Saturday, June 29, 2019

Postcards for Grace and Max

Each one is totally different than the other. Click to enlarge.
Below is the sturdy back of the postcard. I really wanted to do a good job bc I'm totally wrung out like a dish rag from the heat.

Partial cleanup.

Oh no! Was that the thud of the mail box?

Yes, but I was nearly finished with my two cards for Grace and Max.

Go for it, I said, as I taped a quarter apiece on their cards.

Boiling hot outside.

For this supreme effort I pumped myself up with iced Tasters Choice coffee.

Slipped on my Clark's shoes and trotted down the hill to where Dante was in fact descending from a steep hill. Mount Olympus? Nay.

Finished Anne Tyler's new book - Clock Dance - early this morning - sitting up - just learned this is the best reading position - unfathomable I never knew this.

Yes, the AC is set to 82, purrfect!

Wednesday, June 26, 2019

Robert Howard Lokoff Funeral Today, June 26, 2019

Hard to believe that Rob Lokoff - August 31, 1958 - June 22, 2019 - has passed away.

He was 60 years old.

Scott and I drove to the Joseph Levine Funeral Home where every spot in the parking lot was taken.

The sanctuary, above, was filled and people were in a receiving line to offer their condolences.

If you wish, remember Rob Lokoff with a gift from New Directions Support Group. Make a PayPal donation from our website, or send to New Directions, Box 181, Hatboro PA 19040.

I had been a good friend of Rob's for many years, never having met most of his large family. Rob had been married - and divorced - to Naomi and they had three children. They met in a psych hospital. Naomi and her husband were there.

Rob would always help me out. He was a great morale-booster. He would also tell me how he would drive his elderly relatives to appointments. Aunt Thelma, among them.

He loved helping people.

Just checked the Jewish Exponent. His mother's death is on there, but not Rob's.

Altho Rob, at the time of his death, was living in his condo in Conshohocken, I knew him when he lived in an apartment in Elkins Park. His sons, Jacob and Sam, would come over and he'd make them lunch. His eldest, Amy, was away at college. He always had a piano, which he loved to play. His sons and he would also play tennis outside on the courts.

I'd visit there upon occasion and use the pool. He also hosted some truly great accompanists in his apartment. Wouldn't it be great, he'd say, if he could support himself as a musician?

Once, New Directions held a performance at the Daily Grind Coffee Shop in Hatboro, PA, and there was Roberto, as I used to call him, with his best friend Phil Martino, playing the drums.

Family members ascended the podium and spoke. Every single one of them was in shock!

Long Beach Island was their meeting place on the Jersey shore.

He never felt comfortable meeting there, as there were so many prominent people, including his dad, who had founded Bryn Mawr Stereo. His dad was at the funeral.

Hugging and kissing were of immense comfort to everyone there.

I wanted to spend more time looking at the photo time-line - below - but the funeral woman pulled it away. Where, I asked, will Rob be buried?

The family will decide that, she said. Shiva will be at brother Jamie & Jodi Lokoff's house in Philly.

Rob was driving at top speeds in Long Beach Island, and, writes Ada, the article said he hit a trash truck and another truck at a red light going 100 mph.

The EMTs tried to save him but to no avail. They said there was an aura about the dying individual. Something really special.

The funeral was very emotional. Dr. Pam London sat next to me and was dabbing her eyes. (She now works at Eagleville Hospital.)

All sorts of theories were mentioned as to why he died now.

Possibly because his mom, Kay Lokoff, wasn't there to protect him.

We love you Robert Howard Lokoff.

Comment by Sandy Salveter on Rob’s death:

I met Rob Lukoff around 2005, when I first started going to ND. He was on his meds and under control at that time, but had just come out of a divorce after going off his meds and ending up walking the streets of a California town. I think his parents went to look for him and found him on the streets, and brought him home to PA. It was too much for his wife, who initiated the divorce.

