Wrightstown, PA, home of the Grange Fair. At 13, Connor wasn't allowed in the club - 14 is the minimum age - but he wrote them a letter and got in. Victor, who I believe is 8, also got in.

I commended him on his interest in trains and told him Scotty works on trains at SEPTA.

At Fern Rock? he asked.

I explained that Scott works in the "carhouse" in Upper Darby. When they fix a train they pull it over a "pit" and then get underneath to fix the wires.

I asked a couple of volunteers what these lights were for and no one knew. That's when Connor piped up and told me.

Here's a night-time scene right out of a film noir movie.

Last night Scott and I watched a Disney classic cartoon from his huge assortment of videos and DVDs.

Made in 1937 for a lil over $1 million, it brought in $184 million for Disney studios. It was the first full-length feature cartoon made in America.

Tonite we're gonna watch Cinderella. Fairy tales such as these introduce children to the harsh realities of life but also show that goodness, perseverance and luck win out in the end. The same cannot necessarily be said for real life. Just ask Jessica.

Carnival. Connor was in charge of this beautiful circus and carnival.

What I like about this is that it's an action picture. The man is hauling stuff into the garage and something is going on upstairs. Connor? What's happenin' upstairs? Look like kids in school.

Another action shot. Train passing in background. This looks like some sort of quarry, doesn't it?

Here's a great shot of a kid whose dad took him to see the trains.

"Dyou have trains at home?" I asked.

"No, but Pop-Pop does."

Couldn't resist taking this shot of a junkyard. One time a guy at Biello's let me wander around his junkyard looking at the graveyard of all the old deceased cars. Is it a stretch comparing organ donation - of which I'm a lucky recipient - to getting a slightly used car part?

Not on the life of your holy kidney it ain't!

Look at this old Fox Theater. The movie is "Maru Maru" starring Errol Flynn and Ruth Roman. Bosley Crowther of the Times dismissed it back in 1952.

Sorry, these stunning shoes are no longer available from the NYC-based Franklin Simon women's clothing store (1902-1979).

Skyscrapers, artfully lit.

Hey, is that her real hair? Faith and Hope Boutique Shop in Abington, PA

2012-01-13T13:12:00.012-05:00

"Hello, may I help you?" said Jennifer, above, when I walked through the door.

"Yes, I have an appt with Bonnie. Is she here?"

"Sure," she said and went to get Bonnie. I noticed Jennifer walked rather stifffly as if she were a mannikin, but certainly that's impossible unless I'm living in THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

Ah, here's Bonnie now. She and her sister own the store which is on Guernsey Avenue a few blocks from Abington hospital. One of my dtr/law's friends lives on the street. I think I saw their house b/c the porch was filled with toys.

Ruth with shiny clean hair and patches of hair loss where my antirejection med Prograf has shorn me of my own hair.

What fun it was trying on wigs!

Both Bonnie and volunteer Kristin helped me pick out a beautiful wig plus a good hair color. The wig is being ordered now and should arrive at Faith and Hope in a week.

Their wigs are made from synthetic material. Mine cost about $135.

Can't wait!

Oh, dig this! When I was ready to leave, Kristin said she saw an Abington cop "chalking" my tires to make sure I left w/i the hour time limit posted on the street.

Sneaky sonuvagun!

Guest column published: Become an Organ Donor

2012-01-12T20:40:00.016-05:00

Read it first, read it here.

I'm so self-conscious about my hair falling out from my antirejection med Prograf that I got it professionally styled for the photo in the Intell.

My neighbor Nancy cut it out for me. Just visited her and her nonstop barking dog Kailie. It's a beautiful misty night. Mist. That's low cloud cover, right Simon? Oops, I forgot you're dead.

Ran our support group meeting at the Giant this morning cuz Helen is outa town. Nine people. We did great work. People don't even call us. They read about us on the Net and just show up.

"Hi, my name is Ruth," I said to the group, "and I'll be your discussion leader today."

I didn't know anyone who was there!

Now, I think I'm a very effective leader. I get as much info as I can about the person and scribble it on my pad of the day. In today's case, From the desk of Philip M. McInerney, a 'second' from one of my printers. I changed the name cuz I don't want my printer to get in trouble.

So the group is going on, people are filtering in - don't you hate when people come late? - one newcomer had a good excuse, he couldn't find the place - and then suddenly this new woman Diane says, "Wait a minute, you're not Ruth DEMING are you?"

"Yes," I said. "You should be able to tell if I'm a good discussion leader w/o knowing that I run New Directions."

Reminds me of a story the late guitarist Les Paul told about meeting then-unknown Jimi Hendrix. He knew the guy was akin to genius. You don't need a big name to know if someone's any good. Use your own powers of discernment. Trust yourself.

Yesterday was Ada's Monthly Outing. We had lunch first at Phil's Tavern. Meet Ed, a very interesting man.

I liked his shiny blue eyes.

Rich Fleisher sent me an article from the Times in defense of Obama. Unfortunately Goggle Blogger won't let me post it - they frequently goof! Beautiful Peggela is in the middle. Haven't seen her in many moons. Barbara is studying the huge menu on the right.So, we get to the Ambler Movie Theater, a choice of three movies.

I choose the George Clooney film, The Descendants, and sit next to Gerri.

I am a tough critic. I expect the best. It starts out in Hawaii. Frankly, the only movies I like about Hawaii are Five-O w/the late Jack Lord.

Within a couple of seconds, I start having that bad feeling inside....bad movie. It only gets worse. I pick up my pocketbook

My pocketbook is actually a bag I got when I signed up for Blue Cross supplemental insurance in addition to Medicare. I don't like advertising other people's products so I painted it.

I whispered to Gerri, "I don't like the movie, I'm leaving."

Then I raced into Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

The previews were finishing up so I got there just in time.

Excellent movie. As we all walked to the car, we were discussing the film. The only person who really understood it was Ada. We all looked it up when we got home. Thank you, Wiki.

Am gonna be up a while as I'm trying to find a publisher for my novel. As I mentioned, someone is reading it, but if they reject it I wanna have Plan B.

Kidney Clinic: A Support Group of Two, very very cool! - delicious chicken dinner coming up!

2012-01-10T12:29:00.027-05:00

Just hung up this acrylic by Patrick Otis Cox that I bought when he and wife Yin came to my New Year's Day Party. It goes w/my lavender living room walls.

It was so cold this morning I actually heated up my car before I stepped inside. I hate being cold. Now it's lovely outside. Sunny and 45.

When I go to Kidney Clinic, I always park on West 13th Street. It's free. About a 12-minute walk.

I had a 9 am appt. There were only half a dozen people there including a man who was sound asleep in a chair. I pulled out my terrific Christopher Hitchens book and began reading. This is an autobiography of Hitch, considered by many the best essay writer of our time.

He went to Oxford University and knew Bill Clinton, who he calls a 'professional liar' and always has some other incredibly awful things to say about him.

Soon a tall man walked in, sat down and began chatting with his neighbors. Fortyish, he was "three months in" from his kidney transplant.

The sleeping man awoke.

"Lance, is that you?" I asked.

Sure enough, it was Lance. We'd met May 31, per my blog post.

After our vitals are taken, we're sent back to the examining rooms.

Lance and I sat in opposite rooms and were able to talk.

It is so fantastic to be able to share my story - and have Lance share his - this is why there are support groups.

The great news for me is that the numbers for my BK virus went down dramatically. I called my daughter Sarah the minute I got home to tell her.

My creatinine is 1.1.

Blood levels BK...786...down from 12,000 (it used to be in the millions)

Urine levels BK...321,000...down from 1,700,000

A new young nephrology "fellow" came in to see me.

"You look Chinese," I said to him, "but you have an Indian name."

"I'm from Thailand!" said Dr. Kawin (his first name, pronounced KAH-win).

I told him my daughter had been to Thailand and loved it. She bought me a beautiful jacket and paid only $40 for it. Thanks to neighbor Nancy Myers for taking the photo.

He agreed the things are really inexpensive. In Feb., Kawin will work in Boston. He wants to be a Transplant Nephrologist.

That reminds me that we have several French-Thai restaurants around here I have yet to try.

Lance and I were sharing stories about diabetes. Since he's a duo-transplant - kidney and pancreas - he apparently no longer has diabetes.

BTW, my A1C was normal, which is a miracle. That's cuz I see-saw from high to low.

The phone just rang. "Caller unknown," it said. I thought they might be calling from Kidney Clink so I answered it.

"Is Mr or Mrs Deming there?" she asked.

"What dyou want?" I asked.

"We represent Chimney Cleaning (I didn't catch the name, darn!)"

"I'm not interested, but good luck and have a nice day," I said.

"Bitch!" she said.

"You're a bitch!" I yelled.

I was so proud of myself b/c I'm a really nice person and I was able to talk back.

Naturally I tried to find the company she was calling from and left a message at Suburban Chimney Company. Michelle just called me to 'apologize' for a woman who used to work for them and took a lot of names with her when she left.

Okay, on w/the show.

Lance and I are sharing lo-blood sugar stories. Before he got his pancreas t'plant, he had many lows. We all do. One time he passed out. Luckily his wife Michelle found him and called 911. They knew just what to do.

I told Lance about my worst low, thother nite, when my sugars went down to 43. I said I was gobbling every carb in sight and my mind was in tatters, not thinking well at all.

Lance said when he had one of his lows and his mind wasn't functioning right, he actually injected himself w/insulin.

OMG I shouted, totally understanding how that can happen.

He said that whenever we're low, we always overeat, we don't need that many carbs and then we swing the other way.

So true.

I have a code written on my kitchen bulletin board.

The reason Lance was sleeping in the waiting room is b/c he comes all the way from Lyndhurst, NJ, and leaves at 4:30 or 5:30 in the a.m. b/c he has to contend with traffic going to Manhattan. Hope I got that right, Lance.

And I complain about leaving home at 8:20 a.m.

Dr Kawin, the nephrology fellow, said he got his medical degree in Thailand.

I asked if it was difficult to t'fer credits and he said No. That's b/c for a while America had a shortage of doctors, so they made it much easier for doctors to come to America.

My nephrologist for the day was Dr Gitana Bradauskaite, a very knowledgeable woman w/ beautiful long hair, orig. from Lithuania.

We were talking about Prograf making my hair fall out. She named some other antirejection meds that might not have that side effect - including cyclosporine (its generic name), which is an earlier version of Prograf (tacrolimus), and something called Rapamune (Sirolimus), which she likes very much.

"Your body either likes them or can't take them," she said.

I'll stick w/my Prograf and my Women's Rogaine.

Was wondering what I'd eat for dinner and then I remembered I'm defrosting - not to be confused with deforesting, which is what the unconscionable corporations do - a huge turkey breast I got from points accumulated at the Giant Supermarket.

Before I left for Kidney Clink this morning I left Scott a message. "Please bring me your big roasting pan." I left the oven door open and when I got home, sure enuf there was the pan.

I'm using Scott's recipe for the breast - mayo and mustard - plus I added balsamic vinegar and chili powder. I hand-basted it since I'm a bread-baker and don't mind getting my hands dirty.

That reminds me that Lance, my kidney buddy, used to be a chef! But his friends at Verizon persuaded him to go there, so now he's the guy that climbs up poles and down into holes. His body is as good as new!

Driving home from Clinic down Old York Road, I saw a familiar bright blue Nissan with what seemed like very familiar bumper stickers. Sure enough it was Nicole, my dtr/law, with Grace in the back seat.

We pulled up neck and neck. "Look, Grace," said Nicole, "there's Bubby!"

Grace, of course, was in the car seat on her Elmo.

Grace, how come you're so cute!

