Welcome to the New World Mr Toadlet - KLARA and the SUN - Mourning our Mama - from Sister Ellen

 Thenks, Sister Ellen, for sending this.

Author is Ellen Zinner, PsyD

A Year is a Relative Thing. A year is the period of a planet's revolution around the sun; three hundred and sixty five days for the earth, longer for some planets, shorter for others. 

In the life of a bereaved individual, the time period of a year is a relative thing. On the one hand, survivors often are amazed that so much time has passed since the death. Four seasons weathered; the holiday periods endured. It seems impossible that they have borne the pain for a full twelve months. 

On the other hand, it may seem that time has not moved at all. Emotions and memories seem fresh. The news of the death and the ensuing days of confusion and painful decision making seem like only yesterday. And with this perspective, comes a fear that little recovery has taken place at all. 

Are you caught in a similar time warp? Has the passage of time been too quick and too slow? And what is to be done with this first anniversary of the death? If you are approaching this marker in your bereavement, it is time to take stock of where you have been and where you are heading. 

The first death anniversary is a special day for recognizing the loss. I have no doubt that you have been thinking daily about the loss and the change in your life. But this day looms larger than most. It brings back the sadness of the death itself with renewed force sustained by a year of experiencing the full import of the loss. 

But the day can also be used as a special day for celebrating the life of the deceased. 

Grieving stems not from the death itself but from the loss of the person. It is the loss of the laughter, the love, and connections past, present, and future which we mourn. How can you celebrate the life of your loved one? 

This is the challenge of the death anniversary. One family I know takes gold balloons to the high school track where their son had competed and lets float the personal message that each had written to him on the balloons. 

One widow picnics by the lake where she sprinkled her husband's ashes. 

Another family "celebrates" annually by having dinner together in a new restaurant that the daughter would have enjoyed. 

Creating a positive ritual that can be either fulfilled alone or shared adds powerful and supportive meaning to the death anniversary. The death anniversary is also a day for acknowledging the living.

This certainly includes you! The last twelve months have been demanding. You have handled your loss in the way you have needed to survive. You deserve to recognize yourself as one who has endured great hardship and to take care of yourself in a way that will ensure your ability to make a new life for yourself.

...

Powerful writing. Thanks Ellen for sending it. When I read it I feel very very sad.

Am sitting by the RED FRONT DOOR awaiting the goodies from Instacart. Food from Giant. 

That's right. In the Red Wrapper.

WHILE sitting here I heard the buzz of bees n wasps. It sounded like I could understand what they were talking about! 

Mailman Dante was just here. I put most of my outgoing mail in Scott's mail box. A record heap, Uriah. 

Was upstairs reading in bed and napping to KLARA AND THE SUN. 

Frankly, my dear, I  have little idea of what is going on. 

I did read that the author has a desk where he can reach everything.

Born in Nagasaki in 1954, he migrated to the United Kingdom.

On his WIKI piece, you could download all his works and read them!

And me, all I'm trying to do is finish one book!!!

On the floor in the kitchen, which is where we put the Instacart food, I have a bag full of potatoes.

Reader, what could I make with all those potatoes, and all growing sprouts?

Scuse me, gonna eat some of my potato and rice soup now.

Why is the soup gelatinous? 

It just started pouring now.

WELCOME TO THE WORLD MR TOADLET

Millions of people already have viewed your newness, your amazing pumpkin-like color and the way your body protects itself from toxins. Sentient, we think not, but who knows? In a million years you may march forward, a prince, a king, a toad, and all of us will twitter about you.

According to Smithsonian Magazine, this The new species of toadlet, Brachycephalus rotenbergae, opens its mouth in a defensive posture. (Ed

