The Artist Within Me Woke Up - The horror of Squirrels - The Timelessness of Baseball - Poem: Passover Phantasy

Was outside this morning clipping bushes and went over into Scott's backyard. His back porch was overtaken by ivy, which, while b'ful, is extremely destructive. I clipped it away from the floor and wall and discovered....

a large white PVC pipe.

Immediately I saw it flashing with colors: colors I had painted it.

I hied over to Lowe's. Outside the store by the BBQs, I asked a guy in a red shirt, "Sir, dyou work at Home Depot?"

"Yeah, Lowe's," he said. "What would you like? This is my first day."

"Wow," I said, "congratulations."

Believe me, I know how hard it is to get a job in these hard economic times.

He referred me to Trudy, who was right there.

I asked where the PVP pipes were. Aisle 17 on the right when you go inside.

On I went with my very large red cart and selected this fine specimen:

I'm gonna paint it and put it in my garden. About 6 years ago I took a class on metal sculpture - I used a welding arc - and wanted to make a sculpture for my garden, but never did. This will certainly be a fine replacement.

Then I went over to the paint department and met Walter Sharon, 76, of Elkins Park. He's only been there a month but took me to the latex paints. Very poor selection, in the small cans, but I bot a few and Scott will give me some other colors.

Hey, just remembered I was at the Women's Art Museum in DC so maybe that's why I'm so gung-ho and envision a bright-colored abstract.

Walt and I got to talking. I told him about my transplant and he said his wife Linda has had kidney trouble for the past 10 years. They don't know why. She has a top doc at Penn and is doing well. She's on the special diet I was on. They do not eat meat (high in phosphorus).

I suggested the miracle of t plantation, suggesting one of their two sons might donate. Both kids and their children are living in China!

Of course I told him Sarah will be going to China in May to cover the Olympic Finals. She was recently hired by NBC who will fly her to London so she can be an assistant to the announcer, giving him facts on women's boxing, my little darling.

Sarah and one of her boxer friends she covered for Huffington Post.

Late in the afternoon, around naptime, Scott ran into my house.

"Come quick!" he said.

I ran outside after him to the side of the house. He pointed upward to the flower box outside Sarah's room.

Formerly sparrows lived inside.

To my shock, tiny brown heads peeped above the flowers box. They were not birds.

What are they? I asked. MICE?

They're baby squirrels, he said.

A squirrel family now lives in the windowbox. When Rich Claire painted the bedroom a month ago, he told me squirrels would often scamper to the window to look in on him.

We both wondered how they got up there.

Knife-sharp front claws.

While blogging, I watched the show Jews and Baseball: An American Love Story. I'd forgotten about slugger Al Rosen, a Cleveland Indian I adored. Still alive and good-lookin at 88!


The legendary Koufax is only 76. Born in - where else? - Brooklyn, cradle of the Jews.

Shhh! The squirrels are asleep.

PASSOVER PHANTASY

she has stopped making seder.

mother dines alone, breaking the

matzoh in pieces.

the table is bare.

house silent but for the

often ferocious winds of

april that sound like

the children, and the white dog.

Her potato flour sponge-cake

gobbled by all, even the

white dog named Triscuit,

and that black-haired husband

of hers who died, quite bald

from radiation, at fifty nine.

let’s bring them back.

back to this house, huge,

lawn fertilized by juan

and his men, the kids in the

backyard playing duck duck goose

laughter spilling over to the

austins in the back who grew their

own tomatoes and whose cornstalks

reminded mom of the trip she took

to amish country as a girl.

with a whistle lynn brings us together

as we crowd around the long table

viewing ourselves in the mirror

daddy’s nose always looked crooked

my long black hair parted on the wrong side

grape juice for the minors

manichewitz for the majors

aunt ethel arrives, her death will bring us

a fortune, my house, donna’s condo,

i sat in the largesse of her lap

and fondled her tiny red nailed fingers

her amber bracelet

her thin hair

like mine in latter days.

little brother david reclines in his

chair, silent by age seven,

speaks with his polaroid,

the only way he can

view us while alive

my two mommies as i once called them

serve the feast after prayers and handwashing

and hiding of the afikomen

by now we are tired, the brisket and onions

only make me sleepier

i go up to my room for a little nap

and hear the sounds of my family downstairs

unforgettable sounds amid the clatter of

dishes and putting into the dishwasher

the parade of the sparkling clean water

from the one-faucet sink

i hear them all, all the sounds,

the laugher, even now, even now

alone in another room,

forty five years away

as i wait for sleep to come.