I always admired him so much because he always kept trying, even in the face of all the difficulties his bipolar caused him. He talked about how much his Mother and Father supported him. He graduated with a degree in music, and was quite a good musician. He was part of a group that played at various social functions, which he enjoyed.

Rob was a gentle man, who when off his meds became a different, wild-eyed, out-of-control person when his interior devils took over. This last time, the devils took him away forever. I hope they have finally let go of him, so he can rest in peace as his own true self, a kind and quiet man, who I am so glad I had the honor of knowing.

Rest in peace, Rob.

Sandy Salveter

The EMTs tried to save him but to no avail.

All sorts of theories were mentioned as to why he died now.

Possibly bc his mom, Kay Lokoff, wasn't there to protect him.

Read her obit here. She died in 2017 at 81. Respiratory failure.

Again, Rob has three children. Daughter Amy led the program. I'd heard of everyone but never actually saw them until today.

The main point everyone emphasized was what a loving man he was.

Until, that is, his bipolar disorder struck. He became like another person.

His family clustered around him trying to help him.

- Did you talk to Rob today?
- Where is he?

As a young man in his 20s, the bipolar reared like a stallion.

He did have a group of friends and had a following, said one of his brothers.

Yrs and yrs ago I met his ex-wife Naomi at a bar mitzvah. There she was today with her partner, Mark.

Fred Lokoff, in a yarmeka and dark glasses, was also at his son's funeral.

But where was Rob's cell phone, asked Jacob.

The men in the tow truck found it.

Jacob played the tune that Rob must have been listening to at the moment of impact.

Elton John's DON'T LET THE SUN GO DOWN ON ME. Click it.

Rob is walking the Yellow Brick Road now still confused, still trying to help himself.

Will he ever be found?

We love you Robert Howard Lokoff.

Comment by Sandy Salveter on Rob’s death:

I met Rob Lukoff around 2005, when I first started going to ND. He was on his meds and under control at that time, but had just come out of a divorce after going off his meds and ending up walking the streets of a California town. I think his parents went to look for him and found him on the streets, and brought him home to PA. It was too much for his wife, who initiated the divorce.

I always admired him so much because he always kept trying, even in the face of all the difficulties his bipolar caused him. He talked about how much his Mother and Father supported him. He graduated with a degree in music, and was quite a good musician. He was part of a group that played at various social functions, which he enjoyed.

Rob was a gentle man, who when off his meds became a different, wild-eyed, out-of-control person when his interior devils took over. This last time, the devils took him away forever. I hope they have finally let go of him, so he can rest in peace as his own true self, a kind and quiet man, who I am so glad I had the honor of knowing.

Rest in peace, Rob.

Sandy Salveter


Before you go
Sit in my kitchen
once last time

Iced tea on this
scorching hot day?

A butter cookie
from the Italian market?

Let me look at you
I mean, really look at you
Your eyes, shining like
the morning star

The places you've been!
A certain sadness
upon your face

You, like all of us,
are whims of the world
blowing like a green leaf
on my maple, never
really gone,
never ever forgotten.   

Monday, June 24, 2019

Walking Rails to Trails - Rob is in the newspaper

 This ole truck is rusting away.
 No trespassing says the sign, or else it says No hunting.
 Scott's wearing his Pennypack Creek Cleanup shirt with the teardrop in the middle.

Wah Wah Wah,
 Me and my new back pack. Should I get low I have a candy bar and glucose tabs. When I got home I ate an egg with mushrooms and cheese.

First, tho, I sat with Nancy Myers across the street and little Kalie barker. We watched the fireflies AND the bats, which dart in the evening sky.

Where do they live? Possibly in the little woods behind my house. She had a friend, Beatrice, who had bats in her attic, lying upside down, of course, which all had to be exterminated.

Mom just called to express her condolences about Rob Lokoff.

Ada and Rich found this article about Rob. View it here.

Stafford Township Police Department image.

My god, Rob, you're in the paper. Another time when he was manic he drove thru a gas station and blew it up.