A Year is a Relative Thing A year is the period of a planet's revolution around the sun; three hundred and sixty five days for the earth, longer for some planets, shorter for others. In the life of a bereaved individual, the time period of a year is a relative thing. On the one hand, survivors often are amazed that so much time has passed since the death. Four seasons weathered; the holiday periods endured. It seems impossible that they have borne the pain for a full twelve months. On the other hand, it may seem that time has not moved at all. Emotions and memories seem fresh. The news of the death and the ensuing days of confusion and painful decision making seem like only yesterday. And with this perspective, comes a fear that little recovery has taken place at all. Are you caught in a similar time warp? Has the passage of time been too quick and too slow? And what is to be done with this first anniversary of the death? If you are approaching this marker in your bereavement, it is time to take stock of where you have been and where you are heading. The first death anniversary is a special day for recognizing the loss. I have no doubt that you have been thinking daily about the loss and the change in your life. But this day looms larger than most. It brings back the sadness of the death itself with renewed force sustained by a year of experiencing the full import of the loss. But the day can also be used a special day for celebrating the life of the deceased. Grieving stems not from the death itself but from the loss of the person. It is the loss of the laughter, the love, and connections past, present, and future which we mourn. How can you celebrate the life of your loved one? This is the challenge of the death anniversary. One family I know takes gold balloons to the high school track where their son had competed and lets float the personal message that each had written to him on the balloons. One widow picnics by the lake where she sprinkled her husband's ashes. Another family "celebrates" annually by having dinner together in a new restaurant that the daughter would have enjoyed. Creating a positive ritual that can be either fulfilled alone or shared adds powerful and supportive meaning to the death anniversary. The death anniversary is also a day for acknowledging the living. This certainly includes you! The last twelve months have been demanding. You have handled your loss in the way you have needed to survive. You deserve to recognize yourself as one who has endured great hardship and to take care of yourself in a way that will ensure your ability to make a new life for yourself.elcio Mus

cat)

Letter to the Editor has not been published - but here tis

Eating my French Onion Soup with Cheese, photo from Internet

It's not something you cry about

Only inside, you do,

Mandy Patinkin confessed last night on Finding Your Roots

"I'm a Crybaby"

"You tried your best," said Snyder's Dipping Sticks

Two potholders looked at me and shook their heads sadly

The Quaker Oatmeal Box centerpiece said, Show me your wares.

So I will.

LETTER TO THE EDITOR

by Ruth Z. Deming

The Times Chronicle is most unusual in writing about wonderful features at The Conshohocken Library, as they introduce April is National Poetry Month for the entire country.

We write poetry! A dozen of us in the Abington/Willow Grove area have belonged to "The Beehive" for about 10 years. Writing is our passion. Founded by myself, we were forced to ZOOM our every Saturday meetings due to the pandemic. Beatriz Moisset, our host, keeps us enraptured by her true tales about "pollinators." Bees and wasps who are responsible for getting the next generation
going. Beatriz has even said you can gently touch these furry bumblebees without getting stung.

Linda Barrett always comes up with a poem, whether it's for Passover or Christ Rising on Easter Morn. She also writes science fiction akin to the late Ray Bradbury and features bloody scenes and two moons. Such imagination!

She has been published in "Night to Dawn" a paying magazine by our Barbara Custer, another clever writer who adores Balloons. We call her Barbara of the Balloons.

Ken Ivins has, over the years, evolved to write suspenseful short stories. One in particular features a chauffeur who was named in the will of a very rich woman. We cheered along with Ken when the will was read.

A tight and caring group, Donna Krause has written bittersweet poems about the death of her husband years ago and her new boyfriend, Denny, who like many of us has health problems. So many of us aging writers need hip surgery or are having chemotherapy for cancer. We did lose our Kym Cohen to Hodgkins' Disease and think about her often, especially her poem where she personifies an earthquake.

Rem Murphy, a Roslyn postal clerk, completed a year-long series of poems. They were hilarious. He also wrote about his late wife, Valerie, once a Phillies' cheerleader. According to his plan, he stopped writing his "Randy Package" poems when President Trump was voted out of power.

Might I, in closing, write about the recent death of my mother?

"If there is one word to describe you, it is giving.
My whole house reminds me of You. How blessed I am.
When I would arrive at our Sunday lunches on your street
of big houses, I would wear attractive clothes to surprise
you.

And now you and Dad walk hand in hand in the heavens
Your earthly travails are over and your five children
carry on." 

Drove to the CVS w/o looking at the directions

 

Drove to the CVS and home, remembering how to get there to pick up my tacrolimus and prednisone.

Wrote my friend B early this morning telling her what PBS star Dr Josh Axe says about helping your cancer. Numerous kinds of mushrooms. 

Went on my second walk today wearing sister Lynn's neon orange dress. So comfy I can wear it all day.

Also wore a straw hat I bought when Scott n I vacationed in Ocean City NJ many years ago.

Will find a cool place to nap.

The Reading Room?

My Bedroom? 

Bye for now.

Your faithful guide, Ruth Z Deming.

National Poetry Month - Poem for Dante, my Mailman

 Man, did I have to hustle to get this to Dante in time.

APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

Why not write a poem about Mailman Dante?

