Friday, May 16, 2014

Congressional Debate at the High School - Poem: Lilacs on the Window Sill

 Thanks, Carey, below, for taking my photo. My Canon camera which accompanied me on all my overseas trips passed away after a short illness. Arrangements being made by Baron Rowland.  It just got old and broke down. And made a low noise, a death rattle, I spose, when its snout went in and out.

Hey, in my new eyeglasses, I cain't tell if'n I'm hitting a period or a comma.
 Carey, the asst manager, sold me another Canon, the floor model, for $80, exactly half the price of my previous Canon, whose body parts are being recycled. I signed the paperwork. Truly!

Buying things energized me! I'd been at the Upper Moreland H.S. on "Meet your Democratic Candidates Night." All four knew their facts and did very well. I'm voting for one of em on May 20.

Read about the debate - in the Huffy Post - to replace Allyson Schwartz's seat, since Schwartz will run for governor. 

THE WINNERS ARE: Brendan Boyle for Congressman and Tom Wolf for Governor. This is a primary, so we hope our Dems will beat people like Corbet. 

Larry Kane was the competent moderator, who started out aggressively asking Arkoosh about the hundreds of thousands of dollars a group of fellow anesthesiologists spent on her campaign.

She thoroughly condemned them and said they did it w/o her approval.

The Inquirer endorsed Val. She's an MD, an anestheosologist. Here's the endorsement.
Photo: Look who is joining me at the campaign office...

Brendan Boyle is 37 yo. I spoke to his campaign mgr and friend since first grade Dan Lodise before the show.

Oh look! MoveOn endorsed Brendan, tho the Inquirer said he needs more seasoning. What? They're gonna eat him like "To Serve Man" on the Twilight Zone?

Marjorie Margolies is excited that her dtr/law Chelsea Clinton is with child.

When Bill Clinton calls me on Marjorie's behalf, I hang up. 

Buoyed by being freed from the debate, I took off like a crippled colt and bought my new Canon and then went shopping for a new coffeemaker.

Marshall's, open until 9:30, doesn't sell them.

Then off to Target. Were they open? Yes!

For $18, I bought the model below, made by Black and Decker.

It works! As you can imagine, having bought a few that necessitated annoying returns, I was noivous. Can I master making the coffee?

I did. I also bought some expensive filters. Telling the clerk, I don't want no paper bag, I tucked the filters into my pocketbook, then forgot they were in there, and ended up using two paper napkins as filters.
Made these scallops in butter last nite, as well as these Brussels sprouts.

Wanna see my garden?

 The street is wet with rain.
 Two pansies popped up from left-over seeds.
 Who's hiding under the azaleas? Is that you, Rob?
My lilac bush. The house across the street will have a wedding the morrow. Allison and John. He works in social work at Horizon House. She's a banker. I wrote a poem about her long ago. Perhaps I can find it.

Here's one I wrote this morning:


Speak not to me of
roses, they prick the
tenders of your flesh
or the day lily
whose kingdom lasts
only until the sun goes down

My lilacs
blooming in the front yard
and the back
spread their aroma
to the dogwalkers
in the front yard
the fast walkers who
hope to cheat death
the mother who pushes
little Annie in the red wagon

Who knows? Some day Annie may grow up
and have lilacs of her own
“I don’t know where I got the
idea, Mama!”

But I
I’m a backyard  sniffer
and hover like a bumblebee
over my aromatic purple
lilac bush, my proboscis suckling
like a babe at the breast.

To me, the bush is
a hundred years old.
The flower of my
childhood back in Cleveland.
Yes, it bloomed in the doorway,
when all was sweet and fine.

Mommy wore her silver fox coat
and Daddy was a cigarette-smoking
manager of a women’s clothing
company. How can I forget my
blouse with the red monogram

Death and disease, unknown.
Bring on the lilacs.
Their buds spill over
in the Planter’s Peanut jar
on the kitchen window sill
next to the Lily of the Valley,
whose white tears cry for
all who are gone.

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