Low blood sugar attack - describing the indescribable

2012-01-08T19:42:00.011-05:00

While it's fresh in my mind, let me try to describe how it feels to have a low blood sugar attack. It's often the subject of the online diabetes websites I read.

I've had numerous attacks. They are dangerous. You can go into a coma.

Two nites ago I woke up from a deep sleep, drenched in sweat. I was at Scott's. The TV was on.

I knew I was low. When I looked at the television, the people on it were POROUS. You could see right through them.

So, my vision is always affected when it gets really low.

This was the first time, tho, my thinking was not clear. Had I been home, my head may have been clearer cuz I know what to eat when I'm home.

You've gotta raise your blood sugar PRONTO.

I woke Scott and asked him to help me. He said Go downstairs and eat some raisins. Good idea!

I shoveled raisins in my mouth as fast as I could.

He told me to eat some peanuts with them.

I ate a few and then told him I need CARBS, altho it was certainly a good idea to make this a mini-meal, with the usual Protein, Starch, and Fruit.

When I was feeling steadier I walked home - still munching raisins - and got an apple outa the fridge. Apples are high in carbs, so I ate nearly a whole apple, plus my standard Caraway Rye Triscuits, 8 of which are 21 carbs.

My sugar level was 43. Anything less than 70 is not good.

A person close to me was aghast when I said that my diabetes diagnosis was the worst thing that happened to me.

When I worked at the Intell - before 1986 - I wrote the Med News column and briefly spoke to a diabetes expert Rachmel Cherner who impressed me w/the horrors of the disease.

Look, it's not so bad if you take c/o yourself which I'm still learning to do. I've had the condition since April 14, 2011.

Mike's Hikes meets w/o me - I comfort myself by having company for dinner - Grace and Dan visit

2012-01-08T16:56:00.019-05:00

Dan and Grace don't have sidewalks in their neighborhood. So she doesn't know the concept of "Don't run in the street."

I was so looking f/w to going to Mike's Hikes at Fort Washington State Park. The last time I visited there was when I wrote an article for the Intell about their annual Hawk Watch.

I had no idea how to get there.

Scott and Bruce, the new leader of "Hikes" gave me direx.

I got horribly lost. Here are some of the places I ended up, some of which I never knew existed.

And since I don't have photos, I intersperse pix of Grace from her morning visit plus the spam-catcher on Bill Hess's blog, which catches me every time and makes it difficult to post comments.

Holy Sepulcher Cemetery. Love the name. Must tell you I love all the Catholic pageantry and the fact they consider life as sacred as I do.

In order to post on Bill's site, you confirm you're not spam. I never can read these darn things correctly.

So then I tried the auditory approach and had the same problem!

I photographed em and sent Bill an email so he'd know what I was talking about.

She goes straight for the DVDs. Currently I'm listening to Bach's Art of the Fugue sung (sic) by Glenn Gould.

Holy Sepulchre is where I made my first emergency phone call. Bruce's cell was out of order - he did warn me about this - so I called Mike and left him a message. Yes, Mike did come to the hike.

Not giving in to defeat - just yet - somehow I entered Route 309 - egads - I could barely remember how to drive on these fast highways w/ the merges and the gotta-go-fasts - and finally I found myself going - whoa! - 80 mph - my god, I thot, I'm gonna be the next organ donor!

I simply took my foot off the gas pedal and waited till the car slowed down. Jenny (my car's name) loves to speed.

Passed Arcadia College, where I once heard Oliver Saks speak.

While they were here, Dan texted Nicole to say Grace came down my 6 steps all by herself holding onto the railing. He taught her.

We visited the house down the street that was up for sheriff sale. Grace was delighted w/the tennis ball she found in the front yard. She sat on the grass and rolled it around.

Peekaboo! She had these lovely rosy cheeks.

The moment I got home I told Scott. He was flaggerbasted!

We went for our own walk at Mason's Mill Park, but this time in the Business Park. Since I'm working on my novel again, I wanted to see where Simon used to work - Kulicke & Soffa - they've long since moved.

The place has turned into a HealthCare Complex. Unbelievable!!!

The labor intensive meal was tilapia and succotash. Bot corn on the cob, cooked it 5 minutes, and removed all the kernels. Sauteed yellow squash and covered it w/a bag of frozen Fordhook lima beans. Wot dat?

Scott has to go to work tonite. Donna drove him to the train. "Don," I said. "I always give Scott a kiss goodbye. Feel free to do the same thing."

I made the tilapia, which Donna and I loved, by sauteeing it in sesame oil, olive oil, and Balsamic vinegar.

Just realized my thinning hair is from one of my antirejection meds - Prograf. I have huge patches of 'just scalp' mostly in the front of the hair.

I bot "Women's Rogaine," generic form and Donna is applying it. You do this twice a day.

Called my boss to ask if it would be okay. Dr. Kung, my nephrologist, said it was fine.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna get to work on my novel.

Poetry at Weinrich's / Poems: A Scientific Treatise on How to Fall Asleep / Nameless Man: His Death is Her Life

2012-01-07T19:16:00.029-05:00

Imagine my surprise when the door to the coffeeshop was locked! Here's why:

They don't have enough business in January - is this January? is this 2012? - so they put up the barricade. They were kind enough to remember we meet there so they let us stay as long as we liked.

I ran over to Burger-King to get me some Decaf to dunk my chocolate-frosted donut in - yes, my mouth is watering, too. My sugars were so high when I got home, I clumb on my exercise bike and pedaled for 25 minutes while watching The Rifleman, guest star Akim Takimirof. I 'friended' Johnny Crawford on Facebook. He plays Lucas McCain's son, Mark.

Akim Tamiroff, American actor of Armenian descent

A 20-minute session on the bike and my sugars decrease by 40 points!

Beatriz brought in a successful query letter she wrote which will allow her to submit an essay to a journal. I read every word and thot to myself, if I were the editor, I would say Yes after the third paragraf.

The word paragraf looks like Prograf, one of my antirejection meds. It reminded me to take it. Be right back.

Beatriz also read an essay about Fallingwater, the Frank Lloyd Wright-designed second home of Edgar Kaufmann and his wife, owners of Kaufmann's Department Store in Pittsburgh. I told the group I'd never heard of the house until I was locked up in Bldg. 16.

For a birthday present, Ada and Rich drove me to Fallingwater, 3 hours outside Pittsburg. Absolutely magnificent.

Donna Krause, Beatriz Moisset, and Yours Truly

Kym read three haiku to thunderous applause - the roof shook! - followed by more hysteria when Martha read a Christmas poem that included the Orange Vinaigrette Turkey her dad makes, and then people stood up on the tables screaming after Donna read another Christmas poem.

We thanked Stella by marriage Weinrich as we left. And will undoubtedly meet next time at the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket Coffeeshop.

My goodness, Edgar, quite a store ya got!

Then it was off to mom's to say hello. And pick up a pair of SAS Shoes - what dat? - from Ellen.

Linda was at the writer's group in absentia. She dropped the poems off to me this morning, we critiqued them, and she returned this evening for the feedback. It was another of her religious poems that everyone loved: Angles on Angels.

I wrote two poems to present to the group.

A SCIENTIFIC TREATISE ON HOW WE FALL ASLEEP

Who can understand how we fall asleep?

Certainly not I

unless the gods take pity on me

as they did last night

and let me in.

A shadow,

flat, dark,

of one dimension

pressed himself

against me

- Sleep’s ephemeral form –

and awoke with a slice of morning

coming through the blinds.

NAMELESS MAN: HIS DEATH IS HER LIFE

Dedicated to Sharon Piercy, who had a kidney transplant on Jan. 3, 2012. Her donor was a 31-year-old man who died in an automobile accident. That’s all we know about him.

Ever wonder what it’s like

to die in a head-on collision?

Not so bad, I can tell you,

now that it’s over.

Slow motion, of course,

Noise, screeching, horns blasting

where the hell did he come from?

this can’t be happening!

A symphony, really,

conducted from the driver’s seat

as the audience, transfixed,

watches to bloods-end.

Quite a crescendo!

Better than Beethoven!

Closer and closer came the

orange Camaro

determination unspeakable!

Why, the driver looks just like me

I drive the same car.

Confusion

a John Coltrane improv

- A Love Supreme? –

Sure, Love Supreme.

Baby, I’ll miss you.

Remember your blue-eyed Santa

and for God sakes

throw away the ring!

Congratulations Sharon Piercy: She got her kidney on Tues., Jan. 3 - Stats about organ donations - Update on Sharon

2012-01-06T11:02:00.018-05:00

Sharon, on the cover of our last Compass, called me from the Hospital at the University of Pennsylvania with the good news.

She sounded fantastic. "I'm amazed," she said, "that it didn't hurt that much."

She was given a morphine drip but didn't need it by the end of the second day and only took a Tylenol for a headache.

Sharon, of course, lost kidney function from taking lithium, same as me.

She was only on the Waiting List for 2.5 years - instead of an average 5 in this geographical area - b/c she has one of the rarer blood types.

Her deceased kidney donor was a 31-yo man who died in an automobile accident. Sad.

His death is her life.

The doctors were frank and told her there was only a 50-50 chance his kidney would work right away b/c it was coming from a long distance. Until it worked, she might have to go on dialysis. This is the same thing that happened to Denis Hazam, also profiled in the Compass. Denis didn't need to go on dialysis and neither did Sharon.

"My kidney started working w/a vengeance!" she laffed.

"So what medications are you taking?" I asked. I couldn't wait to hear what antirejection meds Penn uses.

They're basically the same as the ones I take from Einstein Medical Center, except for the pain med after transplant. I was given Percocet.

It's totally overwhelming when you first begin your medication regimen.

Sharon said she needs to create her own system. I told her what I do.

It's easier for me to find the NAMES of the meds if I write them on envelopes. My antirejection meds are all in ivory-colored envelopes.

As you can see, I take much less than at the beginning.

When Sharon is discharged, she'll stay w/her daughter Tisha, who lives in Upper Darby, for six weeks, while she goes into Penn for checkups.

I will definitely visit Sharon who now lives in the Poconos. Haven't seen her in 10 years.

Upper Darby is also where Scott works at the SEPTA carhouse. Visitors are strictly prohibited, so I'll never have the opportunity to help him diagnose problems when he goes underneath the train and looks at the wires. Darn!

Coincidentally, I just wrote a Guest Column for the Intelligencer, to be published on Tuesday, called "Make a New Year's Resolution - Become an Organ Donor and Save Lives."

Well, the Nameless Man certainly did a noble deed. Sorry he's not here to appreciate it.

UPDATE ON SHARON

Friday nite, Jan. 6.

Sharon was discharged today. She's staying w/daughter Tisha in Upper Darby. When I called she was in the middle of trying to take her evening pills.

While at Penn, which, as you can see below is the no. one transplant center in the Philly area in terms of volume, the care she received from the nursing staff was wonderful. Sharon, herself, is a nurse, and said that while she's been gone from work, the staff has been so supportive and frequently texts her.

The food at Penn was, typically, "terrible. How can they mess up scrambled eggs?"

I said the same thing about the Einstein food. The only good thing I had was Rice Krispies and Milk. Milk had been a forbidden food for me cuz it contains phosphorus.

Sharon would walk around the "huge" unit, which is for kidney and liver donations and bariatric surgery, to get exercise, w/her intravenous tubes attached by the rolling mechanism.

They called her "the Poster Girl."

She was exhausted, she said, and would go to bed early.

