Celebrating at the Willow Inn - Poem of the same name

The Willow Inn was founded in 1949, which makes it 68 years old.

We celebrated Natalie's 82nd birthday. As I hugged her goodbye, I said, No one would ever know.

When Scott and I pulled into the parking lot, not a single space was to be found.

It was someone's wedding! Right here at our own DiMarzio's Willow Inn.



After coming home with a Styrofoam container of leftover manicoti - dee-licious - and also broccoli - I finished watching Keepers about the murdered nun Sister Cathy, killed b/c she knew of the unspeakable rapes that Father Maskill was performing.

Read about it here from Cosmopolitan.

Hello, dead founder Helen Gurley Brown! I'm not even gonna look her up, just assuming, I'm correct.

Took my early morning walk today at 7:15 am.  Wore my $50 sunglasses as The Chariot of the Sun was up and about. When I looked up I thought I saw Charleston Heston driving the steeds onward!

Funny, but I still get the urge to phone, the late

Ronald B Abrams. He died at age 72. 627-1012, his phone number.

At 8 am I watched Focus on Europe. The narrator talked about a Holocaust Survivor now living in Basel, Svitzerland, and a Dementia Village in Denmark.

When I took my morning walk, I thought a lot about dementia. Or, Dee Mentia. When we see her coming for us down the street, what can we do about it?

At the Dementia Village they're doing research on the residents.

My family is thinking of driving to New Hope to gather together. Is it worth it for my mom to drive down if she's in horrible pain?

CELEBRATING AT THE WILLOW INN

I thought I'd seen everything
but Jennifer brought us into
a private room with a swinging
door like Marshall Dillon used
in the wild west

I ordered steamed broccoli
as an appetizer and spread
butter - in those tiny hard-to-
open packets - across the top

Ravenous, I awaited my dinner
by thinking of Paul, a man I've
never met but needed help
for his depression

"Do not protect perpetrators"
I wrote. His nurse practitioner
sucks and I told him to hire
a cab and drive to a hospital.

How do you distract yourself? I wrote.

Back at the table Big Band Music
played at the marriage of an older
woman in white. Not Miss Havisham,
mind you, I'd gone out for a peak
and looked at the ravished dessert
table.

Desserts? I don't eat them. I have
a condition called diabetes.

For dessert at the Willow Inn
I ordered cheesecake.

The first three bites were, well,
not exactly delicious, but worth
eating.

I dutifully finished, though each
bite tasted like eating smooth-as-
pudding Butter!

I have the same mind as when I was
growing up in Cleveland, fast runner,
tennis and field hockey player.

Nothing was wrong with me!
I've pinned up a sign in
my brain: Life moves on
and you're no longer young.
Obey the new rules before
consequences swallow
you whole.