Dressed in blue like a cop with a little

blue protective mask

I'll write my poem upstairs in the room with the little window

where the new buds of spring stud the branch of my last

remaining maple.

When I moved here 31 years ago, three maples

grew to majestic proportions

each one decaying and falling,

crumbling to their deaths. 

Worse than the Corona virus! 

Dante's mail truck is stuffed

like a Whitman's Chocolate Sampler

Mail today is mostly ads

I pile them up in my living room

Under the twirling fan

On Trash Day I stuff them in the

Yellow Plastic Bin in Tall Bags

and off they go, singing for joy,

to be resurrected when the time is ripe

into Park Benches.

Down I lay on the bench, reading a good book

from my library. Nancy Drew, girl detective

would be just fine.   

...

This COULD be my Yellow House but it is not.

Will go on back porch now and read Klara and the Sun, the Martin Amis book Inside Story and The Impersonator by Heidi Pitlor.

So much reading, so little time.

Who dis?

Where dis taken?

Bought Lynn a tiny gift from Kremp in honor of her son Miles Harrison Greene passing the bar

 

Find it, Waldo, if you can.

What a great assortment of memories.

The tiny iris plant is below the Tavenor's Drops.

Just finished walking around the block and then doing my back and leg exercises on the mattress downstairs.

Very difficult. 

Oh, the house at 172 Sleighride Road sold.

Who dyou think bought it?

Columbian drug lords?

Nomads, from the film NomadLand, who have 17 people living in there?

Folks from a cat house?

So long for now. Gonna brew myself a cuppa Peppermint Tea, sister Lynn brought me. 

The Theatre of the Absurd - Poem: Potato Soup

 I get a call from the office of my physical therapist. Clare wants a complete medical history of me plus the Pain Survey I had already filled out.

Listen, Clare, I say. I don't have time for all this. Thank you for your help. And I hang up.

Turns out my back and legs have turned the corner, so to speak. Much Much Better. Scott was here this morning and he was helping me do the exercises on my soft downstairs mattress.

I thought I would never get better.

Then I walked around the hilly block in a thin blue shirt and never warmed up, but knew I'd be home soon.

Home to my potato soup which I just finished. The crock pot is soaking in the sink. Actually I just cleaned it with plenty of elbow grease. 

POTATO SOUP

My new specialty

like peasants of old

these underground tubers

gathered strength and nourishment

Lord God be told

So satisfying with brown rice

mushrooms, garlic and melting cheese

we slurp it up bowl after bowl after bowl.

Internet photo.

Hold on. My nephew Miles is graduating from Columbia Law School. I sent his mom a note to send me the link.

Went in my fridge and brought out the bagel and lox Lynn had brought me yesterday. It was as frozen as an Eskimo Pie.

Since the dog was barking across the street, I sat on Scott's bench and ate most of it, then took it to our compost heap and tossed out the remains of the day, a book by  Kazuo Ishiguro. 

Anthony Hopkins received best actor award last night - at 83 he is the oldest person to win one - for his portrayal in THE FATHER. I think he has dementia in the film.

Please don't wait for me, but will look it up now.

AND the award ceremony, the little I saw, was annoyingly terrible. 

In the mail I received a solicitation from the Muscular Dystrophy Foundation. I wanted to donate $15 b/c when my son Dan was little, he had a boy in his class with that terrible disease.

Went online and it was UTTERLY IMPOSSIBLE to donate anything.

Just now I finished watching an hour long presentation from the PBS News Hour about the book and the film NOMADLAND.

Fascinating. The author Jessica Bruder was interviewed by Jeffrey Brown, who did an excellent job.

His Wiki says he was born in 1946 and has written a collection of poetry called THE NEWS.

We gotta check this out!

Jessica Bruder. 

Tried to view some of his poetry on Amazon, but wasn't able to.

Robert Pinsky, former poet laureate, said Brown is a 'true poet.'

Years ago, I drove to Montgomery County Community College and heard Pinsky. Wonder if it's on my blog. 

Here's my blog with Robert Pinsky. I believe he was the son of a pharmacist. NO, an optician. The things we remember! The things we forget.

Pinsky was a polymath and creative in so many fields. 

I've forgotten how to do the link, so click below.

https://ruthzdeming.blogspot.com/2011/08/wanted-crepe-myrtle-before-end-of.html

I'll try it myself and see if it works. Meantime, Mr Pinsky come out of hiding please.

Am now gonna read on the back porch. I have 3 books from the library and will decided what to keep and what to return.