While doing research for the Guest Column on Becoming a Donor, Jill Finnie of United Network for Organ Sharing sent me these interesting stats:

Breakdown of organ donations by hospitals 1988 - Sept. 2011:

13,128 – UCLA Medical Center

13,039 – Univ. of Pittsburgh Med. Center (Thomas Starzl)

10,040 – Univ. of Calif. San Francisco Med. Center

9,887 – Univ. of Wisconsin Hospital and Clinics

9,762 – Univ. of Alabama Hospital

PHILADELPHIA TRANSPLANT CENTERS

7,112 – Hospital of the University of PA

2,928 – Thomas Jefferson University Hospital

2,399 – Albert Einstein Medical Center

2,206 – Hahnemann University Hospital

Where's Temple?

906 – Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia

479 – St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children

A Day of Incredible Frustration w/Minor Victories

2012-01-05T20:58:00.017-05:00

Here's all that remains from my New Year's Day party. I was outside at 7 am - you can see it's still dark - to tell the trashmen that the cartons contain garbage. They are not recyclables.

I have been constantly writing. First priority was to finish my Guest Column for the Intelligencer. I titled it "Make a New Year's Resolution: Become an Organ Donor and Save Lives."

Of course, my editor, Alan Kerr, may change it according to space considerations.

I emailed him to ask if I can use the term "spokesperson" instead of the cumbersome "communications specialist" and he said he hates the term "spokesperson" but I could use "spokeswoman" or "spokesman."

Alan is so good I think he could work for any major paper in the country. He writes all the editorials, from the point of view of the newspaper. Today he wrote about Rick Santorum's surprise second-place victory in the Iowa Caucuses.

The organ donor story was fairly easy to write. I quoted three spokeswomen. Again, the purpose of the story is to advocate for people to become organ donors. I also gave some history of transplantation and other facts sandwiched into the article b/c of space limitations - 700 words tops.

One place I spoke to had a really hostile receptionist. I had to call her about 4 times to get to my spokeswoman. The first time I called she gave me an incredibly difficult time before she put me thru to the spokesman. When he wasn't available I had to call again to find someone I could talk to immediately.

I wanted the final graf of my story to say Do your own investigating about whether or not to be a donor. I'd list the website and the phone no. of the agency.

Would YOU list an agency where the receptionist would give the caller a hard time?

Fortunately, I found another place.

That problem was minor in comparison of a photo of me the Intell wanted. Scott took two simply terrible photos of me.

I had really chapped lips so I put "bee balm" on my lips and rubbed a little on my face.

The photo looked like I was foaming at the mouth.

Plus my hair was simply awful.

I called Molly from Salon Minevanh, who I wrote about in a Patch.com article. She said to come over immediately.

Molly leaves in a week for Jamaica to do the hair of women in the bridal party of her niece.

While at the Salon, I took these still-lifes:

I said hello to her mother/law Chan and asked where her little son Devon was.

She took me in the back room where he sat in his carriage with his iPOD trying to fall asleep. She spoke to him in Laotian.

Molly fussed over me for nearly an hour. Then I asked her to take a photo of me.

I'll be honest. I don't think it looks anything like me. Can I be part of a new Twilight Zone series where I've evolved into someone else? My mind is the same, or so she thinks.

But my really big task is that a publisher has asked to see the entire ms. of my novel, which I finished two years ago. I sent out a query letter to Bellevue Literary Press last week and got a quick response.

But my computer will not cooperate. For the first time ever, I couldn't create a double-spaced manuscript.

"Dear Editor, Please forgive me for not double-spacing, but there seems to be a curse on my Microsoft Word document."

Look, if you're Dean Koontz you can say that, but not if you're Ruth Deming.

I edited the entire 220 pages but - another glitch! - the save button DIDN'T FRIGGING WORK.

The entire editing process took 10 hours, which is how long it takes to read my book. As I sped toward the climax, I began to cry, the end was so moving.

I've got to do it all over again. Ten hours. Pull an all-nighter? Yeah, when I'm 19 and a student at Goddard College typing up Frank Dorsky's essay which is due the next day. It's on Norman O. Brown's once-popular, now largely forgotten Life Against Death: The Psychoanalytical Meaning of History (1959).

I had no idea what Frank was talking about in his essay. He was a smart guy, though, and later got his PhD, like good ole Norman O. Brown, who died at age 88.

Hey, look who made it into my novel - Cookie Rojas! The Havana-born former Phillies second baseman, now 72, is the Spanish-language color commentator for the Miami Marlins.

Chili recipe - visit from Dan and Grace

2012-01-02T09:36:00.010-05:00

For my party I wanted something I could prepare in advance. I probly haven't made chili since my kids were little, but that's what I decided on. When I told that to my mom, she said, "We always had chili on New Year's Day. It was Uncle Benny's birthday."

Ground turkey meat, dried kidney beans I soaked, the usual cut-up veggies I buy at the Giant, two cans of diced tomatoes, unseasoned (I don't want anything that tastes unnatural in my chili), lots of chili powder, black pepper, and a can of corn, both for color and nutrition.

No salt.

I like to serve it w/grated cheese - I bought Kraft marbled cuz I thot it would look pretty - and also a dollop of sour cream. For the first time ever, Breakstone has at last come out with an all-natural variety - no preservatives.

I'm having it for b'fast. I just walked over to Scott's, where he's getting ready for bed at 9 am, and told him to come over any time today for chili.

Had a wonderful visit yesterday from Dan and Grace.

I always like to walk outside and greet them and then see them to the car when they leave. Was surprised Nicole didn't come but she was home straightening up.

Grace Catherine getting ready for her big adventure at Bubby's.

We went next door to Scott's to show her his huge train city. He made the whistle blow for her. On the other side of the room is Scott's weight-lifting equipment.

In Scott's dining room, Grace went up to a Xmas decoration of three dogs and a cat and picked out the cat. Her three older brothers are all felines: Nudge, Blank and Doober.

We let Grace lead the way. She went out on Scott's front lawn and picked up some tiny pine cones. She loved them.

Then Dan and I started kicking them to each other, as if we were playing soccer.

Grace got HYSTERICAL laffing.

Since I don't see her as often as Dan and Nicole do, I knew her attention span had vastly increased in only a week!

Okay, having eaten b'fast, drank a cup of Starbux decaf, and blogged, I've gotta get on with my Guest Editorial for the Intell. Wish me luck!

New Year's Day Party - Who sang 'C'mon to my house. I'm gonna give you Figs and dates and grapes and cakes?'

2012-01-01T19:40:00.047-05:00

I went to my sister Donna's Starbucks in Huntingdon Valley and bot two 'traveler's packs,' one regular and one decaf. Ellen took the regular home and I kept the decaf which I'm sipping right now.

But who took Carole D's scrumptious homemade cookies home? No one. Omigod, she also made tiny meatballs which were also delicious. Hmmm, maybe I can bring them to our next New Directions meeting on Tuesday nite and make everyone as plump as I am.

Right before the party began Tracey called! My heart always lights up when I see her name of the Caller ID. Unfortunately, she's got a bug - NO, not a stinkbug, that's me who has them flying around - but she's recuperating.

All the guests left by 7:45 pm. Why then am I ravenous with hunger? I ate everything in sight during the party and after.

Arleen bought her fig, date and goat cheese dip which was out of this world. After she left Carole D asked who made it?

I'd first eaten it at a Passover gathering at the Weinsteins' Elkins Park Condo. A felicitous blend of improbable ingredients that go great together.

The secret of a great party is having plenty of delicious food and wonderful guests.

Here's Arleen fixing her dip which she served with water crackers. I also introduced her to my Caraway Rye Triscuits which she really liked.

Here's her husband Stephen who took no chances and brot his own coffee.

Also for a successful party you've gotta organize yourself the day before. I scrubbed my two bathrooms, straightened the amazingly messy living room, stowed my diabetes supplies in the lower level of the house on the bed, which I made for the first time since summer. It's too cold to sleep down there.

Some of my guests were unaware that I finally got a story published in a prestigious online journal. Click here.

Trace is the blond bombshell on the right. Her BF Mark thinks so too. He bought her a diamond engagement ring. Ellen is on the left.

That was fast, Helen and I burbled.

Yin and Patrick Otis Cox. Yin used to run Le Coffee Salon in Hatboro, where I used to hold my poetry group plus we'd have our Coffeeshop Gigs there.

She brought her special steamed dumplings, filled with pork and maybe hamburger meat. After the party I wolfed them down.

Otis, a civil engineer, used to work for an environmental company before going out on his own. Here's his new company, Geo-Life Inc. Dunno if the link works.

Otis, a painter, used to sell paintings at Le Coffee Salon. We had a show n tell at my party and he brot a lot of his acrylics. He used to do oils but they took long to dry, so he switched to acrylics.

If you donate to his nonprofit, he'll let you have a painting. Here are the three I chose.

Oops! These are Ron Abrams photographs. Look at the face on the Hispanic guy with the hat.

Here's one of three of Otis's paintings I bot.

Ron walked past a beauty salon and wanted to go in and take pix. He asked the lady in charge and look at this marvelous cinema verite of Bea-Arthur lookalike (thanks Helen for pointing out the resemblance. Ron lives in Center City and so does my friend Evelyn who I haven't seen in twenty years!

Evelyn, also an artist, and I used to work at Art Matters monthly newspaper. I drove up to see her on Rattlesnake Road in Limerick, PA - with the hulking nuclear reactors. I did shiver when I drove by.

I wanted to feature one of Evelyn's magnificent paintings on the back cover of the Compass but it wouldn't fill the space. Now you can view her handiwork right here. A physician bought one of her paintings for his office, paying something like $900. Helen and applauded that.

Another view of the Doughertys. Great family, Bart really enjoyed himself and talked to just everybody at the party. I took him upstairs to show him my little clay sculptures. I did them after I was newly diagnosed w/BP and it helped heal me.

When an artist creates artwork she remains totally focused. You don't think about the past or the future, only the feel of the wet clay on your hands and the design that's being fashioned before your eyes.

Mistakes? Just put some water on the clay and refashion.

Claudia Beechman and husband Barry were her. They celebrated two parties today, one of a Democratic judge who won a large victory on Election Day.

Speaking of which, I had a dream about Obama last nite. My first. We were on an airplane except it really wasn't. He had huge polished shoes and was sitting right next to me. Always curious, I asked him if he believed in an Afterlife.

Nope, he said confidently. This is all there is. He may have trouble governing, but at least he was honest about his religious views.

Speaking of which I'm reading the excellent autobio of Christopher Hitchens, who died of esophogeal cancer in December. He was well-loved by his classy mother Yvonne who raised him on the island of Malta. She suffered from anhedonia (lack of pleasure from the root word 'hedonist' and was often bored.)

She left her husband, a British colonel, and ran off with a man who Hitchens describes as a raving wacko. They were in separate apartment suites somehwhere and he killed Yvonne first and then took his own life.

As a mom, he said, she was wonderful and gave him lots of confidence so he could become one of the greatest writer in the English language as he has been described.

Here's neighbor Patrick who we love. I've wrin a couple of poems about him including The Man in the Distance, Wesley, about his late dog, and The Blue Glass about the first time I met him and his wife.

Pat used to be a part-time wedding photographer, on duty for five long hours photographing weddings. To the bride he would say - Push your breasts out.

In the hubub of the party, I missed taking a pic of my lovely friend Tree, short for Teresa. She and husband Gerry have their own engineering company. What a responsbililty!

Part of our discussions concerned being a responsible adult. Couples opined that their partner has yet to grow up.

When Yin, the dumpling lady, closed the coffee shop she was able to visit her parents in China for the first time in three years. They did very well financially. Her dad retired as manager at an engine factory in Dalian, on the west coast of China near Japan.

Yin, who is as beautiful as she is smart, attends Temple University and is getting a double major in International Business and Internet Software.

She wore black spike heels.

My mom, 89-yo, wore ortho shoes from Trevose Family Shoes where I drove her last year.

