Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Eating at Manhattan Bagel in Willow Grove - Ilya still owns it - My car filled with books

 Today I MUST return my library books. 

My car, parked in my driveway, would not start.

O c'mon, ole girl, for crying out loud!

Finally it did. First I went for a ride around the block, where earlier today I had walked to make sure it wouldn't conk out on me.

I felt so PROUD driving a car.


This in fact is what my car looks like, tho the pic is from the Internet.

With my mask of the red death on - oh, that's a short story by Poe - I returned my books, audio books, and dvds into the book drop.

Galumph!!!

AND picked up new books including


This had been on my waiting list for months.

I cannot WAIT to read my books and will go out on my back porch where the light streams in and read.

First though I have an important phone call to make.

At Blah Blah Blah, my voice is my password.

Driving home with all those exciting books, I pulled into the driveway of Manhattan Bagel.

Got a delicious croissant with chicken salad on it plus curly lettuce, tomatoes and other items.

Ate it at table, taking my blue mask on and off.

The instant I came home I injected 12 units, tho my blood sugar was only 280. Not bad.

At the library, I said to Dorothy, Oh, I love being in the library.

I said hello to Alex, the children's library, to Katie, who was not really Katie, and Eileen, who ran our Book Group.

She helped me find the short story collections.

SO HAPPY TO MAKE YOUR AQUAINTANCE

In the back seat, a blue book bag held

five new books. On this sunny day with big white fluffy clouds

I shall take you from the bag, on my new back porch, with windows

all around, stroke your smooth shiny covers,

fan your pages and sniff, like used cake pans.

Will I like you? You of course will like me

and hope I will choose you for my own. 

The blue jays squawk from the front yard. 



Disgraceful Presidential Debate with the Liar King and his opponent Joe Biden - Poem: This Ole House Creaks and Moans

 In the lower level of my house is this Durastall Shower, which still works. 

After a series of bad dreams in my newly rediscovered bedroom, I checked the temp outside - brr cold - and put a velveteen Chico's jacket over my sexy orange dress - and took off.

It's quite beautiful outside, I said to myself, as I walked onward, deciding to take the long way.

Noted the Trump signs - no more bullshit! - and a Biden-Harris sign.

Although it had rained, my Blacks Matter sign was still intact. 

The first of the presidential debates were on last night.

Let's find a good picture that summarizes the disgraceful distasteful situation.


Hold on. I've gotta take my meds now.

Burp!

Oh, excuse me.

The late Helen Reddy is on now. Dead of Addison's disease, where a kidney is removed, and then dementia.

Brava! She had her time to shine!

When I awoke, I lay in bed listening to the radio. This is before all cares descend. 

Who is Phoebe Bridgers? She was just mentioned on WXPN.

YOU find out and then lemme know.

Oh no! It's Pledge Week. Gonna shut off the radio.

Am heating up the last of my rice for breakfast. 

THIS OLE HOUSE CREAKS AND MOANS

Here in Huntington Dales the houses were built quickly
sloppily, I raised two children here, what fun we all
had. 

Once I said, Close your eyes. They got into the car
and I drove them down York Road and said
Open them now - and a giant crane - huge with
a flag on top - was lifting a piece onto Abington Hospital

a place many of us in the neighborhood visit
or are taken after a car collision.

May the Lord of all Decisions preserve me.

...

Was gonna write more but then I said STOP!!!

Up-to-date photo I found online.




Tuesday, September 29, 2020

Poem: Sleeping in my Bedroom at Last

 Just finished eating a salad - injected 12 units, which bled a lot - while watching a silly movie with Dinah Shore called THE PUNKIN PATCH.


Here she is with Burt Reynolds. Both gone from view but not forgotten.

What an important day for me. Spoke to folks from my credit union who moved my millions into the correct account so I could pay my bills.

And guess who was here this morning.

The one and only Bob Walmsley.


We each wore masks when he came thru the front door.

He's a big guy with a friendly grin.

He looked at the PECO meter to see if it had been put back properly.

He thought so but will call PECO anyway.

Then we went up in my bedroom.

This is the first time, I said, I've slept in here since my house was overrun with winged ants and termites.

With my powerful Dust-Vac I had removed many ants on the window sill to the extreme left.

Bob suggested I open a window.

"You have to live, too," he said.

A nice breeze is coming in, now.

Walked around the block early this morning before it started to rain.


Watched one great program on Channel 12, PBS.