Thanks for the catered lunch, Sister Lynn

Lynn's car is like Scott's Honda Fit but it's a Toyota.

A chickodee is making his nest and looking for a sexy partner of a lifetime. 

We celebrated the first anniv of Mom's death on my back porch. Yes, my butt was a bit wet but it was well worth it. 

Refreshments included two Krewstat muffins.... z very best. Thother day I made an entire panful of them but had no one to share them with, so I stuffed myself. Mom loved Yogurt, covered over with plastic and in Helene's bowl, lox and bagels in a quiche pan that may have been Moms, my diabetes apparatus in the background.

That lox was damn good. Lynn perfected her half a hardboiled egg. She read the direx as did Scott. 

 We talked about the politics of shopping. Not at Chick Filet as they don't like gay people, Not Home Depot as he is a Trump supporter as is Mr Pillow, so now Scott shops at Lowe's. 

Lynn goes up to people and tells them this. Good for you, Sister Lynn!

Wrote a daring new short story

 Oh, here we are again, open for business.

Link for bald eagle camera. 

Just got home from Scott's where we had a delicious BBQ, chicken franks, sauerkraut, Mr Moutarde sharp n strong, the way I like my men, as you shall read when I publish my daring new short story THE INTRUDER.

The narrator on the jazz station WRTI FM said it's gonna be warm and beautiful and then rain some. 

Mount Ararat... is that the name where the Ark landed? Grounded in facts.

Am gonna relax tonight altho I napped for an hour at Scott's house.

He received an email early this morning about the time to receive his second Monderna vaccine.

Got a Water Bill addressed to my mother. No way am I changing it to my name. 

In fact, in the middle of the night with my light turned on, I examined on Gramma Lily's marble bed table a small writing pad written by Mom and telling of where to turn off all faucets, all power, and the dimensions of all the bedrooms.

Ma, I know you can't or didn't live forever - you were only 97 when you passed - but you love love loved houses and were happy to buy me this in 1990 I think. I have it wrin down in my long living room desk I found at the end of the street.

Wanted to give a small donation to the muscular dystrophy foundation. When Dan was a small boy a child in his class was dying of this twisty turvy disease. Wrote a poem about it. Somewhere. Wrote it from the point of view of the janitor who helped carry the boy.

That's it. Gotta get off as I'm afraid of losing everything.

Link for bald eagle camera. 

Don't forget to check. The above is from - where else? - the Internet.

POEM: Trying Not to look in the Mirror while I brush my teeth

 Just checked on a suicidal woman in our group. Told her I would write her back after I had written a poem.

TRYING NOT TO LOOK IN THE MIRROR WHILE I BRUSH MY TEETH

Once men would look at me
A full brunette with shoulder length hair
like Pier Angeli
Now my eyebrows are slashed with white hairs
like Dale Evans' horse Buttermilk
A little smile plays upon my lips
as hairs jut from my chin
Could it be
Could it be
That I am still here
Till the world is done with me?

...

Brought in the Yellow Plastic Bin from the street, the one that had turned over on its side in the winds. Scott came and told me.

The last thing I put in there was a foil packet of Salmon, rinsed out, I made a feast with it while listening to Brahms on my kitchen radio. 

...

Was doing my back and leg exercises downstairs in the basement. Helene's SONY radio was on. Suddenly I saw myriads of dead insects. Scooped em up in toilet paper and flushed em down the toilet drain.

Y U C K

...

Ah, the breakfast gong goes off at the Ponderosa. 
     

DRAMA ON COWBELL ROAD AND THEN SOME

 

DRAMA ON COWBELL ROAD AND THEN SOME

A large woman in orange jumpsuit like a prisoner
at Sing-Sing screams: No no, come back, come back
She speaks to her man size German Shepherd, and lands
on her back at the top of Nancy Myers Lawn

Here comes the Valdel Plumbing Truck, home for dinner
Pizza? Hot dogs from the Giant Food Court?

What concerns me is what I perceive to be a sewing cabinet
with rolling wheels at the Kiernan home. The cabinet is
terrified, worried that it will race downhill like the toboggans
in the Olympics far away

Morning come quickly
Those men in the noisy squeaky green machines
taking everything away, every single thing, down
to the dump yard where quarrels and fights erupt
as benches are being fashioned where sedate citizens
can relax and nap and read the Inquirer.

- Ruth Z Deming

For dinner I made Barilla whole wheat spaghetti. Combined it with John Muir spag sauce. I added cheese to add protein and it was delicious.

