Thursday, March 31, 2016

Talk on Backyard Conservation - Poems for today - Deming-Sherman Compost Heap - Just Another Superhero in the Neighborhood - A Simple Man

Marcy, dyou believe I lost my pink camera again?

When I got home, Scott had found my camera and put it on my laptop. Whew!!!

I left for a lecture at the Upper Moreland Library - I was half an hour early cuz I can't follow directions.

The talk was called 

A Roadmap to Backyard Conservation Design and Stewardship Using Native Plants

John Rogers of Keystone Conservation Trust was our very knowledgeable easy-to-listen-to speaker.

View the spectacular Designing with Natives website here

There were ONLY two people there - me and an older retired gent who, with his wife, are StreamKeepers with Pennypack Trust.

Isn't it great how so many people wanna do right by our land?

I mentioned to John that I don't feel right saying "My backyard tree" - well, it is mine to keep healthy - but it belongs to nature. "Only God can make a tree."

Three years ago, the backyard maple just got a trim - not at Hair Cuttery - but with Willow Tree Company.

Oh no! Just got an idea to ask John Rogers to come speak at New Directions. See, I've always wanted ND to be involved in an important project. Thing is, what would we do? Next Saturday is the Pennypack Trust Creek Cleanup.

Below is a group of us from several years ago.

Image result for pennypack creek cleanup

John Rogers is author of a couple of books.

He gave us a Pop Quiz. Oooh, just the memory of those chills me to the bone.

In what ecosystem do we live? I think it's the Atlantic Seaboard.

In what flyway do we live?

What canopy trees are natural to this region?

How much rainfall do we get?

John said that every year we get as much as if our Library Room filled with water up to his waist. We get
plenty of rain for all of our needs. I forgot to brag that me and Scott have a Rain Barrell.

Image result for green lawn

Make it a goal, he said, to reduce your lawn by 25 percent.

Lawns look so boring, I said.

Put in Beds over your lawn.

We need 60 percent native plants in our yard.

Why native?

This is where they belong, where they've been growing for 14,000 years.

I was really psyched when I left the library.

Told John I was gonna do something really terrible when I left.

And I did.

Image result for caramel moolatte  I sat in the parking lot of DQ and shot up - 10 units - the most I ever do.

Then I studied the menu and selected the Caramel Moolatte.

Fantastic! Very very freezing cold. With tiny ice crystals inside that I didn't particularly enjoy. You've gotta crunch on em, like crunching on gravel.

Twas so chilly outside I had to sit in the car. I usually like to stroll around. I parked my car so I could stare in the dark at some houses on the hill.

Merry sounds of laffter.

A woman came out of her house and walked down to the DQ.

You know what I did?  When I finished my drink I walked up to her as she was ordering.

She was wearing PJ bottoms.

Isn't it tempting, I asked, to come here every day bc you live so close.

I DO come here every day, she said.

On her tray was some sort of Orange Smoothie and a dreadful looking cone with colorful worm-like jimmies.

Image result for dairy queen orange smoothieThis definitely looked good. They also have Orange Julius, a fab treat I used to have many times a week when I was my dad's secretary in Manhattan at Majestic Specialties, Inc.

I wrote about three poems today. The first is about our compost heap


Opposable thumbs are
over-rated, says Pavoratti
the Badger, as he drags
over 2 daffodils for
their midnight party

Milly the Possum cries
Nothing more delightful
than the inside of these
organic brown eggs

Who does Sherman think
he is, tossing nana-
banana peels on our
table, says Spunky
the Skunk.

We loves em, says
Dilly the deer. Yikes
what an itch, as he
moves over to the
blue garage to rub
his velvet antlers on.

Boat-like half moon
shines on the little
party, as the food
continues its
remarkable journey.