When artist Maleonn realizes that his father is suffering from Alzheimer's disease, he creates "Papa's Time Machine," a magical, autobiographical stage performance featuring life-size mechanical puppets.


TWAS BRILLIANT !!!


The late Ron Abrams loved puppets. 


So, I lay on two pillows, and watched, transfixed.


Yom Kippur was over. I celebrate due to tradition. 


As I told Sarah Lynn over the phone, I still can't make up my mind if there's a God or not.


I had the most powerful tool in the world in my hand: The Remote Control.


And I slept. For awhile anyway.


Then I awoke and began reading REVENGE, by the brilliant Japanese writer Yoko Agowa, I think.


The new story made me gasp outloud. 


What the hell are you doing? What is going on.

Ya know what?


I'll finish it when I finish this blog.


A glass of water sat on my marble end table from Gramma Lily.


The water was brimming in a cup that read THE DAILY GRIND. Bought it at the Giant when I could roam freely from the house w/o fear of the coronavirus.

Sarah, Ethan and I are gonna beat it.




And there on my nightstand was a tall radio!

I turned it on and music came through.

Nah, I thought, I can fall asleep in the quiet.

Terrified, I actually did, and woke up at 7:12 am.

Hold on! Gonna look out the front window and see what's happening on the street.

Can't see a thing.

I run downstairs and here comes Mailman Dante.

Thanks, Dante, I say. 

Lousy mail.

SLEEPING IN MY OWN BEDROOM AT LAST

Did Matisse sleep in his own bedroom?

Did Johnny Mathis or Ella Fitzgerald?

Were their rooms built in the middle of a pile of ants?

Formicidae?

Brave I am not, but am forced to be

I shall simply lie there throughout the night

Which is long as a fortnight

And awake to the morning sounds

of birds. 



And now, if you'll excuse me, will read more of Revenge.

Love, RZD. 


Monday, September 28, 2020

Trump's Taxes Revealed - We Love it ! - My Black Lives Matter sign arrived and is on my Lawn now

 

My sister Lynn made this Break the Fast platter for her son, Miles.

I just came home from a twilight walk around the block. 

Walked very quickly as I wanted to see Scott before he left for work.

I went over his house where he was watching THE FOUNTAINHEAD with Gary Cooper and Patricia Neal. 

Clumb in bed next to him but he changed the channel at 6 pm to watch the PBS evening news.

Trump's taxes of course was the main story.

It looked SO COOL when you view the NY Times - the headlines are H U G E !

Made a great salad for dinner. I'm always so sad when I finish.

Yes I'm a glutton!

GOD FORGIVE ME

In shuls all over the country

Jews ask for forgiveness

Odd. We didn't cause people

to hate or avoid us. To ride

the trains to Auschwitz Birkenau

Reason is not the provenance of the Lord

Forgiveness is. 

Thanks to MHB for this band of Classical Indian Music.

They're called 

Aditya Prakash Ensemble and Rini

Yom Kippur - Poem for Yom Kippur

 Was out early this morning. 

Saw a super-cute dog.

He was a mini-labradoodle.

A ball of energy!


Ran into Bob Sanders, who came down his sloped driveway to say hello. I put up my hand and he said, I know, I know, I'm giving you safe distance. 

He enjoys his job in demolition. Didn't ask why he didn't have work today.

Yom Kippur?

I told him I was Jewish and this was a day of atonement. 

He liked that idea and said as I was leaving, Bye, Baby.

My old Kenmore washing machine is having a bath with vinegar, very old vinegar, which stinks!

Didn't sleep in my bedroom bc I discovered a huge cache of winged ants I've gotta get rid of today.

They're on the window sill to the extreme left.

I'd brought up a stack of books and the The Atlantic, of no clique or party are they.



POEM FOR YOM KIPPUR

Almighty, protect me from the

world destroyers, in my own house

ants and termites, in the world beyond

our own president, who learned to bully

at his military academy. I will do my best

on this somber day and pray my supplication

reaches you.


As children, we attended Temple on the Heights, B'nai Jeshurun. 


Sunday, September 27, 2020

A Little of This and That - Poem: A Good Man Has Died

 

Nothing is better than watching Eddie Muller on Sunday morning FILM NOIR on TCM.com.

"They Won't Believe me" is the title of this morning's film.

I fell asleep 2 minutes after it began.

Had woken up early and walked around the hilly neighborhood.

No one was about. 

Ate an enormous bowl of Oatmeal with peanut butter for protein and half a dozen frozen berries which were delicious.

