On the Terry Gross Fresh Air Show there was a segment about "women's voices" and how they've changed over the years.
Terry said that prior to working at WHYY-FM, she worked at another radio station where the microphone made the letter "S" sound sibilant, which is unpleasant for the listening. However, as soon as she moved here, the mic didn't do dat.
What she didn't mention was that her diction totally changed. Me and my friend Helene both noticed it. In my opinion she took elocution lessons, though she didn't mention it on the show. Of course I only listened to 15 minutes of it.
After I drove Rosemary home from the Crestmont Pool for a measly $10 - Scott said I should've been firmer - I went to the most exclusive restaurant in the area.
The Willow Grove Giant. Got a salad and some delicious grilled zucchini from the Hot Bar. Plus some Nature's Harvest Popcorn.
I ate half the bag and tried to inject 10 units in my arm. I could only inject 6. Afterwards, I marched over and saw Erich the pharmacist to ask vat happened.
Defective needle. He replaced it and it's fine. Remember, I keep an extra Novolog pen in my purse in case I wanna go out to eat and haven't brot my supplies.
Brian sat down next to me. He's a certified peer specialist and loves to talk. He ate a healthy meal, as did his client Herb, who I always want to call "Erb" - we've been seeing one another for months now.
My line is, "It must be Wednesday!" That's when Brian drives Erb over.
He told me something amazing about Medicare fraud.
When I sit at the Giant, I never wanna leave, esp. on a 95-degree day. But, you know what? I love the heat. That's my new mantra.
Finally pried myself away from the cool cafe, giving Brian the bag of p/corn, with two-thirds left.
At home my sugar was a whopping 324, which then played itself out by my injecting 10 units - the most I ever do - and then going "low" and wolfing down carbs.
So, I'm watching Netflix - the X-Files - and Scott comes over to say g'bye. He's leaving for work. 8 pm.
I stand up and say, "Oh no! I'm low."
Sugar was 28. That's the lowest it's ever been.
Oh, the delicious foods I stuffed down like a force-fed goose.
I'm so glad I could share my 28 with my readers.
I have a compulsion to tell.
So, it's now 10:48 pm. I estimate that I can finish "The Doctor in the Bikini" in four hours or less.
FREDA SAMUELS WROTE A BOOK
The world has been kind to this woman
Who shines like the North Star to
everyone she meets.
She sought me out after reading
about me in the paper
Something Samuel Goldwyn Meyer
might do finding his starlets in what
is now the parched land of California.
Everything changes, as we learn in her book
“My Name is Fredarose: A Memoir.”
She has the acceptance of a Buddhist monk
The loss of her Lenny, her Herbie, her
glider on Chincoteague with the little
white ponies in the distance.
Where did this grand spirit learn to
grapple with life’s sorrows and say
with laughter, “This, too, shall pass?”
Who are we? is the unanswerable question.
How do she and I continue to exist
in the same orbit for our brief
earthly existence?
And where beyond that? The glittering stars?
The dark side of the moon? Perhaps our
spirits will be sprinkled like powdered sugar
onto everyone we meet.
In 242 pages, she chronicles a life that
she and the world have knitted together
Best, though, to visit her on North
Settler’s Court, where Lucy no longer
barks at your entrance. Instead, her
beloved Bernie, master chef,
sits in his easy chair. One
day he knocked on her door in Elkins Park
and made sure he never left.
Their home, with high ceilings, and furniture
suitable for visiting dignitaries is one
of acceptance and love. I tell them
everything, read them my poetry, and
return home like I’ve paid obeisance
to My Father who art in Heaven.
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