Image result for compost heap

Online photo

To thank the folks at Tom Sawyer Auto for quickly fixing my flat tire, I wrote em a poem


My car sagged on the driveway
Weeping for a nail that pierced
its rubber flesh

Scott divorced it
from the shiny rim
rolled it like a chocolate
covered doughnut

and lifted it into his
trunk. We pulled into
Tom Sawyer on York Road

George in his spiffy royal-
blue shirt took charge
a master mechanic

Impatient, I walked over to
the DQ, imagined I was eating
a hot dog with mustard

washed down with a thick
chocolate milkshake
leaving a mustache
on my upper lip

George, you hero you!
God bless you for your
dextrous hands, your ability
to bend your knees and
spring back up like
a volleyball player
making the final catch
to victory!

Image result for al rosen baseball   On FB, I'm in a group called I Grew Up in Shaker Heights, where Al Rosen just appeared.

The final poem was to thank a fellow who is helping to do my taxes.

I was missing some credit card statements, so I emailed him my user ID and passcode so he could retrieve them.

If you'd like to see how much I spend, feel free to use my user code Ruthie123 and my password JimmyPiersallFan


handsome as
a baseball player
tagging home

He helps me
with no thought
of reward

Doing my bidding
from his office tower
in New York or
is it Paris or Rome?

I have sculpted a
statue for him
which we'll place
on the grassy lawn
On West Street Road

A huge bronze of
an antlered deer
tail uplifted in pride

to show the weary world
goodness comes easy
easy as the name of

Image result for michael jordan   AND I think we should read this post about MJ from NPR..

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

"My Jenny" is published - Poems: Prayers for Donna - A Prayer for our Nation - New poem: Eyes

Lynn took this pic from her iPhone.

"Nice fake smile," I advised the two of us.

Just discovered my short story My Jenny was put online by The Quail Bell Press.

Isn't that a lovely name? Quail Bell?

Read the story here. 

The late Jim Harrison, novelist and poet, who died March 26 in Patagonia, Arizona, at age 78 of unknown causes.

Just checked out a huge book of poetry by him and am reading an article about him in Esquire.

Watched David Brooks on the Charlie Rose Show.

Here's a great Q that David Brooks posed:

What would you do if you weren't afraid.

Well, I just sent this note to a senior center in Trevose PA, home of a Bruster's Ice Cream, if it's still there. Fear factor.... very low.


I'm a psychotherapist in private practice looking for a paid part-time position helping senior citizens.

What I'd love to do is run a creative writing group where we would eventually publish our own little magazine.

I'm a published writer and run a Writer's Group out of Willow Grove.

Please view some of my poems here

Thanks and looking forward to your response.
 Mailed in three poems to an online Christian mag which I think is called Calvary Cross. I learned about it bc three of my poems were rejected by a very good nature lit mag with a terrific creative name.

As a show of support to me, do NOT click on the link.

Titles of my poems are He Is Risen - A Prayer for Donna (suffering horrific depression) - and A Prayer for Our Nation.


The rattlesnake of
Depression squeezes

Voice quivers
like a high-strung

Save me
save me
she calls to
her Jesus

My voice
joins with hers
Save her
Sweet Jesus
before she
dies on her



plot with
the confidence
of a sheik

Serial killers
stutter with
excitement as
they spot
their next
lonely soul

The Republican
candidate grins
like a child on
the playground

Pushing, bullying
throwing sand in
Davy's face

His foes are
catatonic as
the frozen

Even God has
lost his nerve
awaiting the

Marcy and I are parrying back and forth. My eyes are gradually closing. Couldn't nap bc of all the Maxwell House Coffee I drank that my sister Donna brewed for us this morning.

Am gonna write a quick little poem now and then read myself to sleep.


I am led down a

Sit in the big chair,
says younger-than

And tilt back your head

Loving hands put
amber liquid
on my lower lids
dab dab with
the tissue
I basketball toss
across the room
a small room, it is

tall as a sapling
Doctor George

Looks at the book
in my lap once
then twice
I try to please him
by staring wide-eyed
as if the sun-god Apollo
had entered and
lit up the room
his eye practically
impregnating mine
as Trisha records his
arpeggio of

I drive back home

Radio silenced
to contemplate the
extraordinary ecstasy
of our God-like
ability to See.