Tuesday, July 14, 2020

Henry Miller, author of Tropic of Cancer - Poem: Saving the Hydrangeas

Do you remember the author Henry Miller? 

From Wiki:

Only 200 copies of Miller's 1972 chapbook On Turning Eighty were published. Published by Capra Press, in collaboration with Yes! Press, it was the first volume of the "Yes! Capra" chapbook series and is 34 pages in length.[56] The book contains three essays on topics such as aging and living a meaningful life. In relation to reaching 80 years of age, Miller explains:
If at eighty you're not a cripple or an invalid, if you have your health, if you still enjoy a good walk, a good meal (with all the trimmings), if you can sleep without first taking a pill, if birds and flowers, mountains and sea still inspire you, you are a most fortunate individual and you should get down on your knees morning and night and thank the good Lord for his savin' and keepin' power.[57]
Miller and Tokuda divorced in 1977.[51] Then in his late 80s, Miller filmed with Warren Beatty for the 1981 film Reds, which was also directed by Beatty. He spoke of his remembrances of John Reed and Louise Bryant as part of a series of "witnesses". The film was released eighteen months after Miller's death.[58] During the last four years of his life, Miller held an ongoing correspondence of over 1,500 letters with Brenda Venus, a young Playboy model and columnist, actress and dancer. A book about their correspondence was published in 1986.[59]R


Why did I just eat hummus with pretzels dipped into it, loads of pretzels 

I was low. Had Amy's Indian dinner at Scott's while we watched the
Nightly PBS News and injected too much.

One of the commentators on the Supreme Court's recent decisions
- a male of perhaps Indian American derivation - had a container of
blue hydrangeas behind him.

So when I got home I clipped the remaining hydrangeas and put em
in a huge pot in the kitchen, first washing them off in case of bugs,
ants in particular, and keeping it on the kitchen floor until I figure out
what to do with them.

The plants, not the ants.


Flop. They fall to the earth
like dying soldiers.
I run in the house and choose
a pair of shears to cut their drowsy
heads and see if they come
back to life.
The verdict is still out but
we do have hope.
Sadly, though, my George Schuler
and his wife Elinor are gone for good.

Some nice pictures for my readers - The New Broncos are Out - Poem - Scott's Valentine Gift

Bexar County, Texas.

San Antonio, Texas.

Why on earth do I know about dis?

I subscribe to the Rivard Report. I even sent them a donation.

Oh, have you seen the new Ford Broncos?

OJ will be interested in these.

Click here and then choose the one(s) you want.

A 2021 Ford Bronco being driven over a rocky terrain

I'll take the 2021 Bronco Sport.

Dyou know what I was just doing?

Sitting outside on my back porch reading THE DEATH TRADE by Jack Higgins. Sean Dillon just made an appearance.

My American flags were back there so I moved em to my laundry room.

At 10 am I must make an important phone call.

Wish me luck. Twill be hard for me to understand what he's talkin about.

In fact, I will feel like a nincompoop.


A lovely flower from Kremp Florist
it gathered mold on Aunt Ethel's covered coffee table
we put it out in the sun
and there it be
doing only what it can do
live or become another dead thing.

Monday, July 13, 2020

July 13 is an important date - Lantern Fly loves our houses - Golden Age of Comic Books - Poem Forgotten

It's official. I confirmed it with next door neighbor Stacey Adams. The lantern flies drown in her pool and then they filter them out.

They have hundreds. Terrible problem. Read about them here.

What's the lure about my wooden mail box?


Originally I was gonna write about COMIC BOOKS and other wonderful inventions for kids and fun-lovin folks like meself.

Now I grew up in Cleveland where we once had two newspapers.

The Plain Dealer
The Evening Bulletin

Uncle Marvin was a salesman at the Plain Dealer.


Today  is 40 years without our wonderful Dad❤️🙏🏻

You said it, Lynn!

He would wear his WHAT ME WORRY T-SHIRT 

Alfred E Newman

OKAY OKAY, hold it kids. We're just getting started. I sure liked that bigger font ya used.

I was a dues-paying member of THE COOKIE CLUB in the Bulletin. Periodically I'd get mailings with coupons.

THE NAME SMILIN JACK MARTIN CAME TO ME, like Athena popping full-blown from the head of Zeus.

Read about this aviation pioneer hereSmilinjackhead.jpg

My favorite was

Wait a sec! Is that Lothar?

My dad wouldn't let us buy comic books, but somehow I managed.



AGES AGO I would drive my son Daniel Paul Deming to North Wales, PA, I believe, where there was a great comic book store.

