Yes I Can placard - quick poem: Sitting Outside in the Darkness

I made these words into a postcard and sent it to my client who's waiting for her Zoloft to kick in.

She likes the words, which are also the title of my autobiography, which I cribbed from Sammy Davis Jr.

Mailed the card at the Bryn Athyn Post Office



and then strode along the Pennypack Trail up until the wooden bridge. Took a few

 Good morning, said Ms. Equestrienne. I watched for the poop. Dog-owners must clean up afterwards... Why doesn't someone invent a 'solvent' to spray on it which would change it into, uh, gold nuggets.

 View from the bridge to the Pennypack below

 Scores of blackbirds were cawing and flying from the trees to the sky until I started taking pix

 Can you make out this treehouse? It's close by the post office.

 Can you see the Ruth Deming Five Years?

Originally the Deming had two M's so I made Eric take it back and get it fixed.

I worked from 1985 to 1990. My first manic-episode was in 1984. Got the job b/c I was taking a reporting class at Temple Ambler. Joan Bastel was my teacher. She hired me to work at The Record, which was a branch of The Intell.

The Record is now for sale on Easton Road. All those memories locked inside that one building. 

The clock stopped working about two months ago. Took it to Winship's Clocks in Hatboro, PA. They couldn't fix it.

Scott, who's on vaca, worked on it in his basement. He bot a new motor at A C Moore and created new hands from the second-hand on his kitchen clock.

Voila! It's back in its place across the room.

My mouse also broke so I bought a new one at Staples. The cheapest one there. It takes two batteries instead of one.

I am not turning it off when not in use, like the last one. Sure makes it easy, plus my nails don't flake off.

I'm making 250 copies of the Yes I Can Placard. Mark Amos gave me a good price. People can use em the way some people like One Day at a Time.

I'll put one in my car. I almost got lost when going to the Credit Union today. "Yes I Can" would remind me, I could find it.

SITTING OUTSIDE IN THE DARKNESS

In my sleeveless blue sundress
I plop myself onto the
front yard step, cross my leg
and feel, like a blind person,
the bottom of my foot. It is the foot
of a young woman, well-cared for,
not pinioned into ill-fitting shoes.
My Ode to the Foot will be writ
another day.

These feet have just returned
from the library - they take me
everywhere I go - for sixty-nine
odd and wonderful years - and I
talk on the phone on this same
front step to my friend Helen.

She is a perky girl
miles and miles away from me
we talk about her husband's
playing softball under the lights
tonight, wearing a cap and a jersey
with "No. 1" on the back. And about
his team mate who buckled like
a dead rooster to the ground
people gathered round while
the ambulance screamed its
way onward. He lived and
is back on the playing field
under the blazing lights.

I caress my sweet feet
before going inside
encouraging with my
fingers the continuing
flow of the rivers inside
until it's time to say
Good Night.