She's recovering nicely from falling flat on her face in the kitchen. She removed the throw rug that she thought she tripped on. Whew! That was close. When she and Ellen left, I thanked Ellen for taken good c/o mom, then kissed mom and said I love you.

Alan and Elaine Klawans.

The last guests I invited to the party were Alan and Elaine Klawans - read my article about them here - who live a few blocks away on Division Ave. They are both artists living at home. I told Elaine whenever I hear Samuel Barber's Knoxville Summer of 1915 I think about her.

Here's the entire text, wrin by James Agee, also author of Let us Now Praise Famous Men.

It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds' hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt: a loud auto: a quiet auto: people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard, and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squaring with clowns in hueless amber. A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping; belling and starting, stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter; fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew.

Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose.

Low in the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes...
Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glories hang their ancient faces.

The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.

On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there.…They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine,...with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.

After a little I am taken in and put to bed. Sleep, soft smiling, draws me unto her: and those receive me, who quietly treat me, as one familiar and well-beloved in that home: but will not, oh, will not, not now, not ever; but will not ever tell me who I am.

This is very profound. Who are you, Dear Reader! Speak if you know.

Here's one of Alan's digital prints. Elaine does the plastic arts but also makes jewelry, such as the blue earrings I wore at the party. Here's the necklace on the right:

Look at the striking jewelry Elaine is wearing. Claudia was fascinated by it.

We toasted in the New Year with some champagne I bought in one of our package stores. I asked for help since I know nothing about champagne, or basically about anything.

In fact I'm wearing yet another sweater fron the Sweater Mill, I thot the tag said $39 but it was really $69.

Bought it anyway.

Dyou believe I forgot to take a picture of Helen? She runs out daytime meeting at the Giant. She and husband Larry organize our Fall Bonfires.

Ruth, Evelyn, and Ellen.

Here's Larry looking at the - wipe your hands, Larry, it's very dusty - Replogle I bot a few years ago at Staples. When my kids were growing up, we always had one in the house.

Larry served in the Peace Corps after graduating from Bucknell and wanted to see if the West African country was on there.

It was. He was a gym teacher. They're trying to build up athletes in Africa - Kenya, Nigeria - as a way out of poverty.

Giving thanks for the people who helped me this year/ Poem: Home Movies

2011-12-29T23:15:00.016-05:00

I decided to take a few minutes today to thank people who had been good to me throughout the year. After I did my shopping at Giant, I stopped next door at Authorized Camera Repair to thank owner Matt for helping me w/my digital camera. Bob was on duty, so I sent him an email wishing him and his family Happy Holidays. Don't worry, I included his dog Lola.

Then I called the Hodges, leaders of our Family Member Group to thank them for all they had done for us.

Prior to that, I called one of our family members, "Theodora," whose daughter is floridly psychotic and resists treatment. I wished Theo strength for the upcoming struggle.

Then I called mom, 89, to thank her for her generous check which reimburses me for the home movies. Altho I rarely say it, while listening to my mother talk, I thot, God, I love this woman. She has such a happy chipper voice, like that of the 22-year-old woman she was when she married my dad.

After speaking to mom, I called Aunt Selma, 93, in Cleveland Heights, remembering her number as YE2-8164. She has a wonderful Midwestern twang. I guess I do, too.

"Hi Aunt Selma!" I said.

"Ruthie!" she said, recognizing my voice. "I'm so glad to hear from you."

We talked a long time. She was feeling desperate, she said, b/c she was down to her last audio book, but then her daughter Linda checked out 11 audio books from the library.

"It's all I do all day," said Selma. "I can't do anything else."

She's blind (macular degeneration). Everything else works.

I told her about my mom falling flat on her face on the kitchen floor. My mom hadn't told her. Since I saw mom yesterday - she baked a batch of peanut butter fudge for Helene, which I brot Helene at Artman - I saw how well she was healing. Her black eye looked like a smudge under her left eye.

While finishing up my James Jeffords book in bed this morning, I had an idea. Why not ask Alan Kerr, the editorial page editor of the Intell, if I could write a guest column: Make a New Year's Resolution to Become an Organ Donor.

I thought it was a great idea until I came downstairs and rethought it. It's a terrible idea, I said to myself. After breakfast, I realized what a great idea it was and I left him a voicemail and followed with an email.

Imagine my joy when he said Yes. Immediately, I began goggling for information and found UNOS - United Network for Organ-Sharing. I called their number in Richmond, VA, and spoke to their communications specialist, the lovely Jill Finnie.

She was very helpful and sent me an informative email to answer all my questions. When you call someone to interview them, as I did Ms Finnie, you should have all your questions ready. But I was concerned with the time - it was about 4:15 - and I was worried she may have left.

So while we chatted and I wrote down her answers, I kept thinking of new questions to ask her.

My boyfriend Scott is perfect in every respect. But...he is not an organ donor.

My next poetry assignment is to write a poem about being 66 years old. The best years of my life lie ahead of me, is a line I thought of. Where did I get the line? Someone was singing it on the radio today. I grabbed my pink pad from the pocket on the door and jotted it down.

My next book to read - An Educated Man, a Dual Biography of Moses and Jesus by David Rosenberg - offers two autobiographies side by side: one is of Moses, the other of Jesus. I've always been fascinated by Jesus, but never thought of Moses as a fascinating man until now. Can't wait to start the book. These two men were extremely educated - their writings make use of quoting learned people of their day or centuries earlier. Both made use of "the supernatural" when espousing their new religions.

HOME MOVIES

Upon the occasion of having movie reels transferred to one shiny DVD

You’ve come back!
So nice to see you Dad.
It’s been years. So many,
I’ve forgotten you
until today.
Look, that’s you putting your arm
around me. We thought we’d have you
forever, never dreaming you would die
An awful death at 59
those cigarettes - which smelled up the
station wagon when driving us home from
Sunday school -
decided to take you out
but look, you didn’t die,
you’re here whenever I watch the DVD.

And mother! How beautiful,
plopping out babies every few years
DARDEL was the mnemonic Daddy gave us
for his five girls and his boy
Ruth Donna Ellen Lynn Amy David
Davey, m’boy, you were the first to go
your solemn photo just before your
overdose shows your pride mixed with
the shock of having autism
yes, you flapped as a child
and were clumsy
never knew it until we saw it
in the home movies.

Aunt Selma, lucid today at 93, hasn’t
changed much, that husky voice of hers,
her love of parties, there she is at my
dad’s fiftieth with Uncle Marv.

Like a many-faceted diamond
we see different ages of people
there’s my sister Lynnie at two looking out the
window on Glenmore with the mumps
not knowing she’ll be best friends with
Libby next door or that her children
Jade and Miles will make her proud.
Don’t breathe a word that
Domestic Abuse followed her
for five drama-filled years – our
beautiful Lynn? – until she paid him
off and he fled.

My father was a handsome man
a lady-killer with his saucy walk
and Jewish nose
his mane of white hair made women
want to run their fingers through it
and did
until he lost it all to radiation’s burning fire
just as the Luckies and then filtered Kents
burned through his lungs, darn it, Daddy,
we never thought you’d die and suffer so:
“Hit the tumor with a hammer” you told me.

Donna’s marriage is a dim memory to me. I call
her at Starbucks to ask where it took place. The
caption I type in reads Yonkers, New York, 1970.
She was a few months pregnant with Melissa
who later in life would give her dental implants
though sometimes they fall out
we don’t know why

My failed marriage is up on the big screen too
Millard, dead at 62, and I are shown in our wedding finery
my white size 5 Evan Picone dress I bought for $5
and Mike’s pink shirt we got ironed at a nearby cleaner
Docile, a knower of things, a darling Texas twang
It took two weeks before his temper came out
a cloud of toxins swirling like cigarette smoke
ensnaring me day and night, no surcease, until
I jumped bail and left. Shaking with fear.

His mindless mother is still alive, ninety or thereabouts
can’t initiate conversation though we love her and
her Texas twang. She was always butch, a gym teacher,
then a counselor, who found feces in the gymnasium
from one bad boy. That’s not in the movies.

My favorite? A park in Bucks County
called Ringing Rocks.
There I am, with my famous face,
traveling the rocks with David in tow
he falls sometimes but I let him be
as he scrambles back up
I am tethered to my father who is
filming all of us
you won’t find a girl who loved her father
more, though I confess life
got in the way until the movies
rebirthed the lot of us and I am
made whole again.

Lunch with Ron and Carolyn - With my four new books I feel rich as a queen / Poem: The Soup Bowl

2011-12-27T21:58:00.021-05:00

Carolyn and I drove to Elaine's funeral thru beautiful Bucks County w/its old stone houses on back roads only she knows, some with hair pin turns. I'm a very good driver, as long as it's daytime.

Went to bed early last nite so I could leave home at 9:25 a.m. for Carolyn's house and then she'd tell me how to find the chapel. I actually woke up at 9:10.

I probly fell asleep at 4 AM. I did nothing all nite. Just lay there. Next to that horrid book by Dean Koontz, which was undoubtedly casting a spell on me.

Forgot to mention that Koontz made a great point in one of his interviews. As a young man, he worked at a home for troubled young men, one of the so-called government social programs. It was a program, said Koontz, built to fail. All they did was pocket the money but did nothing for the kids.

That's when he turned against big government and became a Republican.

After Elaine's funeral, Carolyn and I drove back to her house in Chalfont, where we had lunch with husband Ron.

They're planning another trip to Alaska, this time to Kodiak Island. Ron also wants to buy the car of his dreams - a Camaro (what dat?) so Carolyn said, Do it! I'll goggle Camaro offstage and then I'll discuss it with Scott.

Hey, that's blurry me, holding a cup of hot tea. Carolyn, a great cook, gave me her wonderful carrot soup for lunch, fresh beet salad, feta cheese w/no crackers cuz of diabetes, though I made up for it w/her delicious homemade pizzelles.

The views of Bucks County are nothing short of spectacular. This one ain't so hot.

Get a load of this tree! Which would you rather have: money or a tree? No, Virginia, there's no such thing as a money tree. Add this to my Favorite Tree List.

For dinner, I had my turkey soup, made w/the leftovers from my birthday dinner. Next to it is a slice of carrot cake Carolyn's mother made. Her mom lives in an assisted living facility where she comes n goes as she pleases, and at 91, still travels by airplane to visit her daughter in NM.

After I dropped off Scott at the train station tonite, I went to the library. My life is empty if I don't have a good book to read. You know how I found good books? Take a look on my blogroll to the right of this blog. I'd printed the Times' 10 best books of the year. None were available at my library, but assistant librarian Cathy helped me find good books.

We put "Arguably" by Christopher Hitchens, the famous contrarian and atheist, on my request list. Hitchens died about a week ago and was lauded in the Times.

After I checked out these exciting books, I wanted to start reading em immediately, so I drove to nearby Panera's across the street.

What time dyou close, I asked the manager.

9 o'clock, he said.

OMG, I said, I better leave, it's almost 9.

Feel free to stay until I leave, he said.

Now that's a good manager!

I got a cup of decaf and sat and read "My Declaration of Independence," by Senator Robert Jeffords from Vermont.

This is one of the many books Jeffords, now 76, has written. A moderate Republican his entire life, he upset colleagues in the House and Senate, when he could not abide George W Bush's fiscal policies and announced he would become a Democrat.

Under intense pressure, he refused to buckle, believing it was necessary to spend money on education, health care for all, Medicare, Social Security. science education, nursing shortages, rather than make millionaires happy with tax cuts.

He decided not to run in 2005 due to health concerns from his wife, facing chemo, and his own failing health and memory, he said.

What's that? said Scott, when he saw Transcendent Visions lying on the couch.

Oh, it's my friend's magazine, I said, leafing thru the pages to find what poem I'd sent David Kime.