One year I had a birthday party. I invited everyone in New Directions. Certain people like Nick Breslin I asked to make certain foods. Nick made scrumptious baked mushrooms.

What a lark when Robert Howard Lokoff showed up.

Rest in peace, RHL !!!

Tiananmen: The People Versus The Party

Tuesday, June 25, 09:00 pm on WHYY
Duration: 1:56:46
Description: Uncover the true story of the seven-week period that changed China forever. On June 4, 1989, a violent and bloody pro-democracy demonstration ended, leaving thousands dead and laying the foundation for China's future.
Just finished watching this from footage smuggled out of Beijing. Utterly horrifying. Democracy? The scenes were so real... shooting at their own people,

New backpacks - Coffee may help your memory - Rob Lokoff has departed from this world

 For a dozen or more years I wore the backpack of the Grand Canyon of PA. I loved wearing it but it was not stylish. So a week ago I replaced it with a smaller one that Scott bought me from Macy's for a clearance price of $20.

Mom said on Sunday it was too expensive. She was born in 1922.
 For Valentine's Day Scott bought me the above plant at Kremp's. It was losing leaves so I moved it to this table where it is doing well.

In the background on the wiudow sill is Howling Wolf a gift from Margie Lawlor.
This morning before I left for my volunteer job at Second Home for the elderly, I called them and asked if I could bring blue hydrangeas  from my garden - and a backpack - yes to both.

They'll roll the dice for the backpack and I told em I'd bring anudder beauty next week.

Why not give them away to people you know?

Hold on, I've gotta drink a sip of horrible coffee while I write about Roberto, as I used to call him when we were friends.

My friend died in a car accident.

Rob! How could you. I loved you so.

Monday, June 10, 2013

Rob Lokoff comes for lunch! - Scott's train set - Hello Phil Martino, miss you!

Rob is very easy to cook for. "I eat everything," he told me over the phone. We began with a salad that had spinach, kale, mushrooms, scallions, cukes, read more

 punkin seeds, sunflower seeds, and a dressing made with fresh lemon, fresh mint leaves from my garden, olive oil, and a tiny amount of balsamic vinegar so it wouldn't make me coff.

Rob is one of my favorite people in the world. His daughter Amy just graduated from American University in DC with a degree in art. She's looking for a job. This is a very talented family so I'm sure she'll find something she likes.

Main course was a delicious egg omelette with assorted veggies, left over from last nite's homemade pizza, and herbs from the well-watered garden.

It's raining right now at the US Open in Merion, PA. Today is "Practice Day."

Remember, this is 2013.

Ground crews are clearing off water from the grass... heavy rains. Rob said Merion last hosted the Open in 1981.

Rob's son Jacob is working in one of the refreshment booths.

Everyone is hoping to see Tiger Woods. Even if you know nothing about golf, everyone knows Tiger.

He has an amazing ability to camouflage himself from public view.
We took Rob on a tour of our garden. He remembered the Rain Barrel from my blog. Here's the peach tree we bot at Home Depot. The peaches are two inches high and should be ready in August, we think.

Rob's best friend, Phil Martino, who lives in Cinnaminson, NJ, loves three things the most: drumming, trains, and old cars.

We waltzed over to Scott's to show Rob Scott's great train set in the basement.

Rob is helping Phil install a train set in one of the bedrooms, where Phil takes c/o of his 87-yo mom Terri.

You should have heard Rob speak with such knowledge about trains. Click to enlarge. He and Scott had a great conversation. Both of them learned from doing.

Rob and Phil will visit a great train store at Street Road and Bustleton. The best store used to be downtown but they moved out to Lancaster.

Scott said visiting a train store is like a kid in a candy shop.

Scott uses these as 'screen savers.' Very colorful and real looking.

At one point Scott turned off the lights and the gas lamps were lit up, as were some of the buildings, and the two trains were whooshing around the tracks and the whistle was blowing.

Rob took fotos from his Fiji camera to show Phil.

