Sunday with Mom

Thanks for calling, Mom. I got home fine. Last time I left around 4:15 pm the light made it difficult to see. It was pretty good this time.

American Roots is on the radio now. Los Lobos over 4 decades performing.
Cesar Rosa, the only music I knew. Played it in the desert. When he came to the USA, Chuck Berry then got into the R and B stuff.

I listened on the radio to an interview with Santana and loads of other Latin American singers. This wonderful woman is on now, Sally Cruz? From Cuba. She was forced to leave. But sang in the US at many festivals, sporting an electric blue hairdo. She died in 2003.

Ooh, I hate when people die.

Am finishing up my spaghetti now.

14 units.

My friend "Sally" and I talked on the phone nearly an hour last night. She wanted to be with people and attended an AA meeting.

These people have TERRIBLE PROBLEMS. I remember in grad school Joyce Keene told us what alcohol does to your body.

Many people walk down our street holding beer bottles. It's probly okay but I did run into a drunk on my evening walk last night.

At first I thought it was cute bc it's part of our culture but then I realized, drinking is a killer.

Told Mom and Ellen about finding the Mitchell Center for the Performing Arts all by myself. Oh, I don't wanna repeat myself. It was freezing in there. At intermission, I asked if they had any hot beverages.

No.

I bought a bag of Herr's sour cream potato chips. Very salty and delicious. I found a drinking fountain, drank, and washed the salt off my face.

At Mom's Ellen took a trip to Dunkin Donuts - it's National Coffee Day - or something like that.

How come I didn't know?

I've been waiting several days for coffee.

Hold on while I take a sip from this styrofoam cup.

Good not great. Ellen told me not to use cream. Tons of calories.

Mom said my shoes looked big on me. I was not wearing socks so my size 7 feet were free to slosh around.

I had loads of plastic containers ready to toss in the new plastic container.

Walked outside, lifted up the lid and tossed em inside.

This time I did not injure my wrist.

And ask your members to bring water - and perhaps a light blanket for the relaxation. It will be a more talk and exercise, rather than a full yoga session - just so we can all be on the same page. Nothing to be concerned about.


Kundalini is a somewhat strenuous yoga - right up my alley - but I toned it down for the Trust yogi's and they love it! Asanas not held too long, not much chanting/singing - so I just do what they love. Although, with my recurring students I do give them more challenging sets!


I took Hatha classes for 8 years or so, but when I took a kundalini class, it just knocked my socks off!  I am a very physical person - love strong workouts - and it just 'spoke to me'! I actually feel empty when I just do a hatha class - no meditation for one thing.


So - if you haven't sent a note out yet - just say it's a blended yoga class - geared toward a soft workout and a total relaxation!


Like I mentioned, I will send you a write-up.  Can you print copies?



Thanks!

Part 2 - A Midsummer Night's Dream

Bravo to NORMAN COTTERRELL  for his perfo'trmance in this dynamic raucus two and a half hour play.

And Brava to Heidi King who I haven't seen in ten years. She had given me a pendant whch still hangs on my beside lamp.

She is one very tall woman who looks great in all those costumes.

And the set design - spectaculuar.

Also a woman who is the hair dresser.

Such talent!!!

Before intermission, I fell asleep and knocked my head on the wooden upper part of the seat.

The auditorium was freezing. I brought a warm sweater but it was useless. So at intermission I went to the refreshment stand and asked, Do you have any hot drinks? I'd been fantasizing drinking hot chocolate.

No. All refreshments were one dollar. No, they didn't have any peanuts. I worry about my diabetes. So a got Herr's Sour Cream Potato Chips.

Yum. I took them outside in the hot sun to eat.

Afterward all the players meet outside in the lobby. That's where I gave Norman a huge box of Stutz Chocolate. His family, including wife Patti, formed the reception committee.

I had seen in the front rows some black people so I figured that's his family and friends.

Scott and I just came back from a walk around the block. I wore a blouse over my dress so I wouldn't get bug bites.

Earlier today when Scott was outside in his TCM t-shirt he felt something attacking him under his shirt.

A SPOTTED LANTERN FLY.

He squooshed it and killed it.

I was so excited I almost wrote Lauren from Pennypack but didn't.

And, Ruthie, your next brilliant move is...

Mitchell Performing Center, Part One

Lunch. Into pasta sauce I added two eggs.

Delicious.