Let's imagine, tho, where I might have eaten them, instead of at my laptop reading emails.

How about in a meadow?



Above picture is from my blog WHEN my camera worked.

Wanna send an email alert of the death of Henry van Ameringen, a gay philanthropist, who fought for the rights of the LGTQ community.

New Directions had received two grants from them as they also fund mental health.

I remember a woman named Eleonor Sypher said she'd like to meet us one day.

They hailed from New York.

Read about him here.


What a handsome man, and modest, too, the article said.

A GOOD MAN HAS DIED

For 90 years this man was alive and roamed our world

those who knew him hung out with him, joked with him,

laughed with him, wrung their hands with him, until the time came

when death called.

It wasn't easy being gay back then, but he was brave as 

a mighty oak on the forest floor, whose acorns drop

today as tears.



After I awoke, I wrote down my goals.

The first was the hardest.

GET BEDROOM READY TO SLEEP IN.

With my purple Dust-Vac I vacuumed the winged ants that were still left on the bed.

Then I spread the sheets out and the pillowcases.

Terribly hard work but I did finish.


Am gonna take some books and read on my back porch.

When life is good, it's stupendous!

Saturday, September 26, 2020

Starting off the day with a good movie - Poem: Rain

 Woke up to a rainy day.

Looked out the back window and sure enuf, there he was.

A large deer with antlers.


Brushed my teeth with the awful Baking Soda Toothpaste and then dressed for my walk.

Rain hat, snug grey trousers, Chico's sweatshirt and sneakers.

Yelled G morning to Lee and her  two white Pyranees dogs.

Filled my pill box - totally empty - and then slugged down my meds n vitamins (the most difficult) and prepared oatmeal.

This time the oat flakes were large as teardrops. 

Rested the hot cereal on the fan in living room as I finished up an excellent movie THE CONSPIRATOR produced by Robert Redford about the assassination of President Lincoln.

Very sensitively it showed the hangings of the guilty, including one Mary Surrat.

Her role was played by Robin Wright.


Will heat up the coffee Iris sent me yesterday and go upstairs to work on my short story, due at 2:30 pm. Yesterday Beatriz and I practiced Zooming but I was unable to do it.

I surprised myself at how good I could walk this morning with my bad leg - Scott says to put ice on it - which I haven't done yet.

Also last night I fell asleep to an excellent film called SHELTER, about drug addiction, love and the plight of the homeless.

Great acting and one of the best films about addiction I've watched. It reminded me of Panic in Needle Park by Joan Didion.

RAIN

The sound, as I stand at open front door,

is lovely, soothing, as it falls, with syncopated

thunder that would frighten dogs, and myself

as a child, but now I love the humanity of it

the democracy, no one will die, except

the worms, who crawl out of their flooded

homes and lie solemn and beautiful

awaiting death. 



Friday, September 25, 2020

Sitting on my new back porch and reading - Poem: Clean-up

Fran Hazam and I discussed via email the need to have a funeral for Mark A Davis, a powerful presence in the field of gay rights. 

For unknown reasons, many people didn't find out about it. 

He was a great man.



Here is Mark with Fran Hazam

Fran, a leader in the DBSA, connects many groups together.

...

It was terribly hot on my new back porch.

I'd brought 3 things outside to read, including the new Atlantic, Peter Orner's MAGGIE BROWN AND OTHER SHORT STORIES, and REVENGE - 11 Dark Tales by Yoko Ogawa. 

Read the Ogawa book the entire time.

How clever that woman is. She loves to kill! And why not? It's her forte.


Brought out my new coffee - Red Velvet Cupcake - which I received this morning from Coach Iris.

View her website here

Great info. One of our members asked for a coach to help his son and one of the people I suggested was Iris.

My goal for today - and it's already 4:16 pm, is to clean up my messy living room.

It's scattered with pieces of mail. 

Will put on rousing music - is that Greg Whiteside on WRTI-FM - and will get the job done.

He has a warm mellow voice.

CLEAN-UP

Should I have a strategy?

Yes, tiptoe about the living room

Pile everything together

Shuffle like a pack of cards

Joker and Ace of Spades

Once Gramma Lily and friends

played canasta at home

and the smell of coffee and kuchen

permeated our house.

Gert Gombassy is gone. So is Cel Shenkel. 

Gramma Lily died in an old age home of dementia, goddammit!

And Mom left us at 97

Where are they all now?



