Winter deep Winter - New poem: Slush

  The Bald Eagle is handling the situation well. There's two small eggs buried neath the snow.

Am always loathe to make coffee but needed its help to write a poem to my Aunt Selma, who I spoke to from her new home in South Euclid, Ohio, where now she lives with her daughter Linda and husband Jack Fogel.

Took me forever to choose the perfect cup. This rather heavy one is from my unbreakable collection of Corelle. The cup itself is breakable.

Told Selma I would write a poem about her, which I did. It took about an hour. Read it to my sister Lynn who lives in New Hope.

Reading aloud is very helpful.

 Mail carrier Monisha trots across the yards like a well-trained colt.

My yard around 11 am.

This is laffable! From my bedroom window.

How will I ever get out?

Ah, thank you kind sir! My neighbor Bill Adams.

When I told Marcy that I don't bake cookies anymore, she suggested I thank them with some soup.

 My postcard was returned today in the mail.

My darling Sarah is a woman w/o a home, ever since a fire scorched the apartment above them. Marcy herself knows all about fires. That's why they moved to California!

I choose my CDs carefully when I write at my upstairs computer.

These sprightly Couperin pieces are played by my former piano teacher at Goddard College, Ray McIntyre.

He now lives in California. Wonder if he's still married to Kathy?

  Ray, dyou still remember me? Little Ruthie Greenwold.


Ye Olde Clock Tower. 

  

Blogspot is having trouble uploading images, so got this off the net.

I do love yogurt and bananas but as a PWD it really raises my blood sugar.

What to do?

Inject more insulin!

10 units will do it. My former diabetes doctor, who retired at 86, said....

  Hi Rachmel Cherner

Insulin is a natural substance and can't harm you.

At my accountant's office last week, Larry used the phrase "Creature of Habit." I vowed to write a short story with that name. Today I had the inspiration to write the story and so far have 4 double-spaced pages.

And b/c that phrase was haunting me, I stopped at Powerback Rehab to see my friend Ingrid who is recuperating there.

  Take c/o yourself so you don't wind up in a place like this. Also saw Jean M there. She's fat as a house and has finally been diagnosed with diabetes. She's confined to a wheelchair from falling and breaking her femur. Or was it her tibia. Or was it her cochlea. Or was it her scapula? Or humerous?

Actually, that's why she can't roll herself cuz she'd broken one of her shoulder bones. This woman is young! My age. Completely sedentary.

Yikes! My sugar was a low 61, so I stuffed myself with a couple of spoonfuls of my Lentil Dish. Now I can relax and eat it.

Learned to love lentils from my Grandma Lily.  This Lentil Dish is seasoned with turmeric and cinnamon.

A couple of photos before you read my poem.




The ultimate mischief-maker!

Not even Max Atticus Deming comes close!


IT’S CERTAINLY NOT BARTHOLOMEW AND THE OOBLECK

Shall we call it
“The Year of the Slush?”
My concrete slab of a
yellow house is attacked
by driblets that would
leave Dr Seuss aghast
And like the little boy
in Cat in the Hat I stand
at the window and glare

Ice entombs my car in
the drive, oh, I guess
I have become a grown-up
somewhere along the ride,
I hate when they use
the word “journey” to
describe the zigs and the
zags we go through in life

Or, in this case, the variations
on the theme of slush that
covers my black driveway.
At midnight in my striped
pajamas I open wide the
front door, the solar lights
on the walkway steer me
to that nearly living breathing
hunk of gray metal in the drive
we call an automobile


I step out upon the porch as
quick drops of sleet thrum onto
my frightened blond-white
hair, don’t worry, I will never be taken
for Marilyn Monroe, and step back inside.


Out I go
in the morning
minty breath rising like a
scarf before me, and note the
sheet of ice encrusting the car
has begun to melt like
chocolate in a saucepan.


My black high heel boots
and blue jeans
have introduced themselves
to the gray slush that has
metamorphosed
on my drive and sidewalk
With frozen toes and fingers
I defy expectations
-I so hate being a creature of
habit
and like an ice skater
slush my way down the
drive and onto the sidewalk
can you see me
holding out my arms
like the Christ
as I
slush
slush
slush
down the sidewalk
toward Bethlehem?