Monday, June 5, 2017

Goodbye Jimmy Piersall No. 37 with the Indians - A Knock on the Door Earlier today - Poem: Lying in a Hammock at My Son's House - Poem: Is that the rain I hear?

Jimmy Piersall, dead at 87.

Read about it here in The Times

  Our family is from Cleveland and I watched or listened to all the games when I was a kid. I read his Fear Strikes Out about five times and saw the movie.


On Netflix I was watching the film LUCID DREAM. It was long and drawn out, really a drag, but you know how it is. You've just GOT to know how it ends.

Looked it up and saw it was classified as sci-fi.

Was watching - where else? - but on my red couch, straining my neck, when there's a loud knock on the door with the knocker.

At first I thought it was my five-yr-old neighbor Zeke wanting to come in and browse around as if I were a lending library.

Wearing my white nightgown covered over with a blue shirt bc I was cold, I opened the door a crack.

I am not a fool.

I'm Sean, said the good-looking black guy and I'm earning my way thru college. Are you a heathy eater? Yes, I said.

Good, take a look at this book of healthy eating. I took it and then said I'm not buying anything from you.

Fine, he said. Good luck to you.

As he descended my steps, he asked, May I say a prayer for you?

No, I said and shut the door and locked it.

I was shocked when he asked about praying for me. Truthfully I was insulted. How dare he?

I posted the whole thing on FB and got an enormous response. 

People are so frigging paranoid and thought something terrible might have happened to me.

Was hoping I could rotate this picture to indicate Sean had thrown me on the ground but don't know how to.

One time I was really afraid of somebody.

My sister's mentally ill husband Billy had beaten her up. That night I slept at somebody's house cuz I was afraid he'd come after me.

I was the only person who said, Billy did it.


Like most victims of domestic violence, my sister did not press charges.

Now, I'm gonna try and write a poem now, so I'll put this on hold and listen to some mellow music. "I so like spring," by the late Linda Smith.


My body swayed as if I were in a canoe
My son's back yard was a riot of greenery
Different shades, dark green like
the smoldering Atlantic

soft green like a katydid getting
ready to spring

I closed my eyes in ecstasy

The sky glided atop the vast
pine tree. Perhaps I could touch it
if I tried.

I'd given a tiny pine cone to Max
which his older sister Grace snatched away
I fetched more from the secret place they lay
and tucked one in my pocket

When I came home I put it on my
front window sill, which I view
like an altar every single day

These are the things I cherish
they all have meaning
and the red clay Buddha
smiles at me, giving me
his silent blessing.

Just wrote this...Tuesday morning. Got the idea about Garbo's hair from the film Ninotcha I watched w Scott on TCM


Twas indeed!
I stood at the front door
and watched as raindrops
fell as straight as
Garbo's hair

Everything enjoyed
a good sousing, not
exactly your Coors Beer
tumbling down

Yet elm, maple and
newly planted lime-
green caladium were
nourished by the
majesty of the rain.

My thoughts turned to
Saint Bernadette, the
miller's daughter
proclaimed a saint
and wondered if
the rain might
heal my many ills.

  Last photo of Garbo

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