Though cold. As if I were eating it at the old ball game.

OMG, Birds are tweeting somewhere nearby - my back porch may hap?

MOM, EVERYTHING REMINDS ME OF YOU

 Yesterday, April 20, 2021 was the first Memorial Gathering for my Mom. It was held at Donna's house in Clarksboro, NJ. 08020. 

Donna changed the date as today is supposed to be very windy.

In fact, though hard to believe, my YELLOW PLASTIC BIN toppled over in the street. It's nearly as tall as I am.

The reason I stayed home is bc there were unvaccinated people there. I felt terrible but I can't risk getting Covid-19.

Everyone there took turns talking about her, remembering her with great fondness. I will write a poem about her now. 

MOM, EVERYTHING REMINDS ME OF YOU

If there is one word to describe my mom, it would be

Giving. Look around my house. Aunt Ethel's fancy table is covered with a B&W 

Batik Tablecloth from Melissa. Photos of this beautiful white-haired woman with black eyes

solemnize my house. Ever curious, she would want to know the verdict in the Derek Chauvin

trial. When I visited, I would wear clothes of mine she had never seen. I dressed up for her.

Mom's 'dressing room.' Photo with Nikki.

My mother. Her meals were divine. Gefilte kraut, Sweet and Sour Meatballs, and Lime Jello with sour cream I requested for my birthday.

She was a licorice lover, a chocolate lover, and a man lover. She got her man and the two of them

rule the heavens, hand in hand.

Celebrating the Murder Conviction of Derek Chauvin - Poem: The Yellow Sun Makes No Distinctions

 The sky is darkening at my house now, as my oatmeal melange is cooling on the electric stove.

Showers and thunderstorms before 4pm, then showers likely and possibly a thunderstorm between 4pm and 5pm, then a chance of showers and thunderstorms after 5pm. Some of the storms could produce small hail and gusty winds. Temperature rising to near 66 by noon, then falling to around 50 during the remainder of the day. Breezy, with a south wind 15 to 20 mph becoming northwest in the afternoon. Winds could gust as high as 30 mph. Chance of precipitation is 90%. New rainfall amounts between a tenth and quarter of an inch, except higher amounts possible in thunderstorms.

We are still celebrating the MURDER CONVICTION of DEREK CHAUVIN. We believe he should have a very long prison sentence. 

Now you can't just tell this to anyone. Half the people on my street probly think he's not guilty, so we don't go around lighting fireworks.

Though what he did was a heinous act against a fellow human being, this racist may never believe he did wrong.

Last night we blogged for New Directions. We had a couple of new people. Dire cases.

Just had an idea what to write about.

Remember Scrooge in the Dickens story A CHRISTMAS CAROL? 

Whew, glad I remembered the name. 

That man changed! The same thing could happen with Chauvin. Would I wanna write something like this? 

Years and years ago, Ada and Rich drove us to a performance at Penn Foundation, an enormous mental health facility.

In fact, they just sent me a solicitation and I threw it away, along with a dozen others.

While Scott was mowing his lawn, he came upon a flower he had never seen before. I goggled it and came up with this.

He found only one. 

THE YELLOW SUN MAKES NO DISTINCTIONS AMONG HUMANKIND

Burn. Burn. Burn.

Your earthlings are a curious lot.

Greedy. Tempestuous. Bigoted. Racist, Sexist. Gorgeous. Hiding behind twittering fans, pretending Truth is not a word.

Help from Sherry Villar for Assisted Living - Best Medical Alert Systems - AND MORE

Click here for Best Medical Alert System from Sherry Villar. 

You may contact Sherry at 

sherry@assistedliving.org

....

For many hours I've been painting on my back porch.

First, though, I walked around the block to get up my nerve. 

It's nice and bright on the porch. Bumble bees and wasps have been banging on the glass panels. 

I put a purple sheet on the floor. 

Painted my late mother's clodhopper shoes. What will I do with them? Certainly not hang them from my car window.

Scott had bought some things and I asked him for the Styrofoam panels, which I painted.

They're fairly good.

He liked my mom's shoes. My sister Ellen brought them over. We used to go to Faherty's for our shoes in Southampton PA. The folks are very nice there. They put cotton pads on the inside of the shoes to make them fit properly. 

I have the fan trained on me as it's very warm in here. 

Cut a bit of Japonica from the bush outside. Smells very nice.

AND my backyard Lilac Bush is flowering.

I always say hello to my shrubs.

Do you think they hear me?