Ah, the Lucky Seven. He said that was the best poem I ever wrote. But, then, he said that about Enrico the Man, about a schizophrenic man I did an intake interview with over at the agency.

David has a unique way of printing our poems. He photocopies them exactly as we mail them in. The Lucky Seven is actually not something I would publish on my blog.

THE SOUP BOWL

Whose bowl is this?
Surely not mine with its
delicate traceries, as delicate
as the woman I got it from

a small gift on the occasion of
her confinement
forever in a Lutheran nursing home
though she is Jewish
and has become a
reluctant octogenarian

I sip the fine Harrod’s tea
she gave me from a tin
though the taste has long gone
like perhaps some of the finer
workings of her mind
this early obituary has caused
the shutting down of many corners,
a panic and hysteria that her home
on Bauman Drive
is missing her terribly
I took one succulent plant but
my windowsill is crowded with my
own nest and pine cones and feathers

Greeting my arrival in the Lutheran home
was a quick order from the attractive Gestapo
behind the desk
I must sign in and wear a stick-on Visitor’s Badge
More Nazis on the second floor she now
calls home
Fake smiling, bowing aides who accompany
me down the hall, my steps watched lest I
inject the dementia patients with enough
morphine to kill them off
each and every one
these Busby Berkeley babes
with their wild white hair
and frumpy housedresses
these once vibrant bathing beauties
who made love with a passion
and now sit deadpan in a circle
eyes vacant as a dead dog’s eyes

We can’t let you die Helene
Writer, sculptor, woman with a camera
your photograph of my Sarah hangs in
my study, she was only fourteen, you
measured my children and others
on your kitchen wall, a swipe of a pencil
and - voila - they’re all grown

We shall keep you alive though the
grilled cheese is horrid
We shall keep you alive though your
lime-green Olds has been taken from you and
the husband you once loved is
failing fast in another building,
an untended bedsore on his heel
- who is watching who? –

You’ve got your phone and your computer
and you’ve got me, too, eating peanuts
and raisins from that stunning bowl that
shall help mold me into a more delicate
and thoughtful woman
as I lick my fingers from my
late-night snack and view the bowl
a reminder of my own future
doom-filled days.

Elaine Restifo's Funeral - "I'm a River Poet" - prouder words can never be spoken / Poem: The Tyvek House

2011-12-27T15:45:00.034-05:00

The River, Elaine wrote inside, is an experiment based on the message contained within the following Confucianist poem:

There was presented to me a papaya,
And I returned for it a beautiful chu-gem;
Not as a return for it,
But that our friendship might be lasting.

She continues: Since The River's inception in 1969, it has reached 18 states and 4 countries. ...It is dedicated to the Planet Earth and all its living organisms and systems, including us.

Carolyn Constable and I drove to St. Philips Chapel outside New Hope, PA for the celebration of the life and mind of the revolutionary activist poet painter Elaine Restifo.

Carolyn, a Catholic, said the Episcopal service was very similar to her own. Father Peter Pearson donned a beautiful white surplice with hood over his black priestly vestments. Handsome and small in stature, he conducted a magnificent ceremony.

Carolyn and I got there early but there were barely any seats left.

We saw - and please click on the links of these distinguished friends of Elaine:

Kathe Palke

Mason Loika, Ted Peck, and Janet Hunt, owner of the Coryell Gallery in Lambertville, NJ, and George Dabrowski, who drove Elaine around when she could no longer drive. George is a fine poet who often read his poems off scraps of paper.

Carolyn Constable

Roy Freedle

Bill Donlen

and Sandy Bender who played his bittersweet banjo, as he described it, during the service.

Many people came forward to testify what a wonderful person Elaine was and to share various experiences.

Elaine had the quality that everyone she talked to believed they were her best friend! I certainly did.

Carolyn stood up at her seat - we were crammed in - and said she'll always remember helping Elaine compile the The River. Elaine refused to number the pages, so one time when it was time to put them all together, they found a sandwich between the pages.

Ted Peck typed up all the poems. The man is about 88 years old and has written beautiful works about his family, often from his grandmother's point of view.

Still writing? I asked him when we were leaving.

Oh, yes, he said.

Elaine's daughter, Christina, a beautiful white-haired woman, read one of her mom's most beloved works: My Mother and the Gorilla.

The assistant pastor of the church read "The Ant Murderer," another favorite of the audience.

At the end of the service, Father Peter asked us to participate in an old monastic tradition of saying goodbye to the newly deceased. A living piece of greenery - in this case a pine bough - was dipped in water and handed to us - and then we placed it on Elaine's urn.

When my turn came, I danced the living pine over the urn, and then I touched the urn with my hand as a way of saying my final farewell. The lid came off! I couldn't really see what was underneath - something white, it seemed - and I quickly put the top back on.

Then I went over to say hello to her three children, the surgeon Frank from CT, the schoolteacher, also from another state, who said at the altar that he and his family would preserve his mom's tradition of making pizzelles every Christmas, and Christina, who I handed our most recent Compass. She was very helpful to me when I was losing kidney function.

During the ceremony, the priest asked us to spend a few moments of silence thinking about Elaine. She was quite a tall woman, about six foot two. "No need to use ladders," she said when I interviewed her in my 2004 Compass.

With my eyes closed, squeezed between Janet Hunt of the Coryell Art Gallery, and Carolyn, I saw tall Elaine striding over all of us, bigger than the church, just striding her way up to Heaven.

To read the fascinating interview with Elaine Restifo in the 2004 Compass mag, click here.

Elaine really liked my poem The Tyvek House, published in one of her Rivers. Here is both the house, which is around the corner from me, and the poem:

THE TYVEK HOUSE

Tyvek is an insulation material applied to the interior of buildings before application of the final material such as wood or stone or siding.

Take this old house by the side of the road
Walk past its leaf-filled ditch and muddy garden
Rip out its walls and doorways
Stay there, don’t move,
Walk among the heaps of plasterboard,
the piles of rubble still unswept
Let it sear you, rush like water through you
And bring you no peace.

Don’t come and fetch me.
I’ll stay here among the ruins,
Quiet, dream-filled,
Lonesome as a stairwell,
Ringing like a bell,
One of a kind,
The house where I live.

Did you mark the days when they
Hammered the outer boards
Across the falling rot of splintered wood?
Did you see how frisky they were
Those laugh-aloud fun-finding fellows
stationed so effortlessly
on tall hinged ladders,
Three of them I counted, workmen
Bouncing words from roof to roof,
Or were they manly jokes,
Nails echoing clang clang
as they went in.
Thick-soled boots snug on tall rungs.

How we couldn’t help but laugh
the day the letters appeared – TYVEK -
blue, dark as mountains,
- TYVEK -
you’d know those letters anywhere –
ponytailed Y
Take-me-along K pointing off,
Off in the distance at some lonesome star.
How we rejoiced and continue to rejoice
at the coming of the words.

Leave it to us to notice from our
One unstained window
the predicament of the motorists
and the ditch-leaping joggers passing by,

Each one waiting,
querying among themselves,
When will it be finished?
When will the Tyvek be covered up for good?

Didn’t we fool them?
Didn’t we cause consternation?
We simply couldn’t do it.

We let the Tyvek stay.

Warm winter clothes - Two Xmas dinners - Poem: Dining with Thich Nhat Hanh

2011-12-27T15:18:00.009-05:00

I simply did not feel like making breakfast this morning. I drove to my favorite diner Daddypops in Hatboro, which was mobbed, so I figured I go to Lochel's, but then I passed the new Galaxy Diner and pulled into the huge parking lot. It was packed.

I ordered my favorite things on the menu, things I haven't eaten in ages, partly b/c of my kidney-healthy diet before I got the tplant. Of course, now I have diabetes, so I've really gotta watch myself. In fact, I brought the terrific mag Diabetes Forecast to read while I waited for my food to arrive.

Two poached eggs, which I put over tasteless corned beef hash, and equally tasteless home fries with onions. How can you mess up home fries?

Another tasteless meal from Galaxy.

This was all a prelude for buying myself some nice new sweaters for the winter. Was trying to decide where to go when - what luck! - I passed The Sweater Mill.

The owner Robin made it a very pleasant experience. She was shocked as was "Val" (I didn't catch her name) when I said I absolutely hated clothes shopping. I think I told my entire life story to Robin when I was there. She'd been talking to a client and mentioned someone had had 8 hours of plastic surgery: breast augmentation, thigh liposuction, whatever so naturally I couldn't wait to tell of my kidney transplant.

Then Val said a friend of hers in her 60s got a new heart at the University of PA. She only had to wait three months for it. She was a perfect match.

Me, I'm going in and outa the dressing rooms, trying stuff on. I just hate doing this. A couple of times my socks get caught in one of the jeans I'm trying on so I have to bend over and fish out the sock.

What's to like about shopping? It's a colossal waste of time and I could've been home writing or submitting my work. On my way home I remembered writing a terrific piece called "We Think about Death Over Coffee," written in short little segments. That's another one I should submit. When I told my then-poetry mentor "Dave McGill" the title, he said, "You could also call it 'We Think about Sex over Coffee.'"

I wrote the piece when Sarah and I took a vacation to one of the Caribbean Islands.

I had to fire my poetry mentor, who I had a massive crush on, b/c he kept unconsciously stealing lines of my poems.

At the Sweater Mill, I also bot two warm pair of leggings, which are those women's pants that cling. I wore a black corduroy pair outa the store and will wear them to Elaine's funeral tomro.

Dyou think in Beverly Hills there's a funeral parlor whose motto is "We put the fun in funeral?"

Hope everyone had a great holiday yesterday.

In the afternoon I went to sister Donna's, where her children and grandchildren were gathering for the day. I brought them the DVD called Greenwold Family Movies that I got at DVD Magic nearby. I made a $500 downpayment. When I stopped by to see if they were ready, Joel said "Ruth, all I need is another $400 and we're finished."

Whew! I was really worried I'd need lots more moolah.

Joel put really good music on it dating from the 70s.

The family loved the movies.

I noshed on the most marvelous appetizers, including Nikki's artichoke salad. There was also some debate whether some canned olives were any good. They're used to eating the marinated ones.

I popped one into my mouth and pronounced it "delicious. This is the way they're supposed to taste from the can."

I also told Donna to make a cream cheese n olive sandwich like we had as kids and she said she bot cream cheese.

Melissa, 41, who was in the movie as a baby, loved the movies, which also showed her dad. I made captions and titled his "Roberto 'Herman' Cartagena."

I asked Donna if she wished she were still married to him and she said, "Hellooo!"

Well, his second wife is very happy with him. They have two boys in their mid-twenties.

Then it was time to visit the Demings. I'll roll the photos:

When I got home I knew I was gonna go on my exercise bike for 25 minutes to lower my blood sugar.

Look what book I've stopped reading. Yes, it's scary, but the dialogue is terrible, especially with the cop and his wife and kids. It's so forced and phony I can't abide it. Before I stopped reading it, here's what I wrote on this revised website:

Scott's buddies at SEPTA pass around books. Since Scott is finishing up Robinson Crusoe (no, they didn't pass that around; Scott's on a mission to read the classics) I started my first Dean Koontz book ever.

It's scary as hell and, to quote my story Spanish Arches, I'm a life-long 'fraidy cat and am terrified when reading What the Night Knows. So, alone in my bed, I turn on my new Sony radio - boy, if Steve Jobs ever saw the Sony design he'd say, "That's the shittiest design I've ever seen. You can't find the control buttons. Whoever designed this should be fired on the spot."

I had to put White-Out on it so I can find the On button and the Station Change buttons. It's horrible. But then I wouldn't wanna spend $700 either on a new Bose, which my 'mother/law' bought her husband for Xmas. Actually, I would spend the money but the Bose is too long for me. The Sony stands straight up. My bedside table doesn't have too much room.

