Thursday, August 10, 2017

Memory - Diabetes - Postcards - Poem: Anticipation - Poem: Alfred Dunner Apparel

Image result for yves abel offenbach tales of hoffmann

 Before bed, I pedal to Offenbach's Tales of Hoffmann, directed by Yves Abel.

Such a modern version! And scantily clad females running across the stage.

Before this, I chanced upon a BBC production about Genius. Karl Marx, Freud, Einstein, Nietzsche.  For a couple of hours I watched and slept through it. Each one of these individuals was misunderstood in his own time and dreadful things were perpetrated in their names after their deaths.

The Nietzche is particularly striking. To this day, historians ponder his mental breakdown. What was the cause? Simply manic-depression would not explain it. His delusions were not that of a manic individual. Something else is going on.

I succeeded in reading a bit. I got a mag from Einstein Hospital boasting of all the rich and beautiful people who donated. There was a lovely photo of columns - purplish - which I cut out and will save for one of my postcards.

So, it's back to the lusty Offenbach, and I've got to sketch out my short story which I can try and name right now.

Shall We Marry?


It's 10:10 am. Was up earlier but fell back to sleep. Am devoting some of the day to reading.

Awoke in the middle of a dream. Somehow I had a "film property" and was making a movie with Woody Allen.

I decided to ask him a question. Just he and I were in the scene. I was sitting on the floor and motioned for him to help me up. At first he only was gonna use one hand but I nodded that she should use the other too.

So he did. "Woody," I said. "I want your help in making this movie. I'm 60 yrs old and Jewish. Will you?"

Then the phone rang downstairs.

Watch the credits on his next film. What is he, about 83?


Here's a few things I do to help me think. I was born in 1945 and am actually 71,

Yesterday after shopping at the Giant I decided to take the long way home. This, again, was to help me remember. Began driving. Ah! I thought. There's the Dairy Queen. I actually have trouble remembering where it is. York Road.

There's a minor detour. The orange cones. I'm the first and only person in line, but I've gotta THINK in order to drive through them as they zig and zag along.

No problemo.


Last night I walked Scott part way to the train. It's much better exercising out doors than on my bike.

My sugar was fine, oh, about 140. Don't go below 80. We walk and walk. He zooms and I'm sposed to keep up with him. I don't exactly. I walk a couple of paces behind him, like a servant or puppy dog following him home from school.

Hold on. Lemme see who called me. Twas an older woman who wanted to attend today's Daytime Meeting at the Giant. Where and when, said the message. I called back, leaving a message, and urging her to go.

I had actually given her instructions the day before. 


Okay, so I'm coming back from walking Scott to the train station. Am wearing my back pack as it has my glucose tabs in it if I go low. I am sweating profusely. As I walk up the steep hill - the driveway - of Keystone Screw, it's very difficult, and I wonder if I'm low. No matter, I'm nearly home.

I picture myself rolling around on the asphalt.

Then I take the little path home, remembering that when the Travis Family lived in my house - they're the original owners - they threw their living room sofa in the little woods behind our house.

I wonder where it is now and what's left of it. I'm watching various Netflix TV shows where corpses are in various stages of decomposition.


When I reach my house, I water our vegetable garden. Big garden tomatoes, water water water. Small garden tomatoes, then the cukes and the eggplant.

First, tho, I water myself, my soaking wet hair and that nice royal-blue blouse I found in my drawer that says, Shirts I like.


My sugar is 38. I have just seen my new diabetes doctor who tells me that when I eat Chobani to raise my sugar it doesn't reach my brain fast enuf. Eat glucose tabs - 4 or 5, we say in unison - and drink juice.

I munch on the oh-so-sweet glucose tabs, after which I down half a bottle of O J.  I buy a certain kind which cost one dollar for ten of em. Delicious, but not now. Sour after the glucose tabs.

Am dreadfully proud of myself for walking Scott, not to mention not dying of a sugar low. Dr Dan and I discussed that. Told him I doubt I will as I always have the tabs near.

I have fine relationships with all my docs, except this new Dr Dan. He doesn't trust me. He doesn't know me. Next time, tho, I'm gonna see the nurse practitioner b/c when Dr Fitz left to go to Doylestown, there were so many patients.

He asked me about the Nutrition Classes he asked me to take.

Not helpful, I said honestly. Told him a couple things I learned. When driving in the car, do not keep the glucose tabs in the glove compartment. Too far away from me. So I keep a small bottle of them in the drink compartment nearest me.

Also, when I snack on pure protein - cheese or nuts - I don't need to inject.

Okay, I'm recovering from the minor trauma of being low. Am eating rye bread - 2 pieces - one spread with cream cheese, thother w pB.

I go out on the front porch. Nowhere to sit. The green lawn chair is way over there, with a diagonal slash of bird poop.