What a nice magnet you have on your car, Rob! He's worried someone will steal it, as they did Scott's. The thrill of stealing.

Rob commented that Scott had a lot of energy. That's b/c he's been on vacation for a week. Tonite the SEPTA train will take him back to work. The kid who loved trains got a job with SEPTA.


Saturday, June 2, 2012

D-Day: Comcast Newsmakers - Rob Lokoff to the rescue - Poem: Ah. Mania!

I always need to be chauffeured to my Comcast Newsmakers Interviews. Usually Ada and Rich take me but since this taping was on a Friday, Rich couldn't take off.

I call Rob my morale-booster. He's better than any therapist. I never gave him a house-warming gift for his new condo in Conshohocken, so hopefully the jar of Polaner's All Fruit Blueberry Jelly will make the grade.

It's not the gifts we give, it's the kind of friend we are.

I'd gotten an email from PA State Rep. Stewart Greenleaf (R) showing a taping he did on Comcast Newsmakers - he's such a dull speaker I couldn't pay attention to his message - but I thot to myself Good idea to have another taping - and this time I've gotta mention the life-threatening effects of Lithium.

Two of the technicians at the Comcast studio on South Columbus Blvd. Say hello to Dan and Justin.

These two women made me feel very comfortable.

Danielle Jeter, a graduate of the historically black Spelman College in  Atlanta, interned at Comcast and got a FT job there. I called Danielle to ask her about the temperature in the studio. From previous years I remembered it was freezing cold.

She told me the studio was cold so I wore a fancy sweater.

I like to prepare well in advance for these tapings, so I bot my outfit that morning at the Sweater Mill in friendly Hatboro. Ivy helped me.

At 9 that morning, I had my hair and nails done at Polished, also in The Hat.

To the right of Danielle, is Michelle, a recent engineering grad of North Carolina A & T. She's doing her internship at Comcast now.

I didn't mention I was born in the "Tar Heel State" at Camp Lejeune, NC. I still have the menu they fed mom at the hospital. No wonder we both love key lime pie.

Here I am with interviewer Jill Horner. Rob was sitting offstage and watching me live and on a monitor. I was watching myself from:

inside myself
and on three monitors, very briefly

I carefully checked the info that would be printed on the screen while I was speaking: Ruth Z Deming, MGPGP plus our website which they printed in all CAPS.

Afterward Rob and I celebrated. Instead of eating at the Beverly Hills Hotel, we went to the Hatboro equivalent: McDonald's.

Rob was skittish at first but I assured him they'd have something delicious. Here he is with his mango-pineapple smoothie.

 I thoroughly enjoyed my iced decaf. Unbeknownst to me, the attendant added a forbidden vanilla creme concoction which this person w diabetes, greedily slurped up.

See, if it's in my own power and I do these dastardly deeds, that's bad. But when it's accidentally done for me, that's okay.

Oh? My body can't tell the difference? Shucks.

I got diabetes from my kidney antirejection meds. I've gotta shlep my drug paraphernalia everywhere I go including to a wedding I'm going to later today.

Loads of family members are in town. Am hoping they'll come over to see the additions I put on the house.

My sister Amy from Oregon said to me, "Ruth, where'd you get the money?"

I think she was expecting me to say, "I borrowed it from Mommy."

I sold some of my Berkshire Hathaway stock.

You are faithful, I’ll give you that, coming ‘round just in time for
Valentine’s Day.
You snuggle close and ask me to be yours. I smile knowingly and say,
Show me your virtues....if you have any.
You, in the guise of a gypsy with pots and pans strung across your back,
take down a few tarnished wares and hold them out to me.
I snort. Haven’t we been through all this before?
Then, as I touch your rouged cheek, I ask, Why won’t you give me up?
What am I to you?
Your gypsy eyes, ringed with soot, brush my face.
Okay, I say, it was good. I admit it.
I saw the stars with you.
We ran with the moon at our backs and
leaped across the sleeping earth.
You showed me the future in a
dead dog’s eye, then led me away
lest I drown in my own dream.
You spun sweet songs from the morning breeze
and trickled them through my hair.
You peeled back the world so I could dip inside.
Took the fire from the sun and winked it in my heart.
Okay, I say. You’re a friggin’ marvel, a regular storehouse of miracles.
But can’t we say goodbye?