So I turned up the radio quite loudly and I read the book with the loud radio on. I also, before reading each chapter, scanned it to see if it would be scary OR if there was dialogue in it b/c sometimes our hero cop John Corlina is alone in a house where a dreadful murder has just taken place and he believes someone else might be there.

And of course now I wonder if someone is in MY house, but I figure, oh, well, I've had a good life and all that.

Next morning as soon as I get up I goggle Dean Koontz. The man is a Republican. He and his wife Gerda have given hundreds of thousands of dollars to Republican causes. He supports Mitt Romney. Honestly, I wish I liked Romney cuz I can't stand Obama tho he did get us out of Iraq and has set a date of Afghan'n.

I read reviews of his books. Where dyou go to read reviews?

I went right on Amazon, which of course means I'm getting lots of suggestions today from Amazon of what books I might like to read.

Apparently, Koontz is not nearly as good as he used to be. That is, if you're a loyal Koontz reader.

However, if you've never read him before, then he's a wonderful writer who can keep up the suspense and have your heart pounding.

DINING WITH THICH NHAT HAHN

When I began eating my omelet
hot to the tongue
sprinkled with scallions
and cheese
and thought of my Christmas shopping
sometime after breakfast

I asked Thich Nhat Hahn to
sit across from me at my
kitchen table.

In dark robes
he bowed his bald head
over black tea I prepared,
delicately lifted the orange cup
as he bowed toward me again
eyes that have seen much
some of it wrapped into books
or poetry or praying for peace

Taste returned to my tongue
the omelet and the goodness of
the hen who had given her life for me
I became one with the morning
The sun shone into my living room
I bowed my head in thanks for its
arrival that morning
Then I lifted my glass of water
stared at the clear cold liquid
thinking not that this is where we came from
or that never is there water enough in
Africa but that it is cold
and good to me.

And the master across the table
smiled
pinkie lifted,
and drained the last of his fine tea.

Farewell, Elaine Restifo, mother of many poets including myself

2011-12-24T00:28:00.015-05:00

December is the month of Death.

Just learned that Elaine Restifo of Lambertville, NJ, passed away on Dec. 21. She was 79.

I can't think of how to begin to describe her. When I profiled her in my 2004 Compass, I called her a revolutionary, which she certainly was. Here's the profile.

An artist, she expressed herself in painting - a favorite was her "Gandhi" - in sculpture - and in poetry.

She also attended demonstrations for everything she believed in. "Peace" was her chief cause.

Elaine began publishing her River poetry magazine as a young woman. The covers were always spectacular, lots of photographs taken by her friends, who, in the last dozen or so years, began to pass away.

The River Poets used to meet at the homes of various artists in Lambertville. It was a long drive for me, but I so looked forward to those monthly Saturday gatherings. She lived on Elm Street. It was hard to find a parking spot b/c no one had a garage and these were long row houses.

So this is how artists live, I thought as I entered her house for the first time. A rocker sat on her front porch. Inside, she had an amazing collection of rocks that were shaped like hearts.

And she could cook! These poetry meetings became feasts. It did get to be too much so someone put a stop to it.

What's a poetry meeting? You read your poem and everyone critiques it. Then the poet decides what to do w/ the feedback.

One of my greatest memories was when I had a party of poets here on Cowbell Road and a bunch of the River Poets - including Elaine - got into one car and drove over the free Lambertville, NJ, bridge and found their way to my little yellow house.

We met in my backyard with its big tree roots - please don't trip! - from the three maple trees that grew there (two have subsequently been taken down, but I planted trees in Israel to make up for it).

How great our guilt!

And how glorious to have rounded up the poets. I remember a lovely older man named Amadeus. O where are you now, lovely man? Cynthia Marcolina was there. She was published in our last Compass.

And a man arrived for the party in a station wagon. His name was Craig Slingluff, Jr.

I have no idea how Craig found the Kaleidoscope (the poetry section of The Compass), someone must have told him about it, but we published a series of Five Poems For Janice. She ended up in a mental asylum and he wrote the poems for her even though he had lost touch with her.

Just goggled Craig and he's still writing, having published something in a prestigious journal. Read his Mastectomy poem here.

Elaine loved all living things. Even ants. She wrote a famous poem called The Ant Murderer. And she, Elaine, was the ant murderer, leading them out of her house by a trail of honey.

Buddha sat in her backyard. He is awash in grief right now as is everyone who knew this amazing woman.

After I got an email from Liz Bowman saying she died, I called Elaine's daughter Christina. Elaine had had a massive stroke and died in the hospital. She was still alive but her level of functioning was extremely poor. Her surgeon son from CT was in charge of her care. They made the decision not to keep her alive.

Elaine would have wanted it that way.

Her health had been deteriorating for some time so that she had to contemplate entering a nursing home.

She fooled them, didn't you Elaine. Good for you. Up until now, I haven't felt Elaine's presence as I'm writing this post.

However, now, I do hear her voice in my head. I spoke to her last about two months ago. Told her I would send something in to the River.

Her funeral is next Tuesday at 11 in the morning at a little chapel outside New Hope. I don't know how everyone will fit inside.

St Philips Chapel in New Hope, PA.

Back to the DVD store

2011-12-21T20:14:00.020-05:00

Back I went to Make a DVD to finish up the next round of the Greenwold Family Movies. For previous round click here. What is this? A boxing match? That's my amateur-boxer daughter's department.

Joel had added music to it, starting w/Wind Beneath My Wings."

"Puts you in the mood, huh?" he said. Sure did.

Yesterday Joel and my sister Donna stayed late and began writing in the names of important people in the movies.

This time it was up to me to write the names since Donna FORGOT we had a 4 pm appt there!

At first I just wrote tame captions like "Jon Katz" but then I realized I could make a statement in the caption, such as "Donna Greenwold Cartagena" - showing who the 8-yo child would eventually become.

This is what we all wonder when we're children. What will become of me?

What became of Daddy, was, he died of a brain tumor when he was 59 yo! I have outlived him and so have three of his five girls.

I put some really cute captions on, which I'm not gonna share here cuz Donna's gonna read it and I want to surprise her.

I really surprised myself an hour earlier when my glucose level was 33. "You could die," I said to myself, as I grabbed a chocolate power bar, triscuits, whole wheat pretzels, cran sauce, but couldn't get the apple cider cap off.

When I took the glucose again it had only gone up to 77, so I crunched on some glucose tabs, 4mg apiece. Maybe 5 and went up to brush my teeth.

Look, I'd rather not die, but I do wanna finish my Kidney memoir w/ Sarah.

And, yes, Donna, I labeled Chip Joseph when he came to visit us on Loretta Court. You were practically dancing down the front stairs you were so happy to see him.

Loretta Court was some house. And some neighbors. Remember the adult brother and sister raising their dead sister's children? It just came to me. Joan Schwartz who Mommy still keeps in touch with. BTW, her fall on the kitchen floor that almost poked her eye out? She's much better.

Here's Katy Temple again! Everyone at DVD Magic, as I call it, has their own particular job. I asked Katy what she and her fam are doing for Xmas. At first they'll have a meal at home and then they'll drive down to Cape May and have a meal there! Such exertion on Xmas day. They have a lot of energy, those Temples!

Ah, here's my BF Paul Surovell. I mispelled his name & will have to fix it when I go back tomro. Here's Paul today.

His first cousin Jon Katz, who introduced us, is also in the movies, where he has HAIR.
Hi Mommy! She's to the left of Daddy. That's Barbara Hexter to dad's right plus her two girls. I said rhetorically to Joel, "Hexter sure doesn't sound like a Jewish name." Her husband, Gene, who's also in the DVD, suffered a miserable death from prostate cancer.

Finished watching the HBO series Rome. Three stars out of five. Acting was superb but the dialogue mostly limp. Filmed at the best film studios in the world, located in Rome, where Fellini used to film.

Countdown to Year's End - Scott's Bday - Tap tap for Tapioca (the manioc root) - joke from Dr Eisenman / Poem: The Man Who Loves Animals

2011-12-18T22:44:00.026-05:00

Here's some fun things I've been doing. These photos are mostly Leftovers I've been wanting to use.

Went to sister Donna's condo to visit. This is the same condo that flooded so badly two months ago - the creek runs thru it - that people had three feet of water in their living room, some with fish swimming in it.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We watched the The Help on "videoDemand" - I refuse to advertise the real name of the monopolistic company. We watched on her huge curving leather sofa that is freezing to the touch, but we both had blankets.

The Help, about southern maids raising white children in Jackson, Miss. - who grew just as prejudiced as their parents - was a great flick except it didn't seem to know how to end. Tears were streaming down my cheeks by the end of the movie. Ron Howard's daughter Bryce Dallas Howard played an evil southern belle.

You know, we think of the word evil as in Hitler or Stalin or today's Republicans, but when you see all the suffering this woman caused it's fair to call her evil.

Here she is sitting on the extreme right of the park bench. Hilly was her name in the film.

What's a girl to do in these lonely winter nights except to make TAPIOCA. I'm very particular about what I eat. I cannot stand anything artificial. So when you buy a pudding mix or, in this case, tapioca, you can't buy the instant variety - all you taste are artificial flavors. But the Jell-O Cook n Serve variety tastes great!

I hit upon a great idea. After cooking, I let it cool in paper cups. Then I could eat it and throw away the cups. No washing! And it was really fun eating out of paper cups, tho next time I can eat it out of those beautiful wine glasses Helene gave me.

Today she moved into Artman Lutheran Home. I'm sure the Board is debating whether or not to remove the word Lutheran. Other religions live there, like my Jewish friend Helene.

How could anyone resist photographing this guy? New Directions attended the Marine stocking-stuffer event at the Upper Moreland Middle School in the Crematorium, oops, I mean Cafetorium.

They would be sent to the Marines in Afghanistan. What an insidious name Afghanistan has become. When my kids were growing up, they had a friend Afzali - A.J. for short - whose parents hailed from that country, though he'd never been there. We thought nothing of it at the time. What are your memories, Reader, of the country before the debacle.

Afzali's uncle owned the fantastic Afghan restaurant "Yalda's Grill" on Horsham Road in Horsham. When I drove by recently it was shuttered and closed down. I had one meal there, cooked to order, that was outa this world!

Even tho I live in Willow Grove, the nearest PO to me is Bryn Athyn, straight down Terwood Road and a left on Fetter's Mill. Hello, Mr Fetter, time to get out of bed and get your mill running. Otherwise people won't be able to bake their own breads.

Tucked in a corner is CHUCK, the former postmaster who, my friend, Rich Fleisher, has deemed the best postman ever, for his quickness and his vast knowledge. I myself had many intimate talks w/Chuck when he was behind the counter and count myself among his many fans.

This is funny b/c I was thinking I should've been invited to the Giant Supermarket's Xmas party, held in the large room at the end of the second floor.

Hello Sultan in the fish department, along with other fish friends, Debbie, who looks cute in her cap, Robert the head of the department, and Justin who also works at Pine Run Assisted Living Facility. If you work there, they will pay for you to become an RN, which is what Justin is doing!

My other friends there include Mary Ann Moylen, nutritionist, Robin and Elyse, who work in the Community Room upstairs, and of course the wonderful pharmacists Hanna, who's from Korea, and Dr Bob, whose the head honcho there. I dropped off a copy of the Compass so they could read it.

Speaking of meds, I got permission from Dr Kung, my nephrologist, to go off Zantac, which I took to safeguard my tummy from my antirejection meds.