Was listening to a very well-read audio book on the Net called The Last Tycoon by F Scott Fitzgerald. 

It was very hard to follow, so I shut it off.

Tremendously autobiographical. 

And probably had a piece of Dove Chocolate in the red foil wrapper.

Everything is drying on the back porch now.

Patch.com sent out a bulletin saying we are going to have a severe storm. Seems impossible, but who knows. I put out my Tall Bags in the Yellow Plastic Bin and not surprisingly a humongous wasp flew out. I guess he's feasting on all the food in there.

Hope he or she likes King Oscar Sardines. 

What we need now is a poem about King Oscar.

KING OSCAR

What a magisterial word is King

And he is among the greatest

His moustaches flared up around his serious mouth

As he sailed the seas in his fancy uniform

with epaulets like tiny whisk brooms I use to

sweep up crumbs in my kitchen

He lived so long ago 

in the early 14th century, I believe,

that the only honor they could think of

was to name a can of sardines after the mighty man.

...

If I ever go to Norway, I will see if I can persuade the populace to erect a statue of this Good Man. 

...

Just listened to a brilliant story online by H G Wells. The Transformation of Elsevere. A young man is conned into the body of an old man. It will give you the willies or the hebejeebies. Your flesh will crawl. 

H G WELLS, author of The Time Machine and other works.

A Burning Question from Susan Griffith

 Just ate the most delicious soup! Made in my old crockpot from a now defunct thrift shop on Old York Road, it has brown rice, mushrooms, onions, and I added cut up Cabot Sharp Cheddar for protein.

Ate it while watching a documentary called THE ALGONQUIN ROUND TABLE. As a lover of all forms of entertainment, I watched while slurping my soup.

Here is the URL for the Algonquin. I sent it to Rem and Margie.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ObXzrP4wdc

Oh, forget it, the link did not go through.

***

All my postcards are in my mailbox. Jack and Linda Fogel, donations to Planned Parenthood, Parkinson's Diz, note to Natalie, my mom/law, and I think that's it.

Did my back exercises this morning. Actually improved in the one where I stand on one foot and then the other.

Dante the Mailman just arrived and took all my mail. I leave the phone off the hook as I don't wanna get anything from CVS.

How shocked I was to hear from an old friend - Susan Griffith of Susan and Gary Griffith. We used to compare our experiences from then Bldg 16 of Norristown State Hospital.

Like me, lithium ruined her kidneys and she has been offered a transplant. It's called a swap. She wanted my opinion on what to do.

I had such a great experience that I highly recommend the operation.

Her main worry - and it is quite a problem - is that she will get manic or depressed after the operation.

She should gather as much info as she can from her transplant surgeons. They are the experts though patients like myself are also helpful.

Susan has a 26 yo daughter Jessica. I told her my kidney donor Sarah is 47!

Right now, Susan is at Penn Jefferson undergoing tests. I do remember them. Going through all those hoops. Tedious, trying, and very stressful. Bring a good book and try to read.

I started off at Jefferson but they rejected me right away. I was furious, as was Sarah who met me there after taking the train in from Brooklyn.

We did end up at Einstein Medical Center in North Philadelphia, which worked out great. You would not believe all the meds I take so my body will not reject my kidney. 

Susan, you should have goals after your transplant. Submit your experience to a newspaper or better yet, a magazine.

Take notes the entire time you are there. That should help steady your mind.

The worse thing that happened to me was getting insulin dependent diabetes. Am so used to it now, I inject myself in a place that doesn't hurt many times a day.

Belly or butt.

Okay, gonna go out on the back porch now and paint a pair of shoes I have. My mom's old clodhoppers. 

Wish me well! 

And Susan, think positive, follow the doctors' instructions and if you are so inclined, PRAY. Her operation is scheduled for May 12, 2021. 

Ruth Z Deming, MGPGP 

founder/director

New Directions Support Group

https://newdirectionssupport.org/

Poem: THE TOOTHBRUSH HOLDER IN THE PINK BATHROOM

 Here is a poem I wrote this morning, April 16, 2021

THE TOOTHBRUSH HOLDER IN THE PINK BATHROOM

Here's a poem I wrote this morning

THE TOOTHBRUSH HOLDER IN THE PINK BATHROOM

Empty.

Once Sarah and Dan kept their brushes there.

Used the Crest given them by Amerigo Venneri, DDM,

a smart man whose two children, Doreen and Joe, whose

favorite food was pizza, became their dental masters

till one by one

they left home and only I live here.

