Finished my magnum opus today - Photos for the Compass - Poem: Snack Food Fit for the Dumpster

At yesterday's naptime, Scott and I watched something about the history of our Solar System, which revolves around Copernicus's sun. Thus began what is called the Copernican Revolution. From Poland, the polymath/polyglot Nick apparently had no problem, at that time, with the Catholic church.

See Wiki, which, if I'm not plum loco, has changed its format.

Great "do," Nick.

Scientists believe our solar system will finally meet its end. It will freeze to death.

Brrr! I'll turn my heat up really high and wrap myself in blanket after blanket. 

Was finally ready to begin writing a grant to the IBX, Independent Blue Cross. I knew the application form would be online the first of February, but I was too intimidated to look, until a couple of days ago.

Deadline is March 31. I'll probably be homeless by the time I hear from them. 

Finished it all in two days. I kindly exempted Ada from process as she's the proofreader for the new issue of the Compass, which should be ready to go to Boggs Printing in less than a week, Allah be praised.

In fact, that's the difficult part. I've GOT to find someone to write an article on why they love their Muslim religion.

I got one guy to do it, he's dawdling - how hard can it be? - and today I remembered another.

Ibrahim from Copies to Go. I called him, he remembered me - he has the most delightful voice! - and we'll work together on the story.

Got an email this morning from my new friend Reid, forget his last name.

He and his wife Joan have some real Nakashima furniture at their home in Elverson, PA. As a gesture of friendship I mailed them a postcard of the Naka Reading Room at the Michener Museum in Doylestown, PA.

Reid asked me if my "ice box" - he's 80 years old - is lonesome w/o it. In response, I emailed him these photos and asked him to judge for himself.

Cover of the Compass. I scoured FB to see if any of my "friends" had photos suitable for the cover and found nothing! Absolutely nothing.

Am unable to print the Alexander Calder sculpture I saw at the Baltimore Museum of Art. 


Many people from our group sent me pix. I will use them in the inside of the mag.

I went to my Art Class last night. We have the nicest people there. The acrylic pictures I made are absolutely horrid, but I present them nevertheless.

An RN named Terry from Temple University brought in the plastic we carried our paintings home in. They were being thrown away, as were other items ideal for our class.

I asked her what she did today - she works in the ER - and she said they replaced a broken cheekbone - this hospital is in a bad neighborhood - pow! - and they also removed a diseased cancerous kidney, that had been transplanted.

Now the person is on Dialysis.

I was helped enormously in my grant by Michael Macrone, who works for my accountant. I'd ask him a Q and he'd get back to me the very next minute.

Last nite I drove Scott to the train. Had to return two movies to the libe - Frozen River - and something else I can't remember at my advanced age.

Frozen River was painful to watch. Yes, Wiki did change their format.

When I drove him I stopped in the Wawa with the last of my $20 gift card and bought a 16-oz cuppa mocha coffee, which I saved until this morning, but did sip on it briefly b/c it was so delicious and I bought this.... thing

       
SNACK FOOD FIT FOR THE DUMPSTER

Can 100 million Americans be wrong?

Hark to your favorite junk food.

Trying to fit in, I walked into the

warm Wawa, flooded with lights

on a 12-degree night

and strode to the popcorn aisle

The Indiana Popcorn cheats the

buyer with its inedible tiny kernels

so yo-ho-ho I would try

“Pirate’s Booty” Aged White Cheddar

a photo of desire printed on the

crinkly small package.

Concentration was impossible

as I drove home, waiting wanting

salivating to try a delicious new

snack. Just as kiwi and mangoes and

curvaceous papaya were once

new to these shores, so I would

embark on this delightful taste test

But let me interrupt, Dear Reader,

for my disappointment was exquisite.

Not that I had lost a chance to be

the next Nobel Laureate or Lottery Winner

Far worse!

Far worse!

I had been tricked!

Tricked, not so much as by

the Pirate’s Booty, but by own

selfish longings to bite into something

as satisfying as crème brule or

baked apple pie, for what I chewed

on was like a flavored, salted,

Styrofoam peanut, the insulation

protecting our packages.

But what will protect my intestines,

my duodenum, my liver and

tumbling red blood cells from

the atrocity 100 million people

call food?

Did I spit it out?
Did I empty the bag in the trash?
Did I shake my head in disgust?

With my fingers, I scratched to

the bottom of the bag to nibble

on every last salty fluff.