He'd run inside while I parked illegally as there was no where to park.

There was a Radiator Man, made out of wire.

SANDMAN was his fave comic book.

WHEW... I am so glad I thought of that.

When he moved into his own house, he brought all his comic books with him.

And he sold them.

Let's see how much they're worth today.

Oh no!  MARY WORTH was a comic book character.

Look! She's an older woman.

Well, that's about it for me. Wanna finish a very strange Netflix film called FORGOTTEN. It's about the Korean culture.

When I worked at Bristol Bensalem Human Services I would eat at a Korean restaurant where I would buy BENTO BOXES, filled with delicious items.

Thank you, I'd, say, but I'll have American utensils, please.

Oh, see the miso soup in the back right?


So many people I've forgotten over the years,
Let's do the alphabet
Aunt Hilda
Bunny, a friend of Mom's
Caroline, another friend of Mom's who died at 92
they didn't wanna talk on the phone they were soooo tired
Donny, mom's brother
Eric Lynn, the man who gave us the dog Triscuit
Florence Greenberg who had schizophrenia and was put away
Gloria, our maid in Shaker Heights who came to Dad's funeral
Herschel, Rozzie's first husband, who died in flames
I Isador, who looked like Mussolini, though he was a Jewish dullard
J  Jack Weisberg, we assume is dead
K Kay Lokoff, Roberto's mother
L  Laurie Saltzman, elder daughter of the man who founded Bobbi Brooks, she had a large head and would smoke in the bathroom
M Maurie Saltzman, founder of Bobbi Brooks and wealthy benefactor
N  Norman, who took care of dad when he was dying
O  Orangutans in the Philadelphia Zoo, perished by fire
P   Peter Serkin, pianist. At Goddard, his son, Danny, was there.
Q   The wicked Queen who put Snow White in a trance
R    Robert Howard Lokoff. Was just thinkin about him today. His daughter Amy has tattoos.
S     Aunt Sophie, very homely but brilliant
T     Triscuit, our beloved dog Triscuit
U     Uncle Henry, Sophie's husband, who would hang out at the mall in Cleveland waiting to die
V      Viola Wike, my art teacher who liked me
W     Willie Mays, one of the true characters in the book Boys of Summer, which Scott returned for me today
X       Xavier Cugat with his swinging Latino rhythm
Y        Y chromosome, yahoo! here I come, you men you!
Z         Great Grandma Zali, hence my name Ruth Zali Greenwold Deming.

Sunday, July 12, 2020

Sitting on Scott's Bench, eating pretzels and reading Atlas Obscura, Second Edition - Poem: Wonder of Wonders

As an idealist I sent the following email to members of New Directions:

Hi everyone,

We have loads of talented people in New Directions.

Let's come up with ideas on how we can help other people.

Even though we have our own problems, HOW CAN WE HELP OTHERS?

Ideas include:

Introduce them to

Rock n Roll
Playing a musical instrument

No matter what your age, you might have 6 people who could be on your team.

Please lemme hear your thoughts.

Ruth Z Deming, MGPGP, founder/director


Our Margie Lawlor said she would sponsor our viewing of Hamilton.

Thank you, Margie, with all my heart.

Looks to me like a musical instrument. Or a map, with the Red Sea. And to you?

Am drinking the last of my Peppermint Tea by Bigalow. Caffeine free. Good god, how hard is it to spell Bigalow correctly? This is not correct, says the former spelling champ of Mercer Elementary School in Shaker Heights, OH.

Dwight Johnson I still miss you.

The cup I've chosen - and we all make thousands, if not millions of choices every single day - is from my former Chinese exchange student, Bruce Li, tho I've forgotten his real name.

Bruce was about 19 and was very ambitious. He was always late. Wore his pajamas as if it were a real shirt.

Bruce! I would say, but he never 'got it.' Look, he's probly a nuclear physicist by now and is planning a trip to the moons of Jupiter.

We'd do tai chi in my back yard.


Blue hydrangeas.

When I moved into my house, practically everyone on our street had these hydrangeas.


Sipping on peppermint tea
Napping through The Bodyguard
with Scott this morning
Remembering George and Elinor Schuler
thru a short story I wrote yesterday
Mother, who haunts me even in death
Sarah and Dan, like baby robins
they've flown the coop
and myself, still here, still weird
still wired, till death or dearth do us part.

Saturday, July 11, 2020

Lonesome Ruthie

Got up late, 9 30 am.

Good, I thought, I DID finally fall asleep.

Went on my walk.

Passed the house of the dead George and Elinor Schuler. How quickly they fall and are forgotten.