I sit on the front porch with my rye breads. Hmm. I should keep a cushion out here, I think. I tushion. I've gotta get the food down, into my brain.

Symptoms, as I told Dr Dan, are 'holes' in my vision. And of course sweating and trembling. He knows his stuff, so he says, OR do you GET symptoms?

He chose diabetes and the endocrine glands b/c in med school he had a really good mentor he worked well with.

Mentor. WHO'S YOUR mentor?

Hold that question and think about it.

Can birds be a mentor? 

So, after my diabetes low, I'm outside. I've brought the next book for our book club. Dear God and our forefathers that brought us upon the earth, please let it be good. I've missed so many of these groups. One of my fears, late at night, is that I won't remember how to talk in book clubs.

The book is FINE. It's by Lauren Groff. Believe me, I have my problems with it, I'm on page 6. She's a poet and every sentence finely hewn like a .... like a.... rare diamond. The writing is too 'precious' for me.


On Charlie Rose - the bags under his eyes weren't all that bad and his hair didn't look as bad as usual - he had on the comedy team of Samantha Bee.

I have never heard of this woman. She was quite attractive with long blond hair. She'd traveled to one of the 'stans' - Uzbeck, no, another one. Anyway, funny it was not.

I'd drunk coffee that morning - not THIS morning, tho - so I knew I'd be awake for quite awhile, unless, that is, I fall asleep to Netflix and films on YouTube.

Quite accidentally I find the famous P G Woodhouse characters Bertie and Jeeves on YouTube. Uncut, no commercials.

The presentation is fantastic...the music, the cartoons, the acting. Stephen Fry as Jeeves and the famous Hugh Laurie as Bertie.

Quickly, I look up Hugh Laurie. So that's WHO he is. This morning I email it to Sarah, who's always enjoyed the books. The books, may, in fact, be downstairs in a very heavy carton of her former books.

What should I do with them?

I am trying to clean up in case I die suddenly.

It's not unthinkable but probly will not happen for quite a while.


Whilst walking home from the train station - I only went as far as the top of the hill - I'd passed the rented apartment of Kevin H and got an idea of a short story to write about.

I also saw the man with the very bad leg. Scott told me he's required to walk three miles a day, to fix his leg. As I passed him, I mentioned this, and he said "Right, it only takes me 45 minutes."

I had to think about this for 5 minutes before I understand what he was talking about. That's b/c I was writing stories in my head.


Watched Ed Slott on PBS in the middle of the night. He kept interrupting Bill Cunningham, who was trying to get money from us. Since I've gotta pay my taxes in September, I got a new idea on how to pay em. I R As. Will call my advisor shortly. I emailed him at 4 in the morning asking when I should call.



I think it was my friend
Ellen Rosenberg who
said, What are you
sposed to wear on a
day like today?

I label the drawers of
my bureau. A mistake,
but they won't come off.

In the "Shirts I Like"
compartment I found
a gorgeous long-sleeved
blouse with fake jewels
along the frontispiece,
so secure they will
never fall out.

And the long slacks
I chose to go with!
My body is hugged,
caressed, by invisible
fingers, hands.

Was there ever a happier
girl in the morning, as
she sits on Red Couch
sipping Rum Coffee
from the Caribbean?


Woke up slightly before 7 this morning. Do read this Facebook poem ONLY b/c it pertains what I'm gonna say next.


7  am is when they usually come.
Four trips.
Like making four trips into the house
from the market.

First, lugging
the eggs, the cheese,
the flimsy box of
Ortego tacos.

The sound is at hand!

Like the prelude of Lohengrin.
Louder and louder it gets.

Look! The green grinding machine's
stopped in front of my house.
Muscled men in neon vests empty
my squirrel-proof trash can,
while the squirrels themselves
scold, a reincarnated
Burt Lancaster?

So, I remembered I wanted to get rid of the Giant brand of iced coffee. It rested half full in the fridge. Throwing a blue blouse over my sexy nightgown, I ran the 'coffee box' outside and put it in the trash.

The day after Mom's birthday party I mailed out at least a dozen post cards.

Grace, 6, got hers, but 4-yo Max hadn't received his.

Yesterday I ran after the mailman. Dante is on vacation so you never know when the mail's gonna come.

Mailed a $16 donation to the Lakota Bad Boys, my term, up in S.D. Please send me, I wrote, the BLUE BACKPACK.

Since giving up my canvas backpack of the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon, I can't find one I like.

Will this be it?

For breakfast, I ate a DELICIOUS two eggs with chopped cheddar inside and also sauteed onion inside.

That was at 7 am.

Now it's 11:10. May I eat again, Dear Readers?

And WHO, for godssakes, are YOU?

No comments:

Post a Comment