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 descentA 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 TrulyKym 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!
HI Ruth.
ReplyDeleteI received your email and sent you a response, but your comcast server blocked it as spam and sent me a "delivery notification, delivery has failed:. So here is the text of it, copied over:
Hi Ruth -
Those things are a nuisance all right - and just so you know, I face the same thing every time I post on your site. They have always been there. Thank you for letting me know that my host is doing this now, too.
Bill
Thank you for posting the pic of Fallingwater. It was good to see my childhood house on your blog. It brought back so many good memories - especially of Mom shouting... "Billy! Billy! Don't ride your innertube in the creek! You will go over the..."
That is the last thing I remember before waking up in a coma.
The second poem sure brought back some horrific images into my head. All your poems speak.
I haven't left much in the way of comment lately, as my new blog has pretty much sucked up all my energy.
Now I will post this one. Here is what I must do to post it. First, I have to select "Google Account" from a list of five possibilities. I will then be given two options, "publish" or "preview."
I probably should choose "preview" but I wlll chose "publish." This will then take me to a new page, where I will be asked to enter my email address and password to Google - never mind that I have the "remember me" button permanently clicked. Next, I will be taken to one of those annoying sets of distorted letters that I will be asked to enter in the box.
Some of the letters might be a challenge, they might not. If I am lucky, I will get them right the first try. If I am not, it might take two tries. Sometimes it takes three.
You are right. It is a PIA.
Foist of all, bill, i don't block anyone, in fact every morning i have eight things of spam i've gotta delete.
ReplyDeletethe great writer I.B. Singer said he always had to deal w/'demons' in his writing, so i guess that plagues you and me both.
i do appreciate your perseverance. as i always say, we only live once so make it a good life and stay in touch w/all the people that matter to you!!!
some day i've gotta do a blog post on how we met.
oh, i think the google blog post people greedily want everyone to get a gmail address and then you can slide right thru. not sure.
okay, on with the show!!!
Ruth, of course I know you would never block me - but your server did. Anything can happen in the world of the net.
ReplyDelete