Not only does PA call itself a Commonwealth, but so do four other states! For a prize of an autodidact trip to Gettysburg, PA, what are the other 3 states? The answers are below. I've written them backwards.
SSAM, YK, and AV.
Just gimme a car and a radio and I'll travel anywhere. Never was I so aware of the importance of auto travel than on my week's vacation with Scott. We took turns driving while the other one slept, noshed on red apples, adjusted the radio stations, checked her phone messages. The summer has yet to begin and yet the traffic was horrific.
Unlike me, Scott is stoic. He won't eat while he drives or even sip from a bottle of water. I get restless when I drive and need constant entertainment.
Oh! Look what I just found on the empty chair next to my desk. It's this huge folded postcard of the cyclorama at Gettysburg Memorial Battlefield, one of the best museums in the whole world, I'd venture. We spent two days there. The Gettysburg Cyclorama Panoramic Strip is one of the greatest battle scenes ever painted. It's located within the Visitors Center and is larger than a FOOTBALL FIELD. Begun in 1882, 20 years after the South's worst defeat in the War Against the States, French artist Paul Philippoteaux had 5 assistants to help create this larger than life phantasmagoria that brings viewers right into the battle.
We all stood around a circular platform while lights flashed on and off, a lifelike sunrise arose in the east, and cannon-fire frightened us with its loud booming sounds, followed by the blast of musket-fire. Bam bam bam!
Music played to highlight the drama. Drums and bugles were coded information sent out from regiment to regiment while horse-riding couriers hand-delivered messages.
I said to our licensed tour-bus guide, Dave Richards, I'm learning about all the history I missed when I was a kid.
We stayed at a terrific hotel, Country Inn and Sweets, where I arose at 8 yesterday morning - yes, only yesterday - and went for a lone swim in the indoor swimming pool. How refreshing!
When we finished up Gettysburg, we drove about 45 minutes south to the little-known Grotto in Emmitsburg, MD, a shrine dedicated to Bernadette of Lourdes, my favorite saint, I wrote a poem about her once, I doubt if I can find it, it was very clever. I did research on the real Bernadette Soubirous in the Hatboro Library, a 14-year-old peasant girl who claimed to see The Holy Mother 18 times. That's 17 times more than I've seen her.
Altho, wait a sec, there she is right now, on the Adams Family Roof right next door! She's wearing that lovely blue robe just like her statue.
The Grotto was spectacular. No one was there but the gnats. It had been raining so they rained down on us. I wore a hooded sweatshirt and had to wear my hood so they couldn't get into my ears. When I got home and itched my ears, I found some dead ones in there. YUK YUK YUK!!!
When you get home from vacation, life starts all over again. You know, the emails, the returning phone calls, jeez, I even had to write a Letter to the Editor earlier today. Life goes on and on until it stops. Not yet, thankfully, I've still got a lot of writing to do before I'm all used up like a delicious stick of black licorice with only the wrapper left.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Time for a vacation!
Scott and I are leaving shortly for the Inner Harbor, Baltimore. Last year I couldn't go on vacation due to my bad back. I told Tony Salvatore at our Suicide Seminar on Saturday that I understood how people can kill themselves due to immense pain. I refused to take opiates as I was afraid I'd lose my mind! I'm the only person who refuses free Percodans.
This year Scott and I will whoop it up! I'm psyched!!!
This year Scott and I will whoop it up! I'm psyched!!!
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Suicide Prevention Seminar - smashing success! / The Little Foxes
What a victory, I said to myself as I was leaving the Huntingdon Valley Community Room for our 3 hour and 15 minute seminar. Perhaps I used the term 'victory' cuz it was D-Day, June 6, the invasion of Normandy. The nite before I watched the 1998 Spielberg film Saving Private Ryan, a movie I was finally ready to see. Most of it was filmed in - of all places - Ireland!
The first 24 minutes were voted 'best battle scenes ever' and forever changed the way war movies were made, according to Wikipedia. 30 to 40 amputees were hired to play extras. Underwater cameras caught injured American soldiers falling in the ocