Rosh Hashonah poem - Barracoon - Nightmare - Manon Lescaut poem

Woke up at 6 am, went downstairs and pulled out the Rotisserie Chicken from the Giant.

  Yes, it was quite brown like this online foto. Began tearing it apart as if I were a hungry bear.

BTW, I'm soaking still-sore foot in a huge pot with epsom salts in it. And will leave in half an hour for volunteer job at "Second Home."

In the nightmare, which is quickly fading, I was trying to find a room to report to as I was to teach a class.

Panic! Panic!

I could not figure out when Rosh Hashonah was. Finally my sister Lynn said Tonight! She brought her home made matzoh ball soup to Mom and Ellen's.

Wrote this poem about our dinner and put it on FB.

ROSH HASHONAH DINNER

Whoosh whoosh whoosh
went the windshield wipers
as Neighbor Eileen and I
sloshed along the wet roads
toward Mom and Ellen's for
the unplanned dinner.

All I could smell in the car
was the rotisserie chicken
from the Giant, hoping the
juice hadn't spilled onto
the back seat.

Inside we set the table -
what? no newspapers with
coupons around? - Eileen
helped as if it were her
own home.

Mom was disappointed she hadn't
made tzimmes - her carrot dish -
and spelled the word for Eileen, who always
claimed in school she was Irish.

I announced Everyone has only three minutes
to complain and then we'll move on.
That chicken was tender and juicy
The salad had plenty of Dr Joel Fuhrman's
famous micronutrients - he decried chicken
as useless for its lack of same

Absent sister Lynn's matzoh ball soup was
laden with flavor and matzoh balls big
and tender as balls - tennis balls, c'est ca

Fruit in those plastic hard-to-open containers
Watermelon, blueberries, blackberries,
mandarin oranges

And fresh orange juice from the Giant
Hello Jack, I said that morning to the
produce man, L'Shana Tova

Nuffin like it. My late brother called it
Gree. I felt his presence at table.

What's the best dessert in the world?
Banana split we'd have after piano recitals
in our hometown at Howard Johnson's with the
orange roof.

Milano's would do. Mom asked about the
Pepperidge Farm "seconds" store which was
gone a decade now. Oh, those frozen cakes
we'd buy.

We clinked glasses over OJ and hoped for
a good year filled with health happiness
and good minds.

Talk Talk Talk. The art of meeting
face to face. Once Dad sat here
as did Donna Lynn Amy and David.

David would have photographed
the dinner, sitting there in his
Izod shirt. Whoosh Whoosh Whoosh
went the wipers as Eileen and I
drove home.

***
Mom wanted to make briskit but she needs her hand-maiden to buy it for her. She'll cook it in their new and huge slo cooker.

***


Prior to that I went to our newly formed New Directions Book Club. We can read anything we wish and chose BARRICOON, which is in the news. We hold the club at Beatriz's condo in Willow Grove, Abington Township.




I printed out notes before I got there. I'd read the whole shocking book. Becky from ND was there and the other woman uncharacteristically did not tell us she would not be there.

Becky, who's white, married a black man and is used to being the only white woman in a crowd.

Still raining and gloomy outside.

Am wearing a lovely Karen Scott purple blouse, that brand from Kales, not the real name, but I can't remember it now.

Feels nice to have on long pants that embrace my legs.

Oh! she said, fluffing up her hair. How does my hair look?

Yesterday I wore my David Smith cap from STORM KING ART CENTER.

View center here.

When Eileen and I returned home, we went into her house where her son Bill had been downstairs watching football games.

His wife was playing a game with our former neighbor Kimberly.

Bill gave me a slice of cornbread with honey on top. Fab! I had it for breakfast this morning.

He also gave me a taste of cheese that Stacey had bought in Lancaster. Very sharp cheddar that had granules in it. Wowee!

Monday! Have a good week. If you're Jewish, have a great New Year

5 7 7 9

MANON LESCAUT

I'm at the Metropolitan Opera
in New York City
An unknown patron
has purchased this seat
for me

Manon, a blonde beyond compare
is loved by many, her golden
curls and voluptuous curves
flouncing along the stage

In this new and modern production
Giocomo Puccini's first real success
a century ago

The love between Manon and Renato
rocks la teatro
He weeps tears upon her face
begging Don't let us die
Don't let us die, Have mercy!

This is opera. Putting my hand
over my eyes, I shake with grief
at the final scene. There is
no escape, no escape, is this
why we love opera so much?

There is no escape.