As I Water Pik, I hear the sound of Niagara

where as a child Dad and Mom took the lot of us

Ruth Donna Ellen Lynn and Amy to view the

rainbow colored falls and Joseph Cotton tried to kill

his wife Marilyn Monroe, as barrel tumblers -

ah, clever daredevils, felt the earth pounding

over and over and over again

like the beginning of time.

WROTE A POEM THIS MORNING, FRIDAY, APRIL 16, 2021

THE TOOTHBRUSH HOLDER IN THE PINK BATHROOM

Empty.

Once Sarah and Dan kept their brushes there.

Used the Crest given them by Amerigo Venneri, DDM,

a smart man whose two children, Doreen and Joe, whose

favorite food was pizza, became their dental masters

till one by one

they left home and only I live here.

As I Water Pik, I hear the sound of Niagara

where as a child Dad and Mom took the lot of us

Ruth Donna Ellen Lynn and Amy to view the

rainbow colored falls and Joseph Cotton tried to kill

his wife Marilyn Monroe, as barrel tumblers -

ah, clever daredevils, felt the earth pounding

over and over and over again

like the beginning of time.

....

For breakfast, I had Cornbread with peanut butter on top.

DEE LICIOUS!

...

Also composed a poem for my niece NIKKI CARTAGENA ROCHE and put it in the mailbox on the back of a WHITE HOUSE CARD.

Thank god you know who is gone. 

Scott and I visit Rite-Aid in Huntingdon Valley Shopping Center

This is so he knows where to get his Moderna shot next week. He stayed online, clicking and clicking, and finally an opening came up. Hooray!

Backyard woodpecker. Yum! Nuffin better than succulent insects. Unless you are the insect. 

One of the ingredients in my Kruetzer cornbread. Delicious cornbread I made in a Pyrex glass pan. Took about half an hour to cook. Kept checking. 

Front lawn ornaments. 

The winter took a toll on my hubcaps, but of course the Buddha said nuffin. 

 Guess that's it, Boys and Girls, Ladies and Gents.

NOW what should I do?

Well, I'll certainly munch on another piece of cornbread, while telling you what I watched last night on PBS. 

PICTURE A SCIENTIST

Watch here. 

It's about discrimination and name calling from male scientists to female.

It was so unbelievably shocking I could barely catch my breath.

Justice was finally done, maybe 30 years after the fact.

Francis Harry Compton Crick OM FRS^[1][2] (8 June 1916 – 28 July 2004) was a British molecular biologist, biophysicist, and neuroscientist. He, James Watson, and Rosalind Franklin played a crucial role in deciphering the helical structure of the DNA molecule. Crick and Watson's paper in Nature in 1953 laid the groundwork for understanding DNA structure and functions. Together with Maurice Wilkins, they were jointly awarded the 1962 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine "for their discoveries concerning the molecular structure of nucleic acids and its significance for information transfer in living material"

A woman named Hopkins, I believe, said when Crick met her, he wrapped his arms around her breasts.

This was documented in the film. 

Worse though, was when women traveled to Antarctica, so very beautiful, but the men on the trip cursed them out and called them the foulest names imaginable.

The head of the trip was removed from his top job without pay and told he could return in three years.

BTW, I am using my memory, which is not all that great, but again the documentary PICTURE A SCIENTIST illustrates what happened.

WORLD BIPOLAR DAY is published and you can read it right here

 Scott and I just ordered on Instacart. Our groceries should arrive any minute. This is so we can see if the Carters have made any mistakes like those fabulous meatballs which have no meat in em. I shall not share the name with you or else the Giant will be out of them again.

Took me forever to fix this up as a post card. 

It was one of those days when I woke up at 5 am and came down for breakfast.

Two organic eggs and lots of onions.

Totally dark outside as if I were in a scary movie. Sat on red couch. Man, those eggs were scrumptious. 

A little bit of salt and a little bit of black pepper.

Tried to find something to watch on YouTube, but to no avail. Was trying to finish something with Peter Finch as a member of Parliament looking for love in all the wrong places. Just found it!

My WORLD BIPOLAR DAY appeared in the Montgomery Newspapers. Scott found it on the Ambler Gazette, where I sent it to the subscribers on AWeber.

March 30 was “World Bipolar Day,” when those of us, like myself, reflect on what this condition means.

Wearing my mask as I walked around the block early this morning -- “Caw! Caw!” went the crows -- I remembered all the incarnations I went through since I was first locked up at Norristown State Hospital for the worst three days of my life.

