Writers' Group Meets at B's - Poem: Drinking Coffee Under the Stars

We're ready to do another Icing on the Cake.

But who will pay for it?

How about GoFundMe?

We should rename our Writers' Group as we no longer meet in the Coffeeshop at the Willow Grove Giant.

Your thoughts, please?

Was really happy to see Lorraine. She comes periodically. Like me, she lives alone in a big house. Her husband Dave died five years ago. My two kids moved out.

Friends give Lorraine diaries which she writes in sporadically. Same with me and my morning pages from

Yellow blanket, white socks. Clean white socks.

Her essay PLASTICS IN THE OCEAN was alarming. Plastics never really return to the earth like organic materials. Read more about this, she said, from the book PLASTIC, A TOXIC LOVE STORY.

We're so fortunate to have B's expertise on the environment, not to mention her beloved pollinators!

Easy quiz question: What movie was about the future of plastics? Hint: The star is now 79 and was on the PBS show Finding your Roots hosted by Henry Louis Gates, Jr., who's a young 66.

The Internet knows all. Except when it's wrong.

Linda read an unfinished short story called TEENAGE VAMPIRE CHEERLEADER.

Group comments, which I agree with, were: She paints great characters. Dialog is excellent and so are the odd names of the southern characters like Billy Clyde.

Lorraine marveled at our talent. Yes, Linda's just a simple girl living with her mom in a big house in Abington.

We were trying to think about how long we'd been together. Perhaps 10 years.

Donna K wanted to be with us but she had an eye injury. She should regain full retinal vision shortly. 

Rem, in his Angels warm jacket, continued to amaze us with the next chapter of his novel. I had forgotten it was a dream and I panicked that the main character - Rem himself revealed thru dreams - dropped dead at the end.

Chapter titles are names of songs.

18 with a Bullet by Peter Wingfield.

It was exciting for Lorraine to hear each one of us read.

She also does illustrations in her diary.

She and some family members, including David, flew to Mexico City for a relative's marriage. Elena and Guillermo, a member of the Mexico City Symphony,  tied the knot.

Wonderful descriptions. Wrin in the mid-1990s.

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I read my 7 page opus ROOM NUMBER EIGHT, at least I think that's the title.

Originally I called it The Blue Door. Thanks to my friend Hazel Barry for reviewing it in the wee hours of the morning.

I woke up for the day at 11:30 am. Was really glad bc I needed my sleep.

Was determined to finish the story. For breakfast I ate a salad, which I'd made yesterday. Then I ran upstairs to print out the story.

I'm very pleased with it. Linda called it "mesmerizing" - Rem thought it was "depressing" - Beatriz had trouble with the sense of time - and Lorraine enjoyed it.

I shared a story about not being notified to return to a Thursday Night Writers' Group. My local contact, Linda, is a very nice person, but totally unreliable.

I knew she wouldn't notify me.

DRINKING COFFEE UNDER THE STARS

For Kim and Bob Ruby

Pump, pump, pump, out
comes the coffee from
a toddler-high carafe,
dark as the night,
plopping into my
thick paper cup,
Halloween-themed
no doubt.

I tiptoe across the
wet grass, find my
unlocked car, and
place the cup in
the holder under
the defroster.

No cheating, I think,
as I drive slowly
home, steam pouring
from the cup.

Such a wonderful time
I had at the small basement cafe
like back at Goddard in the
Rathskeller, or in the Village
where Ginsburg and Dylan
and the howling hippies
were born.

My tired feet swing out the door.
How can I break the mood of the
night by entering my brightly-lit
home?

I cradle the paper cup in my hand
blow on it, and stare up at the
stars. What's happened to the moon - is that
it? or just a lamp light on the Kiernan's
street?

I'm not a praying man, I'd said to Kim, but I'll
send up a prayer for you both tonight. So I
did. And God watched me from wherever He
hangs his hat.

And the coffee was good and hot like it's
supposed to be, as I stepped up over the
crunchy leaves and entered my mezzuzah-framed
house, thinking God is good.

My turquoise Buddha in the front yard could be heard
laughing up and down the street.

I told Rem he should make his own spaghetti and tomato sauce. Easy as opening a jar and boiling water.

Scott thought he would help me clear up the mess on the husband's side of the bed, so he easily built me two shelves above my bed.

Last night I did a smart thing. My bedside lamp was way too bright on the end table, so I put it on the shelf, where just the right amount of light comes down w/o blinding me.