"Daniel?" I call. "C'mon down and look at all these trucks."
He's busy playing with his Legos, but he comes dashing down the stairs and we go outside to see what's going on.
Oh no! I forgot he's all growed up!
Hey! Just got a "Hi, how ya doin'" email from
Stalin Campos, MD, one of my kidney transplant doctors.
This morning, took myself to the TNT Diner and had a great breakfast.... mushroom omelet with cheddar cheese.... applesauce instead of the diabetes-killers of toast and taters
Teddy and Zack don't know that my kidney anti-rejection meds gave me insulin-dependent diabetes.
Zack is from Albania... his real name is Ylli.... say OOley... he lives in Northern Liberties.
Let's give him a BIG WELCOME to the U S of A.
"Changed my life for the better," he said.
He quickly diagnosed my refrigerator.
"Here's the good and the bad news," he said.
Gulp.
"It CAN be fixed, but it'll be expensive."
"A new compressor?" I asked.
Scott had alerted me to that strong possibility.
"It's like getting a new heart," said Teddy. "The refrigerator should run for a long time after that."
He ordered a new compressor
and it should come in tomorrow for the transplant.
Of course I told them about my kidney transplant. BTW saw my nephrologist Dr Ghantous yesterday and got a great report. Creatinin level 0.8.
Thank you, Sarah Lynn!
Their truck is pulling out of the driveway now.
Nearly one thousand dollars for the compressor.
TODAY!
My glamorous friend Ava
is in the psych unit, so I met with her. We sat at a table with other people and had lunch.
The new psych unit in the Buerger Building is really beautiful. Ava highly recommends it.
The food is delicious, she and her tablemates said.
"Are you gonna eat your salad," I asked.
"No!" she said. "Please take it."
Not particularly hungry, but knowing I can't go into my fridge to make a salad, I ate it all up.
A lovely blond woman from the Main Line was eating fresh cantaloupe with cottage cheese.
One of my all-time favorites. My friend David Kime just called to say, "The Compass is awesome!"
He asked how I pay for it.
I told him I sent 200 emails out to people who subscribe to the New Directions emails, asking for donations.
"How many donations dyou think I've gotten, David?"
"Thirty."
"Wrong. NONE."
Should I send out another announcement? What dyou think, Dear Reader?
David publishes two zines and people, such as myself, send in donations.
"It just about pays for itself," he said.
My kids bought me my fridge for my birthday. Here's a poem I wrote about it
THE NIGHT REFRIGERATOR
by Ruth Deming
(Dedicated to my children, Sarah and Daniel, who bought me my new refrigerator on the occasion of my 59th birthday, December 25, 2004.)
Shhhh.
All is still and dark
and I have awoken
from dreamless sleep
and come to the dark kitchen
for water.
The refrigerator is new
brought in on a red dolly
by a man who turned corners
carefully and wheeled
it in like a newborn
in a carriage.
Alone in the night
in the dark kitchen
I hear the sounds of the night.
Is that a moon outside
casting its brightness
onto my table to make it shine?
And I
the recipient of brightness
in my dark kitchen
find by careful fingering
a glass
sparkling streakless squeaky
from the dishwasher,
we are modern people,
and no longer go to the well,
but in the dark,
place my glass just so,
pushing the rubber udder
of the water dispenser
on the outside,
and listen
for the fullness of the
glass,
Then, turning round,
listen for the sounds
of the night
no birds, no winds,
no squirrels scurrying on the branch
the hum of the refrigerator is all I hear,
and heat pumping up from the basement,
we no longer live by campfire
or hear wolves howling in the distant hills,
these are the sounds of a quiet home,
more windows than wood,
gulping:
the first thing we do,
and the last.
Feb. 22, 2005
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