Called my friend Judy Diaz to let her know I'd met him and she was absolutely thrilled!
I could hear her cat Missy meowing in the background.
Our party to celebrate the arrival of Ethan and Sarah.
Sure, he growled softly, so I put him outside on the grass.
The party was held in the house and on the front lawn.
Matt is sposed to be a dead-ringer for the actor Matthew McConaughey
I thot a moment and asked if he were in one of my fave movies, Dallas Buyers Club. Yes, he said. 
She also made this incredible salmon. Ethan calls her a genius in the kitchen, to which we all agree.
Sitting on the rough wet grass.... James Agee wrote about this collective experience and it was set to music by Samuel Barber, who attended Curtis Institute of Music, here in Philadelphia.
On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts.
We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there. First we were sitting up, then one of us lay down, and then we all lay down, on our stomachs, or on our sides, or on our backs, and they have kept on talking.
They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near.
Three pints of ice cream.
Butter pecan, my dad's fave. Pistachio and amazing salted caramel.
It's so important that we introduce children to the glories of nature. And Grace is indeed a fan! Their backyard could pass as a miniature arboretum.
Now it's Sunday. We began the day by visiting a recording studio in south Philly where Ethan might record an album. Bill Cosby had been there the day before. And the Rolling Stones were the first ones to record in that studio. Sarah pronounced it "beautiful."
It reminded me of when I appeared on Comcast Newsmakers, particularly the chilly temperature. When you're being taped, you certainly don't wanna shiver and have your eyelashes freeze.
After that we went with some friends to Morris Arboretum of the University of Pennsylvania. We'd been there several times on Ada's Outings.
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.
This is a beautiful tree, but not a lemon tree. My friend Marcy has em in her yard in California.
Helloooo Marcy! Miss you!
We are up in the Treehouse now.
A giant baby robin will likely appear.
Actually, I do leg exercises every morning so I was in no pain during our leisurely walk thru the Arboretum. On the way home, we passed Curtis Arboretum, where Sarah had been.
The long goodbyes......
Also, read Ethan my new poem. "I love your poems," he said. Wow! That surprised me.
He edited this one but I left it as is. (No wonder I get only a few poems published online.)
I wrote the poem after driving home from watching fireworks in nearby Bryn Athyn. Pulled into a parking lot by the new Lemon Basil French Thai restaurant and sat in my car and enjoyed the boom boom booms and the flashing lights in the sky.
Driving home, bc I have cataracts and lights blinded me, I had a terrible time, plus I got lost. I wanted to convey those feelings in a poem, but made myself be on the Pennsy Turnpike.
Listen to the Adagio here.
Hey, I think I'll add the word Adagio to my most beautiful word list.
BARBER’S ADAGIO FOR STRINGS
His Adagio for Strings
could have been playing
when I drove home on the
Turnpike in the night storm
Gripping the wheel
I seemed to be the only one
on the road
I could see no one
I could see nothing
but a spark of light
before me
like a match burning bright
then fading
death is surely coming
I thought as I wondered
how long I could bear
the terror and the monotony
of the nothingness ahead
of me.
So this is how I would
meet death – we always
wonder, don’t we?
Not this way. I’d wished for
a comfortable mattress
at home with a view of the
maple out back
and a squirrel waving goodbye.
Was this the tunnel they spoke of?
I checked to make sure my wipers
were on full force. There must be
a way to escape, I said, touching
my heart and saying, We will prevail.
The stars and the moon were
no where to be found, nor the dappled
trees and meadows that made way
for this now deadly road, with its
expectant exits and tollbooths,
its huge green signs prophesying
home, welcome home, you made it.
Or could this be the one time
I don’t.
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