Thursday, September 24, 2020

My article published in the Times Chronicle today - Memoir from Pure Slush - Poem Messy Messy Living Room

View my article published in the Times Chronicle, today, Sept 24, 2020. 

HOW I'M DEALING WITH THE CORONAVIRUS 

This silent killer is stalking our nation, with nearly 200,000 deaths in the entire country.

I try to remain optimistic, but it’s not easy.

Due to my age and diagnosis of diabetes, I follow a routine every morning to keep myself strong and healthy.

After a breakfast of hot oatmeal, I set out to see the world. Swinging my arms, a blue mask in my pocket, I feel like a Zen Buddhist, noticing things I ordinarily would not.

What's that sound? Stopping, I listen.

Why it's crows! Did you know that according to scientific studies, crows are among the most intelligent of all animals. They have an uncanny ability to remember faces and teach their children who is out to harm them.

Who knew?

While I try to keep a clean house -- dust and cobwebs are everywhere! -- I have other priorities.

Netflix and YouTube.

"Away" is a current favorite. A team is headed for Mars. You think you have problems!

As founder/director of New Directions Support Group, it's important to keep track of what's going on with our members.

Diversity is our middle name.

Zoom has become a household word.

Since we no longer meet at Abington Presbyterian Church due to the coronavirus, a dozen of us Zoom.

One of our members had never experienced a support group before. Shy at first, she soon realized it was a wonderful way "to be comfortable and express myself." Best of all, she just found a job as a healthcare worker.

Rem Murphy, who works at the post office, dazzles us with all the books he reads. Great Expectations, Huck Finn, and the poems of W.H. Auden: "If equal affection cannot be/ Let the more loving one be me."

I learn so much from him.

Learning! Something we can all do in these quirky times.

How many times do we walk around the block?

Outside my front door, I hear the joyous sounds of children walking with their parents.

One little girl rides a pink, battery-operated "real car."

And there goes Frank with his tiny dog, Charlie.

Perhaps we should call our neighborhood “Dogsville.”

Bucolic it is with our towering trees, fulsome red crepe myrtle, and the last of the blue hydrangeas that came with the house when I moved here 30 years ago, with my two children in tow.

My daughter, Sarah, who lives with her husband in Brooklyn, has written a book called "Gravity," about her passion for boxing.

My married son, Daniel, works from home. He helps his daughter, Grace, 10, and Max, 8, with their homework.

Make that three jobs, helping Mom with her myriad questions.

"Mom," he just wrote me. "The $70 they're charging you for anti-virus services is a scam."

Whew!

Have you spotted lantern flies?

Though attractive, they murder trees!

When I sit outside and read on my porch steps, a few come around and I've gotten into the habit of squashing them with my sneakers.

"Healthline" tells us that healthy habits may lead us to a happy old age.

These include drinking coffee or tea, exercising at least 20 minutes per day, and getting enough sleep.

Since I spend so much time indoors, I "prettify" my house.

Look at the wrapper of a tea bag. An artist designed it. Why throw it out?

Along the walls in my kitchen, I have an assortment of tea bags, a rainbow of colors.

Little miniature paintings.

Every day junk mail arrives.

If Mom were still alive -- at 97, she donated her body to science -- we would discuss the upcoming election. Since she walked with a walker, she would cast an absentee ballot.

Going “stir crazy” is a common feeling.

Close your eyes and breathe, I tell myself.

Did I mention the benefits of friendship?

Sure, we talk to folks on the telephone. The sound of a person's voice is a great comfort.

Every Saturday, we Zoom short stories and poetry at our "Beehive" writing group.

Gone are the days when we'd meet at Beatriz’s condo. We'd all bring healthy treats. Cashews and peanuts went down smooth.

Since Beatriz is downsizing, she has asked us to choose some of her colorful paintings.

Here in my upstairs office I have a still life of her pottery. In my bedroom, delectable mushrooms hover over one of my walls.

As a woman who lives alone - and loves it - I think nothing of talking to myself.

One morning about a month ago, I thought, "What am I doing living in this big house all by myself? Where are Mommy and Daddy?"

Mommy and Daddy will never return.

But as the late Mike Vaccaro, MD, my graduate adviser said, "They dwell within you and always will."

...

SO, I've begun my memoir from Pure Slush. Finished Chapter One which I call From the Halls of Montezuma. Dad was a Marine. 

Only two people read and edit it. Rem Murphy who knows his stuff AND my sister Lynn who is cognizant of our family life.

