I love waking up in the morning - Poem: In memory of Julie though she's still alive

A lot of the snow melted.

I was on the phone with Hannah Bae, pharmacist at the Giant, when Mailman Ken arrived.

Was on the phone about two hours toto b/c they couldn't figure out how to get my Rx drug card to work and I was gonna pay $185 for one prescription of tacrolinus. That's Prograf, one of my two antirejection meds.

When I called the Giant this morning, Hannah did some calling around, and then her assistant Donna, called me.

We fixed it, she said.

And "Glory Be" said I.

I had never used that expression before!

Ran after the mailman - man, it was cold - was wearing my PJ bottoms and a coat and sneakers - b/c I wanted to send out three important missives.

I asked Ken if he ever got cold and he said No. They dress for the weather. Also asked him if he wanted some beer as an Xmas present

What kind? he asked.

Yuengling, I said. Left over from Scott's b'day party.

We're not allowed to carry alcoholic beverages on our truck, he said. But thanks anyway. 

Look what came in the mail yesterday!

My Chemex coffeemaker I believe I told you I found the cheapest rates I could online. The bill was $48.35 and included a big box of filters plus this delicious Haitiian coffee. Went over to Scott's this morning, before he went to sleep, and he ground them in his bean grinder, which he uses to grind eggshells. He's never been a coffee drinker but loves the smell.

As the print says above, the beans contain black pepper - which is easily visible when it's ground - plus vanilla extract and root beer.

I'm enjoying it very much.

Here's a toast to you for a Brilliant New Year.

I recycle the grounds by dumping them outside my front door.

Finished listening to Anderson Cooper's memoirs. Only six disks. Focused on terrible tragedies around the world, including Hurricane Katrina.

I spontaneously applauded when he finished.

Next I'll listen to


Dyou realize how fortunate we are living in the US?

Let's bow our heads in thanks, right now!

David Kime called me this morning. He never introduces himself but I quickly figured out who he was.

He finished his zine "Transcendent Visions." He's been working on it since May. When I receive it, I always send him a twenty.

Linda Barrett and I both have poems in it. So does a prisoner who sent David a contribution. David picks and chooses, though. Not everyone is chosen.

David will send me some poems for the Compass.

I've got a great storyboard - an index of articles.

Called the library today to find out the phone no of Bruce Brownell, who remains in touch with my former client "Evelyn" and goes to visit her.

Evelyn is one tough chick, a survivor, who couldn't stand living at The Lamb Foundation. Now she's living with her therapist - Rosie - and Rosie's husband and dog.

Evelyn LOVES dogs.

I told Bruce that I've written a couple poems about Evelyn but could only find one. You'll read it at the end of the blog post.

What a good girl I was today! I vacuumed my bedroom.

I lie down on the carpet on the left and vacuum under the bed.

Sarah used to tell me how dusty the room was. Don't want that to happen again.

The poem I lost, temporarily, was called Boston Market: Sodium Capital of the World. It's seriously one of the best poems I've ever written.

IN MEMORY OF JULIE THOUGH SHE’S STILL ALIVE 

For seven long years

she was my client

I counseled her for naught

As she said, You’re just a

paid friend.

She loved nothing better

than taking medication

she thought it would fix her

a woman who could never

be fixed.

In utero, she was doused

with a diet of caviar and

booze, by a brilliant mother,

also named Julie, who won the

advertising account for

Look Magazine.

“Mother” couldn’t stop your

love of learning. You read

every Young Adult book

ever written and loaned

them to me. In your

cramped HUD apartment

with mildewed walls

we watched reruns

together – Hogan’s Heroes,

MacGyver, Mission Impossible -

while you handled the

“remote” with a balletic

precision that proved

you were in command.

I sat with you through

your towering rages –

Why can’t I be like other people?

Why did God do this to me?

And when I drove you to the

diner, you raged when I

went a different way.

You had the stubbornness

of a genetically distorted

individual.

Now they lock you up in a

home. The Lamb

Foundation. You, Julie,

fierce as a tigress,

run away.

God decides to show you mercy,

though he killed your brother

A.C., who fell off a cliff hiking.

An old lady whose name I

do not know, has taken you

into her home.

I see you smiling and

blinking your large

doll-like eyes.

When I fantasize calling, 

I hear your thick

manly voice, and say my

name. 

Sorry, you say,

you must have the

wrong number.