Work is the wheel .....

that makes all things happen. Just said this to my attorney friend "Sam" whose solo practice had been very slow but just took off again. I told him the same is true for me. My solo therapy practice just took off again. I specialize of course in working with bipolar families. I come out to their house, remember all their names (I jot em down on my clipboard)and by the end of our meeting, we've come up with an action plan.

Then I go home and type it up and email it to them. Sam said, I don't know any other therapist who does dat.

I made it up, I said. It was necessary. Families love it. We also write scripts.

Sam is the role model of a successful bipolar man. He has lots of interests and hobbies. And great ideas. I wanna ask him to be on our Board of Directors but I wasn't in the mood to talk to him about it. Instead I told him about some of the videos I check out each week from the Abington Public Library. If you google Abington Public Library they send you to Massachusetts.

"Abington" is a b'ful word but it's hard to appreciate it cuz we're so used to it. Tonite when I was coming home from my painting class, here's what I thought to myself.

People live in houses. I was driving down Jericho Road where people have big expensive b'ful houses. I still, after all these years, can't get used to the fact that people live in houses. I think I still believe people live in tents in the desert. This is true. Houses mystify me. I do pretend otherwise, tho. But whenever I enter a new house, like last nite's clients' house, I go gaga. I just wanna walk all thru it and look in all the rooms and sit on the beds.

I was at my friend Walter's yesterday. I followed him into the bedroom while he finished folding his laundry. Then we sat in the living room and talked. He read some to me. I took a photo of him w/my new Canon hovered over his bookshelf looking for a book, The Complete Book of the Holocaust. We talked about Hitler's idea of transporting the Jews to Madagascar.

Why, I asked Wally, did Hitler wanna get rid of them? They were such valuable people.

Oh, said Wally, he wanted their money. Their artwork and their treasures.

What I really wanted to talk about was my hour-long walk today in Hatboro. Backpack slung over my back, I chugged along down York Road heading toward Jarrett Dodge. They're still in biz but they now sell used cars from every nation. I hadda check up on my Hatboro shops.

I also checked on a couple of my favorite trees. One is a huge white tree out front of Loller Academy. Doing fine. Very old. Couple hundred I'd say. Next door is the former White Billet Nursing Home.

What did they do with all the old people, I wondered, pushing open the door and entering the empty building. The ghosts of the old were nowhere to be found. I walked checking all the rooms. No one was there. Not even a sniff of any old people.

I imagined them wheeling them out. "You'll be just fine, Dearie," says the aide in the colorful smock. "We'll take good care of you."

All the old people they took out used to be young and vibrant. They used to be little children sucking on lollipops. They got married and raised families. They were vital individuals with beautiful hair. The women had nice legs and oh how they loved to dance.

Gradually, so gradual they didn't even notice, they began to shrink and lose their teeth and their hair and the blood slowed down in their veins and when they looked in the meer they couldn't recognize theirselves (sic) anymore. They just could not recognize theirselves.

And then - suck! - they were plopped into The White Billet.

That's life for you. But, I ask you, hasn't it been worthwhile? Hasn't it tho?