Martha brought in a very visual poem - The First Picnic of Summer - we were there! - as she and her husband had a backyard picnic all by themselves.
Living in a big house, daughter Emily and her daughter, Brianna, have flown the coop.
Imagine the silence!
Mother of Society is also science-fiction and takes place 500 yrs in the future. Our main character Dr Eve has been cryogenically frozen for 500 yrs. Wonder if she met Walt Disney or Ted Williams, No. 9.
She can hear! She can hear!
Here's Ruthie in her new short "do," sipping on her dee-licious hazelnut iced coffee. BTW, our man Andre Hester is a sworn Starbuster man. Oops, cute slip of the pen.
Paid all of $17 plus $5 tip for this great cut at Abington Hair Cuttery. Thank you Nicole. She gave me tips about my hair.
Do not shampoo it frequently. Not good for the texture. Also, use conditioner. She liked the color very much.
Modern woman that I ain't, I'd never heard of it before. Very popular in Costa Rica to view the jungle flora and fauna below.
Told Carly I just watched a terrific movie on YouTube featuring a forerunner of a Zip Line. Night Train to Munich was a Nazi-thriller starring Rex Harrison, Rosemary Lockwood and Paul Henreid.
When Scott n I visited Ocean City NJ a couple yrs ago, I went on a Ferris Wheel all by myself.
The ticket man gave me my ticket back. Scott said my lips were white.
The group liked my story The Reunion. Got the idea about a week ago. It's about a man I used to know when my family lived in Englewood Cliffs NJ and I was a secretary in Manhattan.
Read about him here.
I made up a new story about him. Made him into a sociopath, which I do believe he is. I didn't want the protagonist to be me, so I picked a shopkeeper in Hatboro.
Let's get that short story published, by gum!
Remember when ans. machines first came out?
My friend Ed Quinn had this message on his:
If you know who you're callin'
Then you know who this be.
Moderin technology give us this capacity.
This is straight up
It ain't no fib
It ain't nobody to the crib.
Don't cop no 'tut' 'cause it ain't no thing.
Just tell us who you is
And we'll give you a ring.
*
Sarah, Dan and I had a message where the three of us were arguing about who would talk.
*
Her lovely top once belonged to her late sister Joan.
big fat white onions sauteed in butter and olive oil
garden-fresh herbs
unsweetened almond milk
water
When everything is nice n soft, beat up an egg and drizzle it into the hot soup.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!
And there's still one bowl left over for dessert.
Carly and I couldn't believe how long we talked on the front lawn. We sat on lawn chairs and appreciated every breeze that flitted by, as well as the swooping birds....
Carly and I talked about the difficulty of making new friends at our age. We're so grateful that all of us in our writers' group have become friends.
There's nothing better in the world than having a girlfriend who you can talk to about anything, and I do mean anything.
Gotta tell u something interesting about my meditating daily for 20 minutes. I'm often overcome, in the evening, by a sense of unearned joy, like the Christian concept of Grace.
Carly understood this.
Where'd I get the idea of the Chilean copper mine? Read a fantastic article about the survivors of the mine disaster in The New Yorker.
At the writers' group we all agreed how important it is to keep reading!
The two poems I wrote this morning are about me but written in the third person.
Why'd I do dat?
Don't ask me, I only wrote the thing.
MORNING MEDITATION
A
dove throws himself against
the
screen as the girl sits
feet
propped on the white
wicker
table
deep
in meditation
her
eyes pop open
violence
in
her own back yard
she,
doing the most
peaceful
thing she knows
loosing
mantras through
her
mind
love
peace gratitude
what
thoughts will break
free
today? flaking off like
ore
in a Chilean copper mine
she
waits, patient as
her
back yard maple,
the
last of three sisters
off
to the right a sudden
scissor-like
rasping sound
gains
ascendancy for those
who
hear it, the sound of
the
locusts, the girl, certainly,
the
deer, the rabbits and
perfumed
skunks
the
trees, too, their leaves fluttering
like
shy ballerinas
love
peace gratitude
love
peace gratitude
CATARACT SURGERY
On
Tuesday they will
position
her on the table
the
surgeon is a handsome
man
with chewing-gum breath
she
will not imagine lying down
with
him in a Motel 6 and reading
love
songs from the Gideon Bible
As
a child they marveled over
her
long black eyelashes
which
flutter now looking
at
her savior’s dark eyes
trying
not to think of the
violence
that will be done
to
eyes that have watched
the
birth of two children
her
handsome father
eaten
alive by cancer
her
mean grandmother who
beat
her with a yardstick as
a
child, going down with dementia
and
taken for a fool
and
the hummingbird she
watches
for every day by the red daisies
Driving
home from Doylestown
in
the inky black night the lights
were
a blur, beautiful, really, like
Venus
and Saturn landing on the
highway,
all Christmas-tree
sparkles
and Fourth of July fireworks
she
was dazzled as she braked
on
and off
on
and off
thinking
“vision impaired vision impaired”
They
were like little white puffs
pillows,
growing behind her eyes
she
was no Navajo, couldn’t do a
thing
to stop them
head
immobilized now
under
bright hospital lights
unable
to move in her
twilight
sleep
she
sees the clean sheets on
her
bed, covered with books
she
has yet to finish.
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