It’s February and you’ve come back.
You always do.
I hear you breathing at my front door, soft as a kitten.
I’d know that sound anywhere.
Let me in, let me in, you whimper.
Can’t you be more original?
I followed you
blissfully    blindly
never dreaming of deceit,
dazed by your taste for light and color
awed by your contempt of boundaries
so like my own
which you swept away
with a lion’s paw
while I cheered you on from the sidelines,
until I found myself
tethered insensate to a hospital bed.
And forgot I had a name.

Amid the tumult
amid the sea of screams,
the broken minds a-bob the
slicing waves like so many
wind-up clocks jangling out of time,
who should come ‘round but you.
There, amid the black,
the granite slab of eternity sawing through my chest,
you kissed my eyes and bid me see.

Ah, Mania,
My debt to you is incalculable,
simply beyond measure.
But no pots and pans today, dear Gypsy,
Put them away.
Today I travel alone
Fishing for words, as I do,
Fishing, sans you.
LATER ON I WILL WRITE A REQUIEM of some sort for Rob.

His father owned Bryn Mawr Stereo.

Saturday, June 22, 2019

THE WALL part 3

Which kind of coffee should I entrust my story to?

The Jewish powdery kind.

First tho with breakfast I watched various TV shows on my laptop.

My ritual, you might say.

Upstairs I go balancing my coffee cup in Donna's old blue cup. Heavy.

How would I start?

Something there is that doesn't like a wall. Thanks Robert Frost.

Music is always necessary. Debra Lew Harder on WHYY. Have I told you what an optimist she is?


When she started with the campaign for funding, I turned to my Miles Davis CD,

Scott told me Ron Howard is making a film about Pavarotti.

How about making one about Judy Diaz?

I desperately want a photograph of her.

I shall ask her son, after Ada reviews my two-page letter.

And now I'll go upstairs and read.

The plane has crashed into the upper floors of The Twin Towers. It is terribly exciting.

The various Fire Departments are organizing to go in and save people.

The planes cut chunks in the shape of planes into the North Tower.

My short story THE WALL

Last night I watched American Masters.

The conductor Robert Shaw was featured. First a protege of George Szell, who changed his name so he wouldn't be taken for Jewish, Robert Shaw learned the art of music, of conducting, of producing glorious chorale music from the greats and mostly from himself.

As I watched, I thought, That's what I'll write about for my writing group.

Judy told me in the car that her dad, a violinist, played with Szell,

When I went to Momz on Sunday she said she watched the Robert Shaw program. I was so proud of her!!!

Beatriz had her family visiting from Venezuela. She couldn't wait till we met them.

Laura is a physician, tall, with long braids.

She may work in hospice. Her daughter was there, too.

Beatriz jibed, I'll forget how to walk, they do everything for me.

She had a huge white bandage over a swollen leg.


When I woke up this morning I said How can I possibly write my story THE WALL.  Too ambitious.

First I ate a huge egg breakfast, took the yellow pitcher of eggs, etc, to the compost heap. It was sweltering outside.  Continued.....

Dog Day Afternoon and more - Today's short story THE WALL - Part One

Scott finally got his wish to watch the entire film, Dog Day. He loves Al Pacino.

It dragged on and on, so I finally left.

The reviews were great.... until it comes to the inevitable end.

I do not what to know what the end is.

We BBQd on the deck.

This is the life. Unless you/re Sonny, heading for the inevitable end.

My friend Ginny who lives at Phoebe emailed me. She lost her phone. I wrote her telling her she;s very talented, do art work.