Last night I'm reading the newspaper in Scott's bed. The Times Chronicle.

Oh, look, I said. My article on the Pennypack Trail got in. Letter to the editor.

I started reading it and thought No one can write like this.

Today I thanked the editor and suggested I sign a contract and write anudder true story about Keeping Mom out of a nursing home at 97.

Writing... how I luv it. The Beehive is meeting today at 2.



Soon I will be in the audience.

It was barely filled. I paid about $20 cash for a seat on the right, an excellent seat.

The last time I was there I heard Sharon Olds read her poetry. But it seemed to be a smaller room.



Okay I lost my entire post after they warned me.

See you in the next post.

Stutz Candies - Poem: Padraic's Hill

  This, my Lovelies, is an assortment of chocolates from Stutz Candy Kitchen.

It's for Norman Cotterrell who is one of the many performers in A Midsummers Nights Dream, today at 2 pm at the Mitchell Performing Center in Bryn Athyn.

Sarah, Dan and I lived right across from Stutz at Village Green Apartments way before it went up in a conflagration and killed half a dozen people.

The moment you walk into Stutz a delicious smell assaults you.

Death by peppermint?

WEIGHT LOSS CONTINUES

For breakfast I ate oatmeal, a smaller proportion, dear god, with chopped apples with withered skins.

PADRAIC'S HILL

PADRAIC'S HILL

Golden crunchy leaves
sing on Paddy's hill
not a single person sees them
not even the postman in his cap
and blue shorts
I shall go over in my new cotton
dress holding a little one in my arms
down we'll sit and crumple the leaves
in our hands.

Postcards

Steamed asparagus with olive oil and pecans.

I do have cheese but thought it would overpower the delicate taste of the asparagus.

In the news: Trump rails against Whistleblower:

From the NY Times:

Dean Baquet, our executive editor, explains why we chose to publish the information about the whistle-blower http://nyti.ms/2loU4p0 

Did I tell you my kidney doctor insisted I lose weight?

He also prescribed anudder hypertensive to protect my kidney. Will write down the name in an attempt to remember it.

Losartan Potassium.

There was just a recall of the drug saying it may cause cancer.

What would YOU do?

I don't think I'll take it.



Prison in Ireland.



Desert outside Las Vegas.


An ad for Venice which I used as a postcard.

Lay in bed for a couple of hours reading and listening to the whirring fan.

I so much wanted to write about all the street noises.

Removal of huge trees in two places on Cowbell, The Elgin street sweeper, the noisy renovation of  George's house, next door to Scott's, and use my imagination to write about what they remind me of.

BUT my upstairs computer refused to work.

Scott and I took the HP to Staples where Dave will fix it.

POSTCARDS 

The bland, the dull, the dreary
this is the mail Dante and Joe
carry.

Spice things up. The Alhambra
in Spain might be the great Allah
here on earth, the type of place
you faint after seeing it.

A bird of paradise from Costa Rica
plumage spiking across the shine
of the card as you disappear inside
the jungle, carried along in
a green palanquin.

A portrait of George Nakashima
after he was freed from a concentration
camp out west, had he used his captivity well
or was it a long empty paragraph until he
returned home.

I sat in his chair at the Michener Museum.
It revealed a million thoughts - his or mine
I am not sure - but aren't all people
One?

Mr Morris's chez lounge

Stay safe - know who you're dating, says the pop-up that alternates with other obnoxious pop ups.

Jolted awake this morning as Josh Groban was singing for pledge week.

Today is Garbage Day.

Got dressed and walked around the block, sore leg and all,

THURSDAY is cleanup day in our neighborhood... the Elgin streetsweeper plus our new unwieldy plastic bins.

The above chez lounge belonged to Mr Morris who lived behind Mom. He and wife Margie moved to Ann's Choice and Ellen got the lounge.

Ellen went to CC and I stayed with Mom till she got home.

It was good being with her. We talked about the old days a Majestic, where dad worked. Mom couldn't remember one person, so we thought and thought.

Jack Weisberg was the answer. We eliminated The Joe Sedlak family, the Paige Sumpter family, Beryl Pinckney.

I attempted to drive home but the sun blinded me, so came home and rested in Mr Morris's chair.

I myself love found objects. Was gonna buy a new dress but sister Lynn gave me one that didn't quite fit.

