Re-sending the post card to my grand-niece - Taking an early morning walk poem - and eating Ham and Cheese, rolled up, with Dutch Potato Salad

I tell you, truthfully, this looks like my friend Allan Heller as a child.

The poem on the postcard below never arrived, so I wrote it again, and tucked it in an envelope, and drove off to give to Mailman Dante, then zoomed off to the library, where I saw the Hair Cuttery in the distance, went there for a painful trim, and then on to the Giant.

Kaia Rose Greene
Sweetest angel
we've ever seen
Rosebud mouth
moonlit skin
you're in good hands
with Jade and Matt
and Nana makes three.

Went for an early morning walk in the Dark.

Below was my FB poem of the day.

EARLY MORNING WALK ON GARBAGE MORNING

The best time to go
is when it's dark
so I can do my work.

I'm bundled up like
a honey-filled baklava
as I take the hills
like a ancient jogger

There's that filthy
piece of rope again in the
middle of the street

I put it in someone's
open garbage can
Next, two crinkled water bottles
lie in the middle of the
road - intolerable! - as
I toss them in the green
recyclable bin, overflowing
with Pabst Blue Ribbon or is
it Bud?

Outside my house
a squooshed soda
can lies bashed
to death in the road

Splat! Into my green bin
it goes. A total stranger
I have adopted. In hospice
with me until next Thursday
Garbage Day.

***

Due to the power of suggestion, thank you one- kidney Barry Bush - new friendship qualification - you may only have one kidney - I bought ham and cheese and yellow potato salad - Dutch potato salad.

Barry had his on rye. Did I tell you he wrote a stunning piece about his kidney transplant that will appear in this issue of the Compass?

As I said to Ada, if anyone reads his story, they will never wanna go on lithium. I call the section of the Compass THE LITHIUM REPORT.

You know, like one of them modern reports they have on PBS.

Been too busy compassing to write in beloved blog. And we can't figure out how to make pix come out.

Delightfully windy out there but hold onto your hat and your long frontier skirts.  That would be The Rifleman giving us direct orders.

Yes, siree, Mr. Lucas, and I sure does like you. If you're ever fixin' to marry again, do think of me.



 I'll probly be in my eighties - nine yrs away - before he gets around to it. I'd like to sit in that log cabin of theirs, Abe, and make em buttermilk biscuits for breakfast with lots of maple syrup on them.

As for now, scuse me, please, gonna watch Chapter Five of Homeland, nope, we never did see it. Can feel my heart a poundin right now, glory be!