Here's a poem I wrote her


They're only here for a little while

Everything has its season

The leaves on the maple

The revolution of the moon

Fireflies have brief trysts to find a mate

Then disappear and await

the next generation.

Our REM from our writers group was very ill and in the hospital. His belly. Sick as a dog.

Judy called to wish him well.

I emailed him my short story which he printed out. Can't wait to read his remarks.

He said to thank Judy. At Scott's I keep a phone list from 2015.

Four people had succumbed to suicide on the list

Ron Abrams - Kevin Harris - Frank Wolfe - and Jill Koehler died from kidney failure.

I wrote the son of my late friend Judy Diaz and sent it to Ada to review. She no reviewed it as she and Rich must be with their grandkids or on Broadway viewing innovative plays.

Bradley Cooper and others will be at the Kimmel Center soon.

Is it possible for me to get up my gumption and go?

Wednesday, June 19, 2019

What if the rain never stopped? Poem: Rain and Royal Blue Garbage Cans

A new Netflix special... The Amazon Forest Moves North

Scott and I ate at THE WILLOW INN. Marina was our waitress. The rain pounded down on the roof, the windows and the skylights.

The food as always was delicious. Baked potato skins with bacon, cheese, and sour cream.

Eggplant parm.

My coffee was in a DeMarzios mug.

Family owned and operated since 1949.

When we left where we were seated, the rain leaked from a wooden beam.

I brought some reading material I got in the mail. Subscribe to a Harvard Women's Letter which had dire news about some vitamins I take. But Dr Sherman said they were wrong.

Ever heard of SolarMomentum?

My brave Scottie signed up for it this morning. He understood all the points that top con man, oops, I mean salesperson pointed out. And understood each one.

But again what if the rain never stops. It is POURING here at home where I man the couch and view the bobbing rain out the window

It can make you feel depressed if you let it.

Maybe I should read a fun book like the Nancy Drew Mysteries, Chekhov Short Stories - my fave is Lady with the Lapdog - Chekhov was a doctor, who never practiced. Same is true with Somerset Maugham.


Drying on the floor
is my rain hat from
The Baltimore Aquarium

Would I find author Anne Tyler nearby?

Slung across my banister is my Chico's
long-sleeved sweater I tie-dyed purple
to hide a grease stain.

All Chico's apparel a gift from
Ada Moss Fleisher, keeper of the
Fleisher legacy - her mom has
mottled skin like my polka dot
pajamas, but there's a person
in there, we just don't know where.

Those bouncing bubbles on the street
would be hilarious but they make
the grass grow high, perfect for
giraffes when they float out of the zoo

Will tall trees bend and finally snap?
Garbage cans topple like ice cream cones?
Ours is but to be patient and see what
the deluge will bring.


Such joy they bring to the Adams Family and the nearby neighbors

Cheering us in these drab days of rain and mist

Umbrellas out!

Pool shimmering, unusable

The gorgeous blue will sustain us

Until the Almighty sees fit to shut off

the celestial faucets.

Sunday, June 16, 2019

Sometimes a thought brings on a poem

Rem and I were writing back and forth in the wee hours of the morning. He and Mark had seen a film by Fassbinder, who I looked up on YT.

He said my story The Death Room is ready to be sent to an editor. That's what I wrote for today's Writing Group.

The topic of donuts came up. A NY Times article on being in love with a Nazi, who owned, among other things, Krispy Kreme Donuts.

I said to Rem, I'd rather eat cheddar cheese and a slice of cucumber. Here goes.... and the problem, as my SIXTEEN readers know is that I may lose this entire entry.

And I continue to read the 9/11 book.

Clearing of throat to get ready for poem.


Dedicated to the late Judy Diaz

Judy, do have a seat beside me on my red crumb-filled couch
You'll notice my sea-foam green slippers which can take me
right into the water like Virginia Woolf. I of course have no
intention of leaving, not just yet.
The food's too good, the views too spectacular, and I still
can write a thing or two.