When I realized garbage day was upon us I raced around the house, including spidery basement, and threw things away, including my once beloved pocketbook, Grand Canyon of PA. If I couldn't have it, no one can.

Sounds like a Columbo film.


MOM AT 97

Very much the boss
she still can sing
and eat eat eat
very good, she said,
pushing away the ice cream plate
she wanted to serve the chocolate chip
in her nearly empty water cup
should I oppose her or let her
do her own thing?

What she really wanted to do was
paint with any color nail polish
a faulty kitchen tile

No nail polish was around
I searched like a bloodhound
And silently gave up.

We ask the Lord's Blessing

The Yiddish word is tseuris.
No one gets out of here without it.
Misery, we Jews call it.

Who thought up the rules?
Who thought up the placement
of the planets and constellations on high?
The leader in charge, known by many names,
Allah, Jehova, The Lord our God,
The Almighty..

May he/she bless your wonderful family
who tend your patch of ground as you look up
in wonder and think
When when when
when will good times come again.

Cigar Box Group holds first meeting at my house

My house on Cowbell Road.

Moo!

After our Cigar Box Group, Linda Barrett led the way to Mr P's in the Abington Shopping Center. I got a doggy bag of grilled veggies with garlic breath. 

Email I sent to THE BEEHIVE, B's group.

We had an excellent meeting at my house.

Judy was wearing black b/c it is the Jewish holiday of S'Lichot.

She read two stories, one true, the other fiction.

St Basils Farm all about horses.

and The Animal Museum.

Linda read the next in her series taking place on a different planet complete with two moons.

I read about elderly individuals and what happens to them as they age.

I processed my feelings about leaving Second Home for the Elderly while writing in the pink diary Linda bought me. 

Am glad that my new short story - part one and two - were different than usual. Air Stream trailer had appeared on Ball Road. 

 Wrote a story about it which concerned trafficking of young woman. The only line I can remember is I'M IN CHARGE HERE, by a 12-year-old boy. 

Read this fascinating essay of mine. 

*
I was up binge-watching on Downtown Abbey.

Where is Dairy Queen, I asked myself. Head toward Giant Supermarket and you'll find it. Bear right. The guy behind the counter and I worked together on what I wanted and here it is

No, I don't wanna cone (waste of ingredient) but do give me vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, whole peanuts, and the famous red spoon.

I threw everything away including napkins before I drove home.

It was delicious! Nothing else will do.

This DQ closes around October 27. 

 Two years ago I would stride up the hill, but was too afraid today I wouldn't make it.

 My sister Donna wanted to buy one of those old houses on the high hill since her Hatboro condo flooded.

 Several pictures of a cut down tree. Dig them huge logs.

 This is on Ball Road.

Wrote my friend Helene Ryesky a letter today on my Michener Museum greeting cards. What was the name of the poem I wrote her?

Something about water and how we take it for granted. This is after watching a documentary on Netflix about Bill Gates.

DAIRY QUEEN

Thankfully I'm not allergic to peanuts
as I stand by my shiny car
and linger over every savory bite
a meal in one
though if the hurricane came long
or a tsunami or cyclone
we may all drown together
bubbles found in a hundred years.

Miscellenous Wonderfuls

Just found this photo on this website of jailhouse photos.

View https://bampfa.org/?te=1&nl=california-today&emc=edit_ca_20190916?campaign_id=49&instance_id=12418&segment_id=17061&user_id=109769da9367c03db63a631a4d89cec2&regi_id=55480181

0R

BAMPHA in Berkeley, California.

Also just heard on WRTI-FM that Cokey Roberts just died of breast cancer.

Years ago I saw her one one of my day trips.

Click here for Newseum and much more.

I visit the kids at last

I called this a sliding board, which Max said he didn't have.

He calls it a SLIDE.

My son Dan stands arms crossed at the "jungle gym" which is what I've always called it.

He picked me up at 3:30 and we went to his Roslyn Giant to pick our out dinner.

For breakfast I finished his delicious sausage, two red ripe tomatoes, some broccoli and a cold cup of coffee I buy at my Giant.

The Demings are well aware of the Spotted Lantern Fly and have a method to catching and killing them as they await the school bus.

Dan takes the lead then Max and tall slender Grace assist.

The insects live in a mass on their maple tree out front.

They use some sort of poker to shake it out.

Then the neighorhood kids assist in stomping them to death, which is the only way to make sure they're dead and don't continue living in the huge compost heaps where the garbage goes.