Photo from College of American Pathologists - Renal Allograft and the BK Virus

In November my blood tests showed the BK virus had begun growing in my body. Kung immediately took action. This is why I like the guy. I think he is smart! He reduced my Cellcept and when that didn't do the trick, he took me off entirely.

Today I called Einstein Medical Center to get my most recent lab results.

You utilize the test results in conjunction with your creatinine level. Mine was very good - .089.

Last month my reading was 126,000 in my blood.
This month is was 43,000. Quite a difference.

Last month the reading in my urine was 43 million.
This month, it was 1 million.

"Way to go, Mom," said Sarah when I called her with the good news.

She and I have been working super-hard on our Kidney Memoir. She wants to mail it off to her 'readers' tonite or tomro, before she flies to Wisconsin to meet Ethan and spend Christmas with Ethan's brother Spencer, who lives in a group home up there.

When you write a book, you select readers to read it over and give you feedback. Scott is one of my readers, as is my friend from Goddard College, Jonathan Katz, the comedian.

We mention Jon in our early chapters when he was a stand-up comic and used to come to Philadelphia to perform.

So, the other day I'm going for a walk around the block and who do I see? My sister's BF Neil O'Keefe. He's been driving for Meenan for six years.

I was eager to see how oil is delivered to a house.

It takes all of 10 minutes. Everything is automized. This is not Neil's usual route so it was just a coincidence we met. Yeah, yeah, I know there are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. YOU can believe that, I don't.

Oh no! It's 6:02. Gotta go over Scott's to watch my fave show:

Hi, I'm back. It was a two-parter. The female lead was Carol Leigh, an excellent actress.

For Scott's 53rd b'day, I slipped his poem under his door so he'd be surprised when he came home from work at 8:40 in the a.m. He works as a mechanic for SEPTA and loves his job.

THE MAN WHO LOVED ANIMALS

He fed them parsnips from his own table
stood next to their crouching family in the woods
they watched the winter sun rising low
he, longing to touch the majestic antlers,
and stroke the darkened coat,
their big eyes watched him walk home
soundless as only deer can be

Inconspicuous follower of St. Francis,
he fed the birds sunflower seeds
they perched on his windowbox
fearing him not
chirping when he walked home from work
tired and wearing a hat

The black cat sunned itself in his backyard
white boots hidden until she rose
to stalk a mouse across the
winter-imploded grass

Only the fox is coy
his appearance brief
so when you think
you’ve got him in your eye
all you see is
his white tail vanishing.

He believes in god and an afterlife
“I made the decision long ago and
ain’t gonna change my mind.”
He says this to his unbelieving girlfriend
who lives right next door and fears the
perfection of Eternity.

He nursed her through sciatica
when she couldn’t leave her bed
the chamberpot
the garbage bucket
visited her in the hospital when
she had a kidney transplant
his mustache tickling her lips.

Her birthday card was in his mailbox today
December 13, when he staggered exhausted
home from work
“Happy Fifty-Third”
“Only three more months of winter,” he smiled
a disarming smile his parents fussed over
long ago
as their only boy walked into the living room
alarm clock peeled open, sprouting wires
looks good on a resume for SEPTA
the girlfriend puts her arms around him
and stares into his unfathomable green eyes.

Periodically I get hilarious emails from my former BF Russell Eisenman, who makes an appearance in our kidney memoir as Marvin Weissbaum, PhD.

The following is from a comment to an article that I read. The woman writing it is from NYC and commenting on moving to a small Ohio town to be a college professor. She says she is:

married to a Black man, with a bi-racial child. One of the first things a neighbor had to say to us when we were unpacking our belongings was a question. To my husband: "What kind of Black person are YOU?"

"Um, the kind that kills people who ask me stupid questions!" --is the answer I would have given. My husband just laughed and said nothing.

Tony Garofola (1965-2011) We'll miss you, kid!

2011-12-17T11:43:00.033-05:00

THE MAN WHO DIED

Forty-six
this was it
too many hardships
too much pain
they were all so good to me
my brother most of all.

This world was not made for people like me
a black hole somewhere inside my brain
tormenting me since the day I was born.
How many times have I stared at the ceiling
crying “Fix me, Fix me!” to whoever might be listening.

Would it be different when I moved up north?
Judy and I, walking hand in hand,
splashing each other in the salty Atlantic
My tears still flowed

Despair had raced me up the coast of Maine
try as I might to shut it out
it crept in like a shadow and
swallowed me whole.

December 11th
Time to say goodbye
Sitting on my bed where Sleep
was my only friend
the full moon crept in the window
for a last goodbye

Thoughts of Judy and her blue eyes
My nephews Garrett and Stefano and their
mother who was good to me
Their father Michael,
my beloved
almost a twin
would’ve given me a
brain transplant had there been one.

Goodnight sweet world.
The party is over.
The tennis game ends in a draw.
I’ve hiked up enough mountains.
My feet are sore.
I shall go up through the ceiling
beyond the clouds
meet my father and my mother
Surely Death will set me free.

Tony's funeral began this morning at 10 at Saint John of the Cross in the Roslyn section of Abington. The funeral listing is here.

Three people from our support group were there. Ada drove me and we met Helen in the parking lot.

On my New Directions' phone list, I list Tony, plus the phone of his brother Michael. When I saw Mike's name on the Caller ID, I knew why he had called.

Three Upper Dublin police officers came to Mike's home the nite he died and rang the bell. It was 11:30 pm. They gave him the news, staying with him an hour and answering all of his questions.

All the police departments in Montgomery County have been trained about mental illness by the smart and caring people at Montgomery County Emergency Service.

Joe Moore from our group would call Tony periodically. Joe called me about a month ago and told me Tony was not doing well. I then called Tony and persuaded him to attend Mike's Hikes, which he did.

We hiked the Mason's Mill path of Pennypack Trust. I can't tell you how happy I was to see Tony. He rarely attends group. After our walk, we all ate at a new pizza place. New Directions paid the bill, thanks to the donation from the jazz concert at Chris's Jazz Club. Tony thanked me profusely.

That was the last time I saw him. Funny, but it seems as if Tony is here in the room with me now.

It was my unhappy task to email people in the group who knew him. Everyone was shocked and saddened. Jack said "my heart is broken. Tony was my friend."

Tony, a graduate of Upper Dublin High School and Temple University, worked as an actuary in Maine. He had a great girlfriend up there. They kept in touch after he moved back to Pennsylvania to live in his father's house. His dad "Rico", 84, died a couple of years ago. Rico was quite a character, a fun guy, according to what I learned at the luncheon after the funeral.

After his dad died, he bought a Manchester terrier as a companion. He named him Tino. He was 2 when he got him at the dog pound. Now he's 6. I met Tino today when I went to Michael and Elizabeth's house for lunch. When I pulled up, cars were parked all up and down the incredibly hilly street.

His nephews, Garrett, 9, and Stefano, 7, are delighted with their new dog.

On our New Directions website last year, I listed under Job Opportunities "Census Worker." I called Tony and told him about it. Since he wasn't able to find a job as an actuary, he applied for the census job and got it. He did really well.

Joe Moore, above, always has great ideas. Although he was working at Gerhart's, he rounded up Tony and Jack and they begin "finishing" people's decks on weekends. It brought the boys a little extra pocket change until they found real jobs.

Tony was a great athlete. He played tennis year-round and did kick-boxing at LA Fitness. He golfed in Maine. One time at one of Mike's Hikes, we needed to climb an incredibly steep hill at Pennypack Trust. Tony playfully ran up the hill and back down again. It was good to see what a joker he was.

The funeral was very well-attended. I'd never met Michael before so it was a surprise to see what he looked like at the church. Tall and handsome like his younger brother, he had some Bruce Springsteen kind of hair below his lip that looked cool. Wife Elizabeth is a tall striking long-haired blond. The kids, who were playing with those whatchma-call-its in their hands, are both dark-haired and looked cute in their suit and ties.

When Ada and I left, the boys were being coached by a tall nun in street clothes who wore a long necklace with a cross on it. They performed some sort of ritual at the Mass.

The chapel was very beautiful. When New Directions used to meet at the Willow Grove Mall during the day, a few of us would often take a long walk and end up at a church, always going inside to see its beauty, and I believe we ended up at St John of the Cross. Tony would often be among us.
Side view of the church

One woman who was powerfully moved by his death was Virginia. I had introduced the two of them b/c Ginny needed someone to drive her places. Tony became that man. She saw him nearly every week and they had a lot in common and would share bits of information.

For me, poems are a way to collect my feelings and wrap them up like a gift. I kept revising it, whispering it to myself, so I could get the rhythms right. A man read it at the very end of the Mass.

Beforehand, the gold-framed poem was displayed in a prominent place and the ushers directed people to take a look at it. How thoughtful!

Elizabeth and Michael Garofola. I got to know them a bit and see why they have so many friends. She's quite the feisty woman and he's quite the joker.

Exactly one week ago the Garofolas hosted a party with this same group of friends and relatives. Tony was there. He left early, which Mike thought was strange. He had actually gone home to do the deed. A woman at today's party told me she saw him standing over by the sink, waved at him but he didn't see her. "Oh," she thot, "I'll say hi to him later."

But he wasn't there.

With suicides, everyone wonders what they could have done differently to help the deceased individual. Nothing. The individual had made their final decision and nothing we could have done would've stopped them.

My own brother David, the family photographer, took his own life over 30 years ago. He suffered from autism, just as Tony had Asperger syndrome, two brain conditions on the Autism Spectrum. Two days ago a comprehensive article on this subject appeared in the LA Times.

Vat else? she said in a Yiddish accent. No, we don't speak Yiddish anymore. That was in the days of Gramma Zali. Zali is my middle name.

These amazing likenesses of Garrett and Stefano (fantastic names) were done at one of St John's craft shows.

Here they are, taking a rest from playing video games. But only on the weekends!

Here's Tino, who had been following Lizzy all around the house since moving in with them. You can imagine what poor Tino went through, losing his beloved master. Tony had put Tino outside when he was ready to die in the very house he lived in his whole life. It's somewhere behind Sam's Italian Market.

I watched Garrett and a friend who took Tino out for a walk. Garrett was amazed at the way the dog sniffed every little thing. He'd never had a dog before.

This beautiful credenza is from the home of a potato farmer up in Michigan. It's quite old and once belonged to Elizabeth's father or grandfather.

Inside are Michael and Anthony's old toys. The doll to the left was crocheted by Elizabeth's grandmother. Her family boasts amazingly talented craftswomen.

Look at this old telephone. It's got the OL 9 exchange which is now 659. I know it well, since it's my own exchange. For a hot date call 659-2142.

Talked to so many interesting people there! Irene and her husband are neighbors. We shared diabetes info and I told her about all the diabetes updates I get online. When I arrived at the party and sat in my car, I injected 14 units. As I walked up to the house I told myself to "be good."

I had a Coors Light but only drank four huge sips. My first beer since I was diagnosed in April. Irene's husband - is it Joe? - works near the Boulevard for a company that makes all the Gideon bibles that are placed in hotels all over the world. One million are produced every week.

Now Rocky Raccoon, he fell back in his room, only to find Gideon's bible

When I said goodnight, I had many choices how to get to the faraway sidewalk. There were a couple of sets of stairs which, quite honestly, wouldn't be as much fun as walking down the steep hill. I had told one of the guests, who mentioned her sciatica was acting up, that I had a life-changing operation for my sciatica in August. It felt great striding down their steep hill.

And to all a good night!

PS - Please read comments below and add your own. Since it's tough to figure out how to do it, send me an email and I'll do it for you. RuthDeming@comcast.net. Thanks!