We'll use these shatterless Corelle bowls delivered from
Walmart. Cheddar Cheese from Cabot in Vermont, where
lazy cows with huge sticky tongues know not what they do
as they prepare haystacks of cheese

And cukes! Only someone like the Almighty can invent
such a seeded wonder. The color beyond compare. Like a
baby sea turtle perhaps.
The crunch, the cucumber crunch engages our entire jaw
tongue safely stowed away ... we don't even know how
they grow, nor do we care.

Have another Judy with a hint of salt.

Friday, June 14, 2019

Remembering Judy Diaz


On this blustery day in June
Flag Day, in fact, I am celebrating
the death of my dear friend Judy Diaz
dead of an overdose.

An anguished psychotherapist
she couldn't take it any more.

As I plant each tiny flag in the
still wet ground, I remember this
remarkable woman who blew me away
with her wicked sense of humor,
ability to wield a wooden spoon
for marvelous Mexican foods and green salads
love of her therapy clients - when she moved
to Colorado to be with Michael and Tory - she gave
him one of her blue-eyed Siamese.

Judy, call me now before you do the deed.
Now now now!
No use. She don't come back.

Stalked by bad luck in that voluptuous land
Doctors refused to provide her with her
sleeping medication, Class Four I think
they called it.

She was a rebel. The best friend of clients,
Chuck shot himself but missed, schizophrenics
who thrived, and Barbara in sandals, who moved to Miami
"told you you could do it."

We'd meet at Judy's Arundal Way condo
her best friend another Judy finally
said goodbye to a miserable life and
married the love of her life, Irv
from Rohm and Haas. He bought his
Judy a white sable coat and this sexy
octogenarian sat
in his lap at Salon.

Oh, she loved jazz. Bob Perkins with the
Good Music though he sounded like he was
chewing Juicy Fruit as he spoke. I'll call him
later to make a request.

Permit me one last memory. We're at her place
with the antique furniture everywhere. She leaned
against the patio door, cigarette in hand, a sweating
can of Pepsi in the other.

"Ruthie," she said, "What do you think of the
little waterfall I put in?"

Walking down the path, I stuck my
hot hands inside and swooned.

We sat on the patio. Birds sang and crows
cried to their depths, living in the
little woods beyond.

On my back porch is your white wicker sofa
the stuffing smashing through,
the front porch has your nifty ceramic pot
with wild strands of grasses reaching
toward the sky, reaching toward my good friend
Judy Diaz who had the audacity - yes! - to die.

For more Judy Diaz, as distinct from Judy Woodward, click here.

Below are original designs from when she and her ex, Andy Diaz, lived in Pakistan.

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

My House is Dressed Up for the Night

Upper Moreland Library | Willow Grove, PA Blog

Though I'm already reading - count em - six books and good uns at that
I picked up six more, leaving most of them in the car.

Dorothy, I said, I haven't seen you in a while. The library ladies, such gems,
the men are too.

I dragged out a kitchen chair onto my porch tonight and read until I couldn't
see no more. The book? LIFE AFTER SUICIDE by Jennifer Ashton, MD.

The worst had happened. The husband she had divorced jumped off the
George Washington Bridge.

The first 25 pages are concerned with How to Tell People What Happened.

Jennifer is famous, but of course I've never heard of her. She is the ABC News Chief Medical Correspondent. Her best friends include Lisa Mahmet, Dr Oz's wife.

I remember when my dad died, we did the same thing: Prepare people as we spoke to them over the phone. Dad is dead, Dad is dead.


I peek out the screen door.
Six solar lights harness the energy of the sun.
They stand stalwart as soldiers protecting this house
where once the Lenni Lenape dwelled, eating maize
and acorn stew and fish they looped from the waters.

The moon's shaped like a broken plate
silent in the black sky
as it rises over Charlie's house
the little dog Kalie barking
her soliloqy, An "I miss Charlie" dirge perhaps
or "I wonder what life is like on the moon."