Lunch with Blanche and Judy - What do you wear when it's 65 outside? / Poem Titanic

We met at the Hollywood Tavern in that wonderful area of Rockledge called "Hollywood" b/c of the style of the houses and names of the streets. See above house for sale.

From Wiki:

Hollywood is an unincorporated community in the southern portion of Abington Township, Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, United States. It is well known for its collection of Southern California-style homes.

The 174-home neighborhood got its start when a builder from California, Gustav Weber filed plans to build a small subdivision in 1928. The homes were built in pastel colors with flat roofs, similar to Spanish-style homes in the Los Angeles area. Streets were named Los Angeles, San Diego, Pasadena and San Gabriel.^[1]

However, one of Weber's problems was that the neighborhood was not built to cope with the Northeastern winters. Plants native to Southern California and moravian tile sidewalks were included in his plans. The plants died in the cold. Homes were not insulated and could not withstand the cold. The flat roofs leaked. The tile cracked and was replaced by concrete. As a result significant modifications were made to the homes since they were built.

The neighborhood was never finished according to Weber's plans. Possible reasons ranged from the 1929 stock market crash to an unfaithful wife.^[1] A local developer ended up finishing the development in the 1940s.^[2]

Unfortunately, the famous Hollywood Tavern didn't open till 3 pm, so Blanche drove us to The Corner Cafe in a huge shopping center nearby. She's 86 and forgets to put on her turn signal and has trouble parking.

Judy and I reminded her how to do these things. She drives a lovely car. I didn't recognize the logo on the back and learned it was a Mercury Sable. Ford stopped its production in 2009. I told her that my dad's family doctor, R Bruce Lutz, drove one and used to make house visits when dad was dying of cancer.

Blanche wanted us to stop talking about sickness. I had shared that Dr Lutz only had one eye. The other was removed due to cancer.

The food was good. I'd definitely go back again.

We were seated immediately. I took a seat that gave me a view of only a few other tables. So the first thing I see is a table of three. One of the women is mentally ill. My guess is schizophrenia. I remember her from one of the NAMI meetings when they were held on Sundays in Glenside.

The woman, who was quite beautiful and definitely Jewish, barely speaks.

Why doesn't she?

The president of NAMI Montgomery County moved the meetings to Lansdale and Montgomery County Community College (have you ever tried to park there?) so none of us go anymore.

Judy moved into a b'ful spacious new apartment, Section 8 HUD housing.

Ruth, she said, my other apartment was so tiny, I don't know what to do with all this space!

She had a bowl of Breyer's vanilla ice cream when we got home.

"I just love it," she said. Then she excused herself to go into the bathroom for a smoke.

"Wait a minute," I said. "You eat your ice cream and then you wanna smoke?"

"Yes," she said.

Judy had absolutely beautiful dishes. The cups were shapely. A soft pastel.

"The first thing I'm gonna do when I get some money," I told her, "is buy some new dishes."

"Oh, but I love your yellow dishes," she said.

"Yeah, but they're chipped."

I told her I bought them when I was working as a therapist (Judy had also been a therapist - we both went to Hahnemann) and I wanted to invite a young intern over for dinner.

Greg Perri now has his PsyD and works in his hometown of Louisville KY. One of his jobs, I told her, is to evaluate graduates of the police academy to see if they would make good police officers. I shared a fairly horrible story of one man he didn't recommend. The police department almost always takes his recommendation.

I miss that guy!

This morning I called my friend Ellen Caserta b/c I was gonna interview her for the Compass. Instead it was more fun talking to her.

She's a professor at De Vry University. Very smart family. Her sister Liz, who was once married to John Gardner, is a poet and a teacher at SUNY Binghampton.

While we chatted, I was upstairs in Sarah's old bedroom w/the pink carpet and pink walls sorting out my poems. There's about a dozen categories, the biggest being "Neighbors."

For two years I looked for my poem Titanic and finally found it.

When I worked as a therapist at Bristol-Bensalem Human Services I arranged to meet famous local poet Christopher Bursk early one morning and give him "all" my poems to critique. I only brought him 38, and I could not understand any of his notations, except for stars and exclamation points. Here's page one (of two) of Titanic.

BTW, this Google blog changed its format and YOU CAN ONLY CLICK ONCE on a photo to enlarge. This absolutely sucks!!!


TITANIC

In the dark theatre where
I sat wedged between a man
and his wife, both invisible
but felt, and a teenage boy and girl
scooping popcorn from a bag,

I became pained by boredom
and worried by things
to come.
I fled to the lobby to search my soul.
Would it be cowardly to
pay my money and leave without anything?
In desperation I examined each
glass-enclosed case
filled to flowing with candy
and merry, bright-
colored drinks.

I opened my mouth
to speak to the girl
but no words would come out.
Empty-handed I returned to my seat.

There were fourteen theatres
crouched side by side
I re-entered the dark tomb from
whence I came.
Crawled over the woman's legs,
then the man's, feeling first
her lightness,
then the boniness of the man,
even as he retreated
from my touch.

I wondered
when taking my seat,
alone, unprotected by
a husband or even an acquaintance,
if it might be possible
when the waters
began rushing in and the
people were swept from the
places they clung to,

if I might, ever so gently,
lay my hand on the arm of
the man next to me,
a gentle touch, invisible almost,
to comfort me when the
icy waters swept us under.

*

Now I do have another poem about sitting next to someone in a theater. Lemme run upstairs and retrieve it. I put it in the pile called "Institutions" meaning the poem took place at an institution such as The Keswick Theater in Glenside.

HANDS AND THIGHS

We sat in the aisle seats
Row V at the Keswick
a black man sat next to me
and slept quietly
during the exciting parts.

I held your hand and felt
fingers that have fixed
trains and strummed guitars
washed dishes in Playtex gloves and
hung your laundry to dry
in the basement.

My thigh touched the black man's
I let it be
He wore a gold earring in one ear
and had a charming wife
who was sipping wine,
while you and I darling were
dying of thirst
but waited to get home to our
separate refrigerators
where I'd drink my water with lemon
and you'd drink your Britta.

The boys onstage wanted the lights on
to better commune with the audience
their music made love to one another
Chick's hands zipping across the 88s
watch gleaming like starlight across the
eleven hundred in the audience
his new pal Bela wound his fingers
around his banjo
music that filled up the theater
and held us all under the ceiling
as one body
in love with the whole damn world
for one evening in June.