Hold on. Gotta refill my cup with cinnamon spice tea.

Not a drop of caffeine.

Last night I was up until, oh, 3 am, but being productive.

Reading my slim volume of Robert Frost poetry, with an intro by Louis Untermeyer.

When I looked up Frost I saw there was a continuing history of suicide deaths and schizophrenia in his family.

Frost himself was gonna drown himself in a bog. He and Virginia Woolf had a lot in common.

Ohhh, I was so sad last night.

Lonesome Ruthie. Who do I know? Who do I talk to?

Left two messages on Scott's phone this morning but that doesn't count.


The quality of mugginess
hard to describe
walking in a spider web
go go go
soon, like Jill, you'll
crown the top of the hill
and can sail all the way down.

For what?
To enter my yellow cocoon
and pretend life thrives here?

Get hold of yourself Girl
No one but the ghosts
of the ones who lived here
and believe me
they don't count

You're on your own
like everyone on their
death bed
On your own.

Friday, July 10, 2020

Poem: The Rain Slants as it Falls


drop drop drop
like silent tears
the unceasing rain
falls from the sleet gray

A breeze makes its way to my
red couch. I turn to let it
tousle my hair. Thick white hair
have I, like a Shakesperean queen
invisible jewels 'round my neck

I sip on chilled V-8 from my
Harry and Meghan mug and having toured
my house earlier today, remember things
I will miss when I am gone

In the downstairs powder room
where men who believed in Christ
installed huge bathroom tiles

I study the old-fashioned cabinets
the Travis family put in
Dave's dead of the shaking palsy
and Arlene is undergoing chemo

The towel racks against the wall
look like gargoyles on Notre Dame
the stall shower is used only
when I color my hair, tiresome now
at my age

The main attractions that made me
buy their house,  the show stoppers, if you will
are the cathedral ceiling in the living room

A contagious creation that made me dream of The Vatican
and Michaelangelo, of Venus gliding in on a shell by
Botticello, and the endless possibilites of love
and imagination

Of food from the Cliffs of Dover - oyster stew and Trenton crackers like
Ron Abrams used to make, before he shot himself, and Matthew Arnold
said be true to the one you love

Cross off the first contingent of favorites,
sandaled, bespectacled, cap-wearing
but forget them not

they left an imprint

And that mother of mine
How dare she die? So much to discuss
The patter of the rain
which forms little canals in the street

See the rain plash and bounce like
a draydl as a leaf sails like a small
boat down the street

Carefully as a child I go downstairs
down the pink carpeted steps
and enter the kitchen for breakfast

The orange juice comes from a frozen can
oranges that once swung from trees in
John Steinbeck's California
watered by vast irrigation systems
where we liked to bathe our tired feet

A mobile of a flying bird, still, points his tiny beak
into a dusty Christmas bulb I keep up all year
the chimes never tinkle
If I wish I could bend over the window sill
with all my precious objects and make them sound

One fine day I shall do that.
Perhaps when the rain lifts.

Thursday, July 9, 2020

Happiness Is - Poem: I Love Coffee

Sitting on Red Couch eating my Ralston Cereal with peanut butter and frozen blueberries and sipping on a hot cup of Maxwell House Coffee.

Bob Walmsey was here this morning.

My house needs a helluva lot of work.

I intend to live here until I croak, so it must be done.

My late friend Tony Garofola was an actuarial so he might predict when that might happen.

We'll fool them all, won't we, Mom and Dad?

A piece by Clara Schumann was just on WRTI FM.

A prodigal, she outlived her husband Robert, who I believe died of venereal diseases.

Debra Lew Harder is our announcer.

Know what? Gonna change coffee cups.

The coffee tastes much better in a Starbucks cup I got around the corner at Mom's house, along with a few other wonderful items.

Image result for coffee cup

Stock photo of coffee cup.

But to me it's beautiful !



Just the thought of it
makes me happy
when I see it in movies
my eyes glaze over with love
it may keep me up for hours
but who cares?
It makes everything
dazzle and shine
like a valentine.



It starred Dick Van Dyke, who celebrated his 94th birthday.

Click here.

Dick Van Dyke arrives to the 76th Annual Golden Globe Awards held at the Beverly Hilton Hotel on January 6, 2019. -- (Photo by Christopher Polk/NBCU Photo Bank/NBCUniversal via Getty Images)

He tap danced with Arthur Duncan, orig from the Lawrence Welk Show.

He is also very active at the age of 94.

Read about him here.

As a black man, he broke the color barrier when on tour with Bob Hope.

Read more here.