Crusade continues - thoughts about disability - Poem: Mystical Experience at the Hardware Store

Was sending out query letters for my novel when the phone rang. It was Joe Moore! Said my Intell article was the best thing he'd ever read about bipolar d/o and he wanted to do something to help change the system. Joe is a top salesman at Gerhart's Appliance and also volunteers at Abington Memorial Hospital. What can he do to help? Due to Joe's call, I just wrote a letter to the new CEO of Abington. Called his office to get his name and spelling but no one answered. Not only is it Saturday but it's also Yom Kippur.

So I called the hospital receptionist who misspelled his name for me. Never ever believe anybody. Checked it online and found Laurence Merlis. And of course we always use the middle initial.

I'm now getting so good at writing letters I don't call Helene or Freda to read it to them.

Anyway I conscripted Joe to speak at the forthcoming seminar at the Upper Moreland Library. He's a good man and stays in touch with several of our people including young Greg who almost killed himself several times. Once Joe had called Greg and Greg was just tying a noose.

Ya know what Joe said to him? Go on, tie it. Tie it tight.

I ended up taking Greg to the Abington Hospital Crisis Department which is where I learned of the awful treatment a depressed person gets from them. Dunno if it's changed or not.

You know what? Ya know how Obama just made Elizabeth Warren head of the new Consumer Department? I should be in charge of pronouncing places humane or not. Who's Ruth Deming?



Boy, when I send a letter, every bit of it is important. That's why Ray Borokowski of AccuPrint prints my stationery. He also does the brochures of Abington Adult Evening School, among other things. I've never deviated from the best.

I deem the postage stamp almost as important as the letter itself. I used up all my military stamps or I would've put a smartly dressed naval or marine officer on the envelope to show I mean business, yes sirree!

For the numerous donations to Justin Hawkes I used the Love Stamp.

Have you seen the new Cartoon stamps? Or Cowboy stamps? I've got em all.

So, "Mr Sweeney" sends me an email. I don't think he's ever been to my group but I did talk to him extensively on the phone one time. He's a caring dad and wants to help his daughter "Kristin." She's been diagnosed w/borderline personality disorder, which few people reading this know what it is. A difficult condition, certainly, but there's help for it. I always refer people to Tami's website on borderline.

So the dad asks me if I can recommend any lawyers so his daughter can get on disability.

Instead, I shoot back an email saying I don't believe she should be on disability, to wit:

First of all, Jim, I've gotta tell you I think Disability is not a good idea for a young person. If I remember correctly, your daughter has BPD. She should be encouraged to work, even at a menial job. How much she earns is not important. She needs to feel valuable in society. She should see a good therapist who encourages her to work and coaches her. People on SSI have low esteem, have difficulty finding mates, and lose respect for themselves. This is my opinion, Jim.

Now if I were a big tough girl I wouldn't feel bad about sending it. Several times I wanted to send him the names of disability lawyers.

Stop it, Ruthie, I said to myself. If these people have any sense, they'll listen to you. The girl needs a job.

Aside from what I said above being true, I personally don't want my hard-earned tax dollars supporting people on the dole. Let the father support her if he wants. But not me!

When I first met Laura McKenna, who was our wonderful benefactoress for many years, she came to our group. This was 2001. I was on psych meds then, tho, of course you know I'm cured now. She walked into our huge room at Abington Prez - the Parish Hall - and asked me if I were on disability.

I was shocked and insulted.

No, ma'am, I said curtsying and kissing her feet.

No, that was when I met Pope John. I kissed his ring and the hem of his garment.

Quick aside, when I walk with the mailman, I see this amazing bumper sticker on nearby Sleighride Road:

Pope Benedict says Abortion is Wrong.

Sez I to Tommy the mailman, Yeah, abortion is wrong but it's okay for priests to have sex with young boys.

What a world!

Have I said it all? Lemme check my notes.



Okay, hold me to it, Reader! Gotta work on the Compass.



Oh, so that's where my fan got to! My neighbor George gave it to me when they moved to Ann's Choice.

A MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE AT THE HARDWARE STORE

In the hardware store, the things I bought were put
into a plastic bag: my cans of spray paint, my ball of twine,
and some peculiar wire I found on a crowded shelf.

The little plastic bag which held my things
swayed daintily from my arm, a plastic womb,
which assumed the shape of the things inside,
rustling against my coat.

I thought I was going to leave
but then I saw the dowels,
wooden dowels. I hardly know what dowels do.
I thought perhaps something to do with
hanging curtains, though probably not.

There was a field of them,
a field of dowels,
like sticks flowing in a bin, each one holding its own,
silent, erect, tender in their attentiveness.
Waiting to be acknowledged.

I wanted desperately to know how to acknowledge
a dowel or even an awl, which is another
hardware store word that has
no meaning to me, so I removed my glove
and caressed the dowel the best I knew how.
The thin round wood made me remember
Tapping on pecan shells long ago.

They were 29 cents apiece,
so I counted out five. Five round dowels with no use
at all.
I went back to the man to ring them up.