The Bugman Cometh

Gordon from Old Glory Pest Control came out this morning.

He drove out in a huge truck and backed up in my drive.

First thing he needed to do was differentiate between if I have ants or termites.

The termites will eat your entire house, said Gordon. 

Yum! Not quite as good as a cheese sandwich on toasted rye with a red ripe tomato, but it'll do in a  pinch.

Wearing blue mask, like I was, he went around the house and sprayed everywhere.

In my bedroom, the winged ants were still alive.

I should see improvement, said Gordon, and within a month they will be gone.

He was soooo positive.

Bear with me now. I'm gonna say a prayer.

Done.

I'm watching the Netflix show on doctors, brain surgeons, in particular. Dad died at 59 of an inoperable brain tumor.

I am utterly exhausted. Hopefully I'll fall asleep while watching.

Just a few more pretzels.

Total of bill  $164. 

Before I forgot, I ran upstairs to transfer the funds.

My credit union charges a fortune if I forget. 

Showed Gordon all my blue hydrangeas and asked if they attract ants.

No, he said.

Gordon Lightfoot is on tour. I first heard his music when I lived in San Francisco and was visiting my friend Carolyn Hughes.

Click here for a list of his songs. I haven't heard of most of them. But, then, you haven't read most of my  poems.

Got a new one in Mad Swirl today. A month ago they rejected a couple of mine. 

Here's the poem and of course you can understand it.

Read here. 

Hey the timer just rang.

Hold on. I'll see if the navy bean, rice, onion and garlic soup has finished cooking.

The navy beans take forever.

Love, 

She ain't your Julia Child

Homage to Mary and Tony Creamer

 

The poet T S Eliot said

If you want to be a poet

you must write every day.

I have known Mary and Tony Creamer

through my daughter Sarah and her

beloved, Ethan Iverson.

On this warm blowsy day we brunched

on the Creamer's patio, brick with

tiny growing "organismes" strutting

in between.

One thing about The Creamers: they do not

strut, they do not show off, they just "be."

Mine was the white plastic plate

rife with cold roasted chicken, cold salmon, skin on, please

hot broiled potatoes sprinkled with spices. Sarah was kind enough

to refill my platter. Twice.

Their cat was smirking dans le living

having caught a mouse for their lord and lady.

And what wondrous new beverage was this they served?

A hot white tea - white tea? Absurd!

Absurd as the flares on the sun which gave us

this glorious day.

From the potpouorri of desserts, I chose

pillow shaped baguettes for dunking, chocolate chip

cookies, for tonguing, and viewed the rest, a gift

from retired Noreen, as I would a Goya.

Shall we go? asked Tony, in his safari hat.

A few of us linked arms and crossed the street

to the Morris Arboretum.

The spongy green grass held us aloft

as Mary explained that a flood from

a southern hurricane terrified the swans.

Be not afraid, oh

Jupiter's Ledas. 

Look, said Mary, how this one

holds her leg above, still afeard.

The Fernery demanded quick hugs from

its inhabitants

The Rose Garden, seemingly untouched

by the deluge, became The Hanging

Gardens of Babylon

We inhaled, we inhaled, we inhaled.

If this is heaven, we are there. 

Poem: My Heart is Aching for Pennypack Trust

After Scott brought me my breakfast from Willow Grove PA Giant Supermarket, we decided to visit Pennypack Trust.

We'll go now before it gets too hot.

Believe me, it was hot!

My leg muscles have that good feeling of walking up hills.

Romantic picture of Pennypack from their website.

MY HEART IS ACHING FOR PENNYPACK TRUST

Like spurs on a railroad track

Pennypack Trust has many paths you can take

On this hot Indian Summer Day, we got in

Scott's coconut-white Honda Fit

and drove to The Lord's New Church.

With my diabetes mellitus, I ate

like a wedding guest so I wouldn't

go low and pass out like Floyd Patterson

fighting Sonny Liston.

Hot twas like in Arizona but we struck out

like miners and couldna believe what we saw!

Purple thistle - with stingers - visited by

golden finches - look at them sailing away

A graveyard we'd never visited before

Six tombstones poking up on the burnt grass

"All the world's a stage," wrote an 86-yo

woman gone to the world beyond

Riding over a small hard-to-see bump

My water glass splashed and made a commotion

soaking Scott's dashboard

I walked on the Walt Whitman green grass

Silence spanned our walk

as wide-winged hawks soared

above watching for prey

Scott and I dwell with the living.

Best friends and sometime room-mates

We live side by side

like the mulberry and pine trees

detesting the liar bragadoccio president. 

Work is nearly finished on my Yellow House and Back Porch - Poem: The Breadmaker - Rem's quip about the Republican National Convention

Thank you, Bob. 

Above and below is a green katydid. 

Brickwork in front of the house.

Back porch. I CAN'T WAIT till the porch is finished. I'll sit out there and let the cares of the world pass me by. 

New sloped ceiling on back porch.

There is something so moving about all these guys working on my behalf!

We have the son of Bob Walmsley here. 

Still life in blue.

Many houses on Cowbell are getting work done during this quarantine period. 

If you know the name of this black measuring tool, please send me an email at Euclid@gmail.com. 

I wake up in the middle of the night and look out my bedroom window.

Yes, I am still here and still alive. 

