My home-made card for Alan - Worked on my short story today - Drove Scott to the back doctor

You have no idea how hard it was for me to paint this card.

It's actually my backyard birdbath. There were starlings in it thother day so I thought I'd get them in there. I can't draw worth a damn, but it doesn't look too bad.

Alan is 85 and undergoing chemo for lung cancer. He's a family friend from Cleveland.

I always work on my screened-in back porch with the radio blaring. Helps calm my nerves since I can't paint worth a damn.

Made some delicious hazelnut coffee to keep me company too.

Lonely as a lost cat on my back porch, painting and listening to music, hand trembling. Why? I'm not on lithium anymore.

I tried to paint a spiderweb to the right of the birdbath. It looked like a big white blob.

Now, if you're me, you can't just let the remaining paint sit in the palette. Is that what that plastic thing is called? A palette? We'll let it pass.

What could I paint? I knew w/o even thinking.

While my card was drying on the back porch, I took my cuppa Joe and ran upstairs to my upstairs office and began finishing off my short story which I've tentatively called "The Bed."

I didn't feel like working on it, but I forced myself. This is one story that I have no idea what's gonna happen, but I just keep writing and writing.

So I'm going downstairs to paint, and upstairs to write.

Balancing my delicious coffee as I go.

Then it's time to drive Scott to the orthopod's office on Maryland Avenue in Willow Grove.

"Ruth! Turn in here," he yells.

"Scott, I know what I'm doing," I said calmly, as I pulled into the parking lot.

Jeffrey Vikal, MD.

"What kind of name is that?" I asked him as he bent over Scott on the exam table and began twisting his legs around.

"Persian," he said.

Vikal was very impressive as he moved the exam table aside so he could work on Scott's legs. 

Possible diagnosis: "Disk issue."

MRI scheduled for next Tuesday at Blair Mill in Willow Grove.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

The dentist gave Scott a bottle of Valium. He's got a couple left. It'll make it easier on this claustrophobe.

You know what? Even tho I'm terrified when I get the MRI, I'd refuse to take any mind-alterting drugs. Took too many of em when I had bipolar d/o.


I finished the New Yorker while we waited, reading huge chunks of it to Scott. A new bio came out about Woodrow Wilson, the only man who never held political office. He was a history prof at Princeton.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs to finish "The Bed."