On my blog I don't curse. At one point when I wrote in Chapter One that Dad got cancer, I wrote Goddammit!  I changed it to Shit, which looked and sounded better.

...

This morning before I began the memoir, which is a fucking big deal, I napped a few minutes on Red Couch, and then began to read.

I sat in my hot pink chair in the corner of the living room, leaning against a wall hanging of a  llama from Ecuador and having never read there before, and wanting to be comfortable as if I were a Temple University Lit Professor, say, "Gilbert Schwartz, PhD" I propped up my feet on two huge pillows.

It worked. I read Peter Orner's - dear god, hopefully I've remembered his name - Maggie Brown and Other Stories. 

Fab and funny too.

Then, I thinks, look, the guy's written a memoir. Go read parts of it on Amazon. I does that and have found a model for mine own memoirs. 

More Triscuits please! 

Ah, thank you, Queen of France. Or should I have pretzels?

My bad shoulder is getting a lot better! I do shoulder exercises downstairs and when I go for my 100th walk around the block in one day, I pump my arms.

Now, believe it or not, this the worst part of the day. I still can't go up to my bedroom as I haven't cleaned off the entire bed from the g'dam dead winged ants.

So I've gotta lie here on Red Couch and figure out what to do.

Anudder scoop of Triscuits, please, and I'll write a poem. 

MESSY MESSY LIVING ROOM

Little Miss Muffett sat on the Red Couch

noshing on Triscuits whilst all around her

on the carpeted floor

lay newspapers, advertisements, books

and the new Atlantic. All shapes are represented

well, whatever the shape of an envelope's called,

certainly not a rhomboid or tringle-trangle-triangle

but a rectangle, thank you Wiki.

PLEASE HELP ME LIE DOWN.



Facebook


Wednesday, September 23, 2020

 Impromptu memorial for Brionna Taylor, shot dead by the police, in Louisville, KY.

When I worked at Bristol Bensalem Human Services - which is now an upscale housing development - my good buddy was Greg Perri, PsyD.

We did many fun things together including visiting Thai monks in Bensalem, PA.

Later in life he got a job interviewing candidates for the police force in Louisville, KY.

I should have many posts about Greg Perri. 

Shall we check?

View here. Wonderful posts, you'll love em!

Scott told me a famous football player died Gale Sayers at 77.

Yes, sadly, he had dementia.

For lunch I made egg salad. 

Dee-licious!

I always think of Elaine Klawans bc she frequently made it for herself and Alan.

One of Alan's postcards is on my fridge.

Did I tell you I made the best coffee there is - Michael's Gourmet Coffee - Brownie Explosion. 

100 percent ground Arabica Beans. 

My friend Coach Iris bought it for me. 

View her remarkable blog here. We hope.

I'm going off stage now to write a poem for a friend of mine. She has an iron will to get better.

YOU have a great day, whomever you are.


I drank out of three cups. 

THE DAILY GRIND I bought at the Giant.

A STARBUCKS cup I bought at an estate sale around the corner AND

A small porcelain cup given to me by Sue Abernethy. Possibly my favorite.

....

This morning went downstairs to do my exercises. 

I fondled a small hurricane lamp, given to me by the late George Schuler and his wife Elinor. 


All these lovely people, gone to their final reward.

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

Dr "Tony" Fauci is a true hero - Comment from Mailman Dante = Poem: Here Comes the Procession

 Dr Anthony C Fauci is a true hero in the United States. 

From Paul Krugman's Opinion piece in the Times, 9-22-2020.

So we have Donald Trump demanding “patriotic education” and denouncing The Times’s 1619 Project, because it’s politically incorrect to admit the role slavery played in our nation’s history. You have the Justice Department announcing an investigation of racism at Princeton that is obviously intended to punish the school for admitting the obvious point that there was racism in its past.

...

Ran after Mailman Dante with a letter to my mother/law, Natalie Sherman.

As I handed him the letter I asked him, Aren't you afraid of getting the coronavirus?

No, he said, there's nothing you can do to prevent it. Eventually even the healthiest person will get it.

Is he right?

Here I am, sitting on Red Couch, sneezing a time or two, but not worrying about much except getting my voter registration in on time.

...

While reading PANDEMIC by Robin Cook - it's very exciting - I remembered where I left my reading glasses. I'd exercised on the bed on the downstairs level and placed the glasses on the nearby bar.

Yes, this house came with a bar when I moved here on December 1, 1990.

...

HERE COMES THE PROCESSION

They drive by quickly in their vehicles

Where are they headed?