What I learned from delivering the Compass - Bye-bye Helene

2011-12-15T18:13:00.043-05:00

I had three big Compass deliveries today:

- The Horsham Clinic, which refers the most people to us at New Directions

- Creekwood Mental Health Center, which I excoriated in my Editor's Corner

- Abington Memorial Hospital Psych Ward. Below is the former main entrance

I wanted to do the hardest delivery first. That would be to the hospital where there is no parking. Got permission from Valet Parking to park in the quik-zone and make my delivery to the psych ward.

"High elopement risk" read the sign outside the locked ward. You know, of course, I was once locked up in then-Bldg 16 of Norristown State Hospital, so I shudder when I read the sign.

I picked up the telephone and a very nice nurse answered. "Hi," I said, "I'm Ruth Deming of New Directions Support Group and I want to drop off our Compass magazines."

"I'll buzz you in," she said.

Whew! She knew who I was.

Looked like they had a full house! All different sorts of people. I gave her a plastic bag full of Compass. She said she'd let me out, meaning she'd unlock the door.

"We're moving," she said. "Going to the Buerger Building. We'll have much more space, esp. for Allied Therapies (art, etc.).

"That's great!" I said. "You know, I used to give talks here." I also gave them at Horsham Clinic. Inspirational talks. I used to get them up and dancing at Horsham. I do miss it but I'd never be able to find it in the dark.

In my Editor's Corner, I blasted the CEO of Abington hospital. I hope someone shows it to him.

Okay, now let's drive over to the Horsham Clinic for a daytime delivery.

Horsham Clinic is a beautiful facility, grounds and all. Horace Trumbauer architect of the original mansion. Died of alcoholism. When you enter the front door, you see many things. To the left are the people who are awaiting admission. People with problems. I took a quick look. A grand staircase leads to the executive offices. I told the receptionist I was delivering the Compass to Dave Mauermann, one of the chief administrators.

Dave later emailed me that if anyone has any constructive criticism about Horsham, they should get in touch with him. I'll put it on our New Directions website. He also said he'd send a donation to ND.

Coming home from Horsham, I stopped at my friend Helene's in Maple Glen. She's moving into an assisted living facility next Monday Dec. 19. A friend of hers, Naomi, is making all of the arrangements. When Helene called Naomi today, her husband Stephen Perloff, founder of the Photo Review, which Helene had wrin for, had made the answering machine recording: "At the beep, tell me your darkest, deepest secrets."

The Artman home looks like a nice place to live. And die. Helene is excited about the five big windows she'll have there. Her current house has about 25.

I know I posted two pix of Artman but it's too much trouble to remove one of them.

Approaching the side door of Helene's house. One year I brought some of my hasta over and we planted them in the garden to the left. She has a little woods next to her where we used to walk. She laid down big branches as trail guides. Her friend Peter also helped.

I remember when Helene painted her cupboards gray, insisting they would bring out the color in the white walls. Helene is an artist: a photographer, sculptor, writer, and a chic dresser.

After Helene moves, I'm gonna look at these photos. I'm quite the Nostalgiac.

Matt Ryesky, taken by his mom. Matt passed away a couple of years ago from cancer. He married Linda late in life. Matt got a chance to play 'grandpop' with Linda's grandson below.

Matt bears a striking resemblance to his father, Aaron, who now lives at Artman in acute care.
Danish modern living room.

OMG! I just fell asleep! Was up until 2 polishing off a revision for our Kidney Memoir. Since Helene is a photographer, the entire house is filled w/ photos.

Helene and I met at Art Matters. She was the photographer and I the writer. We collaborated on numerous articles. Sam Maitin. Robinson Fredenthal. Chris Ray. All of them dead.

Her sewing machine is a Pfaff. I hope you're taking that to Artman, I said. Helene is extremely smart, yes, even smarter than me. I'm working on a hypothesis that people w/big ears are smart. Obama has big ears. I have ears the size of apricots.

Books and more books. I took two of them home: a photography book called "The Last European Jews" and "The Sibley Guide to Boids." Oops, I thot I was one of the Three Stooges. Visit their Stoogeum Museum in Ambler.

Her upstairs office. I never thot of it as messy. It was just her work space. She's got a tea pot in there, many Kleenex boxes, and a teapot with tea bags inside from when Marco Polo sailed from Venice to the Spice Islands. I now have the orange tea pot. And, yes, the tea is stale.

Neighbor Sara stopped by. (Pronounced Sah-ra, it's a Swedish name.

View from door leading outside to deck.

I sat on the bed while Helene sat on the sofa in the bedroom.

She let me take some nice things home including a lot of dish towels, bath towels, and a succulent plant I'll have to learn the name of. My friend Fontaine said it's a burros. Best of all, though, is a photograph of my darling Sarah, who had two kidneys in the photo. Who knows what life will bring?

Sarah Lynn Deming, about 14 years old.

Helene gave me two of her dinnerplates. Here's my diabetes-healthy meal on the plate. After she moves, she'll let me have a place-setting for four, including bowls.

Time to watch ROME. The violent HBO video about that ancient civilization. Wish me luck that this version, from the East Cheltenham Library, doesn't have as many scratches on it as at my own library's copy which was unwatchable.

"Spanish Arches" published in Haggard and Halloo / Poem: The Furnace Man

2011-12-12T12:52:00.012-05:00

It took me six months to find the house I live in. Read my story in this prestigious online journal I'd never heard of: Haggard and Halloo.

H Ryder Haggard, author of the classic "She," was one of my favorite authors when I was growing up.

When I went outside this morning, my birdbath had frozen water, the cup of water in my car was frozen, but I had bundled up in layers. Drove to Quest Diagnostics for my monthly kidney tests.

This is the only Quest around that isn't crowded.

The pleasure from being published at H&H is reminiscent of when I was in fourth grade at Mercer Elementary School in Shaker Heights and the principal came to our class. That would be the class of Mrs. Evelyn Hess. No relation to the gas station or Bill.

I had written a report on Abraham Lincoln, in pencil, we weren't allowed to write in pen, and for some reason the princiPAL loved it, that would be the famous educator Mrs. Alice van Duesen, who had no kids of her own.

I was always obsessed with religion, so I did a lot of research in getting Lincoln's religion right. I used our home World Book Encyclopedia as well as the World Almanac. Plus some books in the Mercer Library, Mrs. Leffler, librarian.

Way to go, 65-year-old Ruthie! (I just inserted the first name of Mrs. Hess. Evelyn. Took me five hours to remember it.)

Anyway, Mr. Lincoln had no religion at all.

As I sit here on my living room couch desk, I look across the room to where I have a facsimile of the Gettysberg Address on the wall.

I'm waiting right now until my insulin takes effect and then I can eat. So, I'm sitting in the exam room at Quest. Lisa is my phlebotomist. She's got the needle in my arm. And can't get into a vein.

Did you drink water today?

Yes, I say, imagining drinking it last nite from the blue bathroom glass cuz I was so thirsty, and then half a glass this morning, plus I had four chunks of watermelon for breakfast which is all water.

I know it's there, she says, as she moves the needle about.

Does it hurt?

Not at all, I say.

She really seems like she's onto something.

I just know it's there, she says. Keep your fist closed.

Ah! she says.

I look down and one drop squirts out.

Oh no! I say.

No, it'll come, it'll come, she says. And glory be, my wine of life is spilling into four tubes.

The most important test is the BK virus, which hits 20 percent of kidney recipients. The virus can kill the kidney, so my docs are doing everything they can to make the numbers go lower. They do keep decreasing, so all I can do is pray to Mr. Lincoln's god.

THE FURNACE MAN

Hello Mr. Furnace Man
into the crawl space
you go
like a coal miner
with your lamp
and your clanging belt of tools
strapped to your hips

Are you an acrobat?
You will be
spiraling across my
concrete floor
till you hit the
heaving ailing furnace

In a flash
he has found the problem
a dirty gray filter
he dangles from his hand
and a black rubber loop
tilting at the side

In another week, he says
you wouldn't have had
even 62 degrees of heat
You would have had
no heat at all!

I gasp.

He moves toward me on the couch
What a kindly face he has
shrouded in a knit hat
sweet as a baby bonnet
his eyes are like a cat's:
yellow

Does he have murder on his mind?
Will he strangle me and
boil my bones?
Or is it just a little rape and pillage
he intends?

He drops to his knees,
looking at my walls, my windows
What do people see, he moans,
in abstract art. To me
it looks like craziness.

Oh, dear, he has touched a nerve.

I look out the window
at the dead flowers in
my dead garden.
That's abstract art, I show him.
You have to use your mind
to make sense of it. Do it!

His yellow eyes squinch in
puzzlement.

Oh, you either like it
or you don't, I huff.

On a clipboard
he presents me his bill,
laying it
tenderly by my side
like a bouquet.

For the first time
I find his eyes and
stare at them hard.
"Stan! This is expensive!"

Crestfallen, he tries
three times
to defend his price.
As he tells of charging the "day rate"
to an unemployed family he serviced at night
I thrust a $100 bill in his hand.

He doesn't understand.

Just fix my goddam furnace.
Charge me what you will.
Just let me bitch, that's all.

We loved our lithium until it turned on us!

2011-12-09T12:50:00.043-05:00

HELLO PANEL MEMBERS of the US Food and Drug Administration,

My name is Ruth Deming. I live in Willow Grove, PA, and would like to advocate for a Black Box Warning for the drug lithium.

On February 14, 1984, I had a manic-psychotic episode and was diagnosed with manic-depression, now known as bipolar disorder 1. (There is also bipolar disorder type 2.)

My psychiatrist put me on the drug lithium which I took faithfully for 16.5 years, getting the required lab tests once every six months.

Sometime in 2001, my psychiatrist told me my creatinine level was rising, a sign that the lithium was damaging my kidneys. The level was 2.8.

Normal creatinine level is between .5 to 1.4, according to my nephrologist (kidney doctor) at Einstein Medical Center in Philadelphia, where I had a kidney transplant on April 1, 2011.

In 2001, I went off the lithium and visited the office of a local nephrologist, who said I should have enough kidney function to last the rest of my life.

Few doctors, if any, were aware of the long-term effects of lithium, because the drug was so new.

Back in 2001, we didn't know the deleterious effects of the drug the way we are learning today, 10 years later.

The drug lithium began the revolution of using medication to treat mental illness. John Cade, a psychiatrist and researcher in Australia, wrote a paper in 1949, describing lithium's antimanic results.

His paper, which appeared in a scientific journal, was read by Danish psychiatrist, Mogens Shou, who performed his own experiments with the drug and introduced it to much of Europe. Like Cade, he was a humble man and extremely grateful for the life-enhancing properties it had on patients.

Several psychiatrists brought lithium to America in 1970.

One of them was psychiatrist/surgeon William L. Dyson who first introduced lithium to the Philadelphia area. Read his fascinating obit here. I attended several of his lithium clinics at the University of Pennsylvania in 1984, after which I decided to start my own support group, New Directions of Abington, PA.

At a recent meeting of New Directions, a woman I'll call Marian, was told by her nephrologist that her kidneys were failing. 62 years old and on lithium for about 15 years, she is yet another person whose kidneys have been destroyed by the drug that once helped us so much.

In our recent Compass magazine, I profiled two people with the same problem.

Compass Mental Health Magazine, Fall 2011 - Update: Sharon got her kidney on Jan. 3, 2012

Marian goes to the same nephrology practice I do, Hypertension-Nephrology Associates of Willow Grove. They have an excellent training program to help people adapt to dialysis. Both Marian and I attended a personal orientation session done by nurse Kathy.

In fact I just drove over there to speak to Sally, the secretary of Dr Ghantous, and gave her a copy of the Compass. I'd like Ghantous to read about my friends Denis and Sharon who both lost kidney function due to lithium.

Sally and I walked outside and I showed her the back cover of the Compass. The photo of Willow Lake was taken at the lake right next door to the kidney place.