It is important to realize that things change. An open mind is much needed. Back then in 1984, I was told “Stay on your medication and never go off.”

Staying on lithium would ruin my kidneys and I would get a transplant courtesy of my daughter, the writer Sarah Lynn Deming.

Many people partner with their psychiatrists and psychotherapists to keep this treatable condition well-managed.

This is very important.

Working with my then-psychiatrist -- who is now retired -- I attended Hahnemann University to get a master’s degree.

New Directions Support Group has been the largest and most helpful support group in the Greater Philadelphia Area.

Every single individual gets individual attention.

We know that mood swings -- from uncontrollable “highs” to uncontrollable “lows” that bring on suicidal feelings must be attended to.

While we can’t save everybody, we do try.

Since we cannot attend live evening meetings at Abington Presbyterian Church or Daytime Meetings at the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket, we Zoom several times a month.

We have a “Call Team” if someone is thinking about taking his or her own life.

Music, believe it or not, has saved people’s lives.

“Hip-Hop Saved my Life” is a viral video from Lupe Fiasco’s album, “The Cool.”

It’s also common knowledge that the ageless Bruce Springsteen suffered from depression, as described in his 2016 autobiography “Born to Run."

And, yes, indeed, he ran into some trouble when police found him driving under the influence. Addiction to drugs is common among people with mood swings.

Here are a few common-sense ideas to help you cope:

Exercise, which helps both your body and mind.

Eat nutritious foods and minimize junk food. As Mark Hyman, MD, says on his PBS program, “The most important tool you have to change your life is your fork.”

Stay connected with other people, difficult to do during the pandemic. We are “herd animals” and when we miss our herd, depression or drug-taking may happen. Monitor yourself and call a good friend to discuss.

While the telephone cannot compare with visiting someone, it is the next best thing.

Just do it!

Learn new skills during the pandemic. My friend, Scott, taught himself to make quiche with asparagus and cheese.

Redecorate your house. Use a Dumpster and get rid of everything you do not need. I have created a quiet Reading Room, where I listen to music and read from the library books I check out from the Upper Moreland Library.

Satisfy your curiosity. My mother died at age 97. I had written our family doctor and asked him if Mom had been in any pain. He honestly answered me, “No, the morphine she was given, lifted her spirits.”

Help others. Every day I call my elderly friends -- Freda and Bernie who moved into a retirement community -- and check on them. Ten years has made quite a difference in their lives, which reminds all of us -- Have you prepared your wills? You must let your family members know where it is.

In this spring season, bring daffodils to your neighbors. Nothing is as cheerful as a flower. It is like a huge smile.

Ruth Z. Deming, MGPGP, Founder/Director

.....

Bob and Judy, our neighbors across the street, came home from Ocean City, NJ, Scott's favorite shore city.

The minute he got home he was outside cutting his lawn, rumors of rain.

Judy, he must have said, we've gotta leave here so I can go home and cut the grass.

Today is the day I'm gonna make KRUSTEAZ Cornbread. It's from a mix.

Nervous, Ruthie? Damn straight I am I am.

HERE IS THE MOVIE I JUST WATCHED AND NAPPED TO AND DIDN'T UNDERSTAND.

Johnnie Byrne, a cynical and burnt-out Yorkshire Labour MP, whose career has seemingly stalled due to his ostensibly leftist leanings, is re-elected with the victorious Labour Party after a General Election. Bitter not to receive an invitation to join the Government, his left-wing wife leaves him, and he accepts an invitation to lead a conspiratorial group of MPs working against the centrist government. Mary, the single woman upstairs, adores him but they never quite become a couple.

Johnnie falls in love with a 20-year-old student/model Pauline, and misses making an important speech against the Government's militaristic plans because he is in bed with her. His conspirators turn against him and cause his local party to attempt to deselect him. He narrowly escapes a vote of no-confidence in his constituency, and goes in search of Pauline who has ended their relationship, still in love, but knowing it is not the right relationship for her.

He goes back home, to find his wife who wants to try again, and she gives him her phone number. The Prime Minister offers him a post, and reveals that the reason Johnnie was not offered one before was due to his wife's communist connections. Johnnie tears up the paper with his wife's phone number and embraces his role in government.

OKAY THE TIMER JUST RANG. SCUSE ME WHILE I CHECK THE 375 degree oven.

IT'S OUT OF THE OVEN AND SCOTT AND I will go fine the place where he will get his Moderna Shot.