Where do they come from?

Slow down, for chrissakes, you might run over a child

Long white legs stride around the corner

A tossed-off shirt round her waist

If only Mom could sit beside me 

and we'd tsk-tsk together. 



Memories of Ruth Bader Ginsburg - Poem: Chotchkas in my Front Window

53 degrees outside now.

All night long, I lay on Red Couch watching one of those Histories of Times Past, I mean, really really past, from before Bible times.

Moses was pictured.


That's how I fell asleep. 

BTW, when I edit my posts, I change things into action verbs. 

Now when I move upstairs into my bedroom, I will turn on my light and READ.

Spent much of the morning reading about RUTH BADER GINSBURG, RBG. My favorite stories were about her friendship with Anthony Scalia and about Eric Motley. 


Hope you can see this famous photo of she and Scalia riding an elephant.

...

RBG and Eric Motley bonded over Goldberg Variations. He preferred the Glenn Gould version.  


Stuck my head out the door today - it's a chilly 63, said Gregg Whiteside, and wished all my neighbors a wonderful day.

Did it several times. No one responded.

Upstairs here in my office it's quite cold. Am sitting drinking two forms of tea. RBG loved strong coffee. 

Am going back on Red Couch to begin to read. 

The Robin Cook book PANDEMIC is very exciting.

Can't wait to get under the covers and continue to read. 

Thanks, Margie, for your Rosh Hashanah good wishes.

Dyou believe my mom, no matter how old she was, fasted on Yom Kippur, even tho she'd get a headache.

Hello Mom, Hello Dad! 

POEM: CHOTCHKAS IN MY FRONT WINDOW

Martha Hunter meet the late Mr. Sanders from Sleighride Road

Wooden acorns meet robin's eggs with their tiny little cracks

All these disparate people and objects

A Supreme Court all our Own.

Monday, September 21, 2020

Poem: WOE IS HE, David Robertson - A new book I found on my path of life by Robin Cook

 Good Lord, the things you learn along the path of life.



Just read a long post about Germany's newfound hatred of the Jews. From the Smithsonian Magazine. 

The hero in question was born a Protestant but became a defender of the Jews.

....

My friend Helene left me a message that said Read Up From the Fields by Walt Whitman.

From The Poetry Foundation. 

Come Up from the Fields Father

Come up from the fields father, here’s a letter from our Pete,
And come to the front door mother, here’s a letter from thy dear son.

Lo, ’tis autumn,
Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder,
Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind,
Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis’d vines,   
(Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?
Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzing?)

Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds,   
Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm prospers well.

Down in the fields all prospers well,
But now from the fields come father, come at the daughter’s call,
And come to the entry mother, to the front door come right away.

Fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling,
She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her cap.

Open the envelope quickly,   
O this is not our son’s writing, yet his name is sign’d,
O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother’s soul!
All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main words only,
Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital,
At present low, but will soon be better.

Ah now the single figure to me,
Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with all its cities and farms,
Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint,
By the jamb of a door leans.

Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter speaks through her sobs,
The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay’d,)
See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.
Alas poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to be better, that brave and simple soul,)
While they stand at home at the door he is dead already,
The only son is dead.

But the mother needs to be better,
She with thin form presently drest in black,
By day her meals untouch’d, then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking,
In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing,   
O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape and withdraw,
To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son.

....

At Scott's we watched a most disturbing film called A CRY IN THE DARK. A woman, played by Meryl Streep, was accused of slitting her baby's throat. Most people believed she was guilty.

She insisted she saw a dingo - a wild dog - leaving with her baby girl in the dark.

Years later, her daughter's 'matinee jacket' was discovered near a dingoes' den.

...

Chilly today but I went on a walk all bundled up like my sister Lynn did. When I walk I may see nails or screws on the ground and I toss them up on the sidewalk. 

Someone on the upper slope of Cowbell has a small library in a wooden cupboard. I've never seen a book in there I wanted to read except for today.

Robin Cook's novel THE PANDEMIC, 2018. Carrying it home, I found Mailman Dante - for the second time - and mailed the Booklovers a thank-you note.

Midnight snack?  Uncle Ben's Rice with almond milk and whole pecans.

...

WOE IS HE

The great David Robertson, who I hugged goodbye at Pennypack
before he and Mary left for their dream life in Colorado

Face wildfires that sting their eyes and handsome once sturdy bodies and will, says he,
shorten their lives.

Who knew the horrors their dream lives would bring.