On the drive home, Dan n I discussed the various noxious insects that have plagued our area for dozens of years, including tics at the Pennypack Trust.

Now, it's upstairs I go, to watch more DOWNTOWN ABBEY, where I will catch up on my sleep.

Tomorrow I will hold my first CIGAR BOX writing group.

Huffin n Puffin up the street - Poem: The Red Timer

Scott and I just walked around the block. I thought it would be easy but remember we have a big hill.

Then I heard the unmistakable sounds:

A garage door opening via remote control?

The sounds of A Muleskinner's Blues from the Ken Burns documentary on Country Music?

The stapling by Liberty Roofing of half a dozen men atop a roof on Sleighride Road.

Here's my fantasy about dat:

I stand on the ground by the side door.

One of the helmeted men comes sliding down the roof.

I position myself 'just so' and catch him in my arms.

HE's fine but I'm not. Since I'm wearing a dress my face is bloody as are my shins, knees as well as my shoes.

Got my lab tests done this morning and drove in the sunshine to QUEST in Jenkintown. Then I requested copies to other docs.

Dr Albert Schweitzer in Africa.

Sheryl was my phlebotomist.

Fine gal, fine gal, covered from head to toe in a paper Cinderella gown.

Much construction. You must be able to SEE as you wiggle thru the orange cones.

As a treat, I ate at Dunkin Donuts.

Photos please?



Croissant with egg n cheese, hold the sausage, AND Iced coffee with a straw.

There's usually one reason I blog.

Hmmm.

I quit my volunteer job at Second Home. All last night I was feeling sad.

There's no good photo for ya.

I usually arrive at 10 am. Got there a little late and announced to everyone why I was leaving.

I felt useless, like there wasn't anything I enjoyed helping with anymore.

Said goodbye to everyone who could speak English.

When I worked at Symphony Manor I was paid $30 per session. I only worked several days a week. The checks often took 2 months to arrive.

The Manor however was an assisted living facility unlike Second Home.

My philosophy is:  Close your eyes and allow yourself to feel sad. Don't bury your feelings but allow them to surface.

We're trying to get a guest speaker in New Directions. Yoga or meditation or T'ai Chi.

PHOTOS

 My breakfast was something my late cousin - Chez Ray - would make at his restaurant in Eugene ORE. Blubberies, pecans, cinnamon and two beaten eggs.

 The Michener Museum bag is a work of art so I taped it against the wall in the kitchen.

 What will I make with this DD bag?

Have I wrin a poem yet about my timer, which is not made by Robert Lux.

MY RED TIMER

Right in the middle
A shiny silver teardrop
Reminding us of all the losses
We've endured and will endure agayne
Love, too, awaits us
Swims in backyard pools
The sight of the hummingbird
Birds squawking in the bird bath
A family photo of Mom's
90th birthday taken out on
their front lawn by Patrick

The red timer has cheeks of red
and tiny little numbers
for Baby's First Book
and You shall read it to her
in a low and whispery voice.

Clumsy - Lunch at Mom's - Ideas for short stories

Was just outside emptying trash into the new trash can.

Lifted up the yellow top and emptied a bunch of trash inside.

What did I do to myself?

Allowed the cover to fall on my right hand.

YOW!  Ouch! Clumsy!

That's really all I wanted to say.

Gave notice at Second Home earlier today. Wrote a note to Nurse Kim.

Ate at Scott's while watching TCM.

Salad with carrots, kale and spinach, mayo.

Began watching The Fortune Cookie ... simply terrible!

But Neil Simon had a string of hits.

Scott came into the TV room and said Where's your car.

I panicked and then remembered. Someone was having a party and I couldn't squeeze into my driveway so I parked on Sleighride.

Walked over there and drove round the block.

Now my car is in its own home, my driveway on Cowbell Road.

Just remembered to continue watching on Netflix, "Unbelieveable." Fairly good. Got a great review that rape is finally being addressed.

Had a great visit at Mom's, Lynn made stuffed peppers.

Here's a stock photo online.

   She used turkey meat.

Her usual yogurt with fresh fruit,



And that spectacular Michael's Gourmet Coffee from Iris.

Ideas for stories: The Woman Who Can't Stop Eating - Carapace (about a woman at my volunteer job who seems locked in her body.

Tonight on PBS, we begin Ken Burns' new series on country music.