Right now, I am baking a challah. I need certain tools for the bread, just like these guys need tools. I was actually gonna invite Walmsley in the house - mask on, please! - and show him how I knead bread. 

Challah in oven, for the first rising, Bruce Springsteen. 

Just ate a delicious snack - slice of apple spread with peanut butter.

Gonna check on the bread now.

THE BREADMAKER

With my green Starbucks apron on

I stood at table, a conductor

ready to begin her sonata

after a long hiatus.

These fingers of mine

remembered,

rocking

back and forth on the

linoleum.

Challahs I have made

down through the ages

when the Pharaoh commanded

we leave the land or else.

Is that Yul Brynner coming

through the back door

how we missed him in 

Anna and the King of Siam.

have a seat on the red couch

i tell him, relax, take a load

off your dead feet

and here COMES THE BREAD.

Remington's quip about watching the Republican Convention, esp Melania Trump

The best thing for watching the Trump family would be a tab of LSD, a full frontal lobotomy, or preferably both. 
 

Watched highlights from the Republican National Convention - liar liar pants on fire - Poem: Whirlpool Dryer

Was watching a wrap-up of last night's Republican convention on CNN, when I heard a familiar sound outside.

Yep! Dustin was here. He and the other Wampole - sic - guys will work on yellow siding and back porch.

This was the only photo I could find of myself. Was at the Hatboro McDonald's with Rob Lokoff.

Went into the kitchen and made a salad for breakfast.

Perishables which must be eaten.

A delightful cr-un-ch  from pecans, cucumbers and some of the salad greens.

Noam Chomsky was on my laptop.

This man was so smart I thought, Who else could this be but Chomsky?

Watch here.

He's 91.

Wiki speak!

Born to Ashkenazi Jewish immigrants in Philadelphia, Chomsky developed an early interest in anarchism from alternative bookstores in New York City. He studied at the University of Pennsylvania....

SLEPT downstairs on Red Couch due to infestation of winged ants. Bob had sprayed but no way would I sleep in there.

Washed my sheets and pillowcases in my Lady Kenmore and then dried em in my old Whirlpool which was here when I moved in.

WHIRLPOOL DRYER

You have more buttons to push

than a NASA space station

When I stick my head inside

I feel like the wicked witch

in Hansel and Gretel will

gobble me up

Or

Sylvia Plath will expire.

Ma, if you were still alive

I would call you and say

This Whirlpool's a miracle

of old machinery.

No wringer needed

and I pull out the

lint catcher

and catch me some lint

in my catcher's mitt.  

Poem: Infestation of the Flying Ants

 

Woke up in middle of the night and felt something crawling on my arm.

SLAP SLAP.

An Ant.

What are YOU doing here?

Woke up at 6 am and there were more.

Wet a couple of towels and drowned em in the bathtub, then went downstairs and put the towels in the washing machine.

In my laundry room, I have windows, closed by curtains Mom had made me. There were seemingly zillions of winged creatures.

Into the washing machine they went.

Then I went for my walk.

Kept slapping gnats. Would sunglasses have helped?

Methinks this is a gnat, but then I'm not Orkin or Humphrey's. 

...

Burned this dish. I ate a couple of spoonfuls last night and then this morning I threw out the ruined pot.

This morning Bob and his warriors are here. Told him about the infestation in my bedroom and he said he'd kill them for me.

Oh, I've gotta strip the bed.

Quick a poem:

INFESTATION OF THE FLYING ANTS

Everything is done in scale

Since they're tiny, we humans can win

If they're colossal, we'll make a film

about it, starring Vincent Price, as the villain,

and Donna Reed, as the maiden in distress.

Perhaps Pruitt can play his bugle as the

insects are torpedoed off the planet

for now. For now. 

Hello again, Mr Fred Rogers

 I had the TV on all night long and awoke to the gentle sounds of Mr. Rogers.

Here he is, wearing his sweater and talking to Mr McFeeley. 

This put a smile on my face!

Then off I went, walking around the hilly neighborhood.

Saw a lantern fly on the ground, but didn't stomp on him.

When I awoke, here's the first thought I had:

When I die, who is gonna clear out my house.

I have so much stuff. Beloved things. 

...

On a notepad in the kitchen, I wrote down "Make curry for lunch." That's Amy's curry. Scott buys me all my food.

...

My oatmeal was delicious for breakfast. Peanut butter for protein, a sprinkling of pecans, frozen blueberries.

Then I wrote out a donation for ACLU. Can't believe I never gave to them before!

It stands for American Civil Liberties Union.

Let's do dat again, it's easy to forget.

American Civil Liberties Union.

...

Received a notice from Legacy.com reminding folks that it was the 6th anniversary of Stephen Weinstein's death. He died on August 23, 2014.

...

POEM: DEAR STEPHEN --

Plant a tree for you, suggests Legacy.com

Stephen, we live in a different world since

you, a smoker, died six years ago.

Certainly we still receive automated messages

concocted "just for us" 

You'd be trumped to realize who's in the general election

Joe Biden, once a rake, like in Pilgrim's Progress, as you

were too, before Arleen caught you on the rebound

I still have your picture on the wall in my Writing Room

with a photo of Dubai, luckily you didn't hear about

the Prince championing the death of an enemy by

... you never liked violence, so I'll remain mum,

and remember Thou as kind, compassionate, smart

and a man for all the people.

- Ruth Z Deming