Writers' Group meets in new location at the Giant - Poem: Jacuzzi

Thanks to Robin Franklin, we have a new meeting place since the Beer Garden has muscled us out of the Coffee Shop.

The upstairs lobby is even better than the downstairs, with its cacophony of sounds and announcements on the PA system.

My beverage was Yogi Tea, St Johns Wort -thanks to Marf for introducing me. I clumb up the stairs and was shocked to see our people: Rem, Judy, Marf, Allan, and Linda already gathered.

Last nite before sleepytime, I worked on my true story "The Disappearance of my Psychiatrist" due on March 31.

Then I worked on a short story. Got two pages done and went to bed, looking as I always do at the pink bedroom walls that Eddie and John painted for me.

Judy read a short prose piece she wrote in 2010. Wonderful! "The United States of Miracles" talked about everyone everywhere is starting over in the New Year. The snow has come and purified everyone with its white light and crispness.

Real good, Judy. Real good! She attended shul this morning and gave her older prayer buddy a copy.


Martha read a story The Gift which described something her husband made for her. She uses pseudonyms. It touched upon "dollies" that her parents would make the kids, including their clothes and cradles, as they were less expensive to make than to buy.

Husband's gift was a huge cutting board. He used her daddy's tools in the basement and produced a masterpiece, plus a smaller trivet.

Allan Heller waves hello, the only one to ever do dat. And the only one of us to write a remarkable phantasy novel. He's got the whole thing planned in advance. The tale is inspired, he said, by his mis-spent youth playing Dungeons and Dragons.

We all loved the names of characters. How did you think of em, asked Judy.

Often he would take a real name, roll it around on his tongue like chop suey and come up with a very convincing new name.

When I spoke with him yesterday on the phone and told him my short story was about driving to Scranton, he mentioned he had visited a monastery out that way.

  St Tikhon Monastery

Let's look inside by clicking the above link. Or, better yet, stay for services.




I took two photos of Rem neither of which came out.

What? I didn't pay enuf  money for my new Nikon camera? 




Rem read us the first chapter of his novel. It's a series of repetitive dreams he's had. Each chapter is a song by the band America.

He began it on Xmas day. He's got a great knowledge of music, hockey (back when the story begins) sports and lively characters.

Nice that Rem didn't insist on reading more than the one chapter, tho he brought in the first two.

We're quite the thoughtful cooperative group.

On another blog post I put a heart-shaped card I made for our Kym, who is losing her battle with cancer.

Look at the comfy chairs we sat in.

I regifted a spritzer I got for my b'day and thankfully Linda wanted it.

She wrote two terrific poems.

Alex on his guitar. Beautiful descriptions of the instrument including the deep mahogany wood. She's working on a better ending.

Bless This House was rhymed perfectly. A blessing to God to bless a house.

Accidentally took this photo but I like it.

As I said to my friend Ellen R on the phone last night. You should see Steve Miller's huge knot of a neck when he played on Charlie Rose.

Mine's pretty bad, I told her. Ellen said her mother taught her neckercises at any early age and today she has a lovely neck, a perfect target in a murder mystery.

Speaking of which, the moment I came home from the Giant, I began to eat the salad I bought at the Giant. What violent program, you ask, did I watch on Netflix?

The Blacklist.

Am doing neckercises right now and I type.

Hey! Just got an email from Beatriz. She wasn't able to make it but said perhaps next week we can meet at her place.

YES! She wrote a piece "The Boy and the Frog," told to her by her late husband. She had to brutally cut the piece to adhere to the word count.

Sure know that feeling.

Finished up my short story "To Scranton With Love" this morning. Needs some work as I was in a hurry to get it finished.

Knew the main theme of the story - based on a wish by my mother - but had little idea how to execute it. The story turned out fairly well. Importantly, though I finished it.

In one of the six books I'm reading or listening to, mention was made of a Jacuzzi.

JACUZZI

Best in the night

when the stars

are out

Slipping off

my robe on the

carpet of snow

I tiptoe up the

plastic stairway

cold

Watch the

bubbles

pop and churn

like making butter

Then I’m in

To suffer first

and then reach

paradise

Lying on my

back, I remember

my once protuberant

belly, filled with my

daughter,

then my son

I only choose

nights when the

moonlight smiles

down

And wonder if

he’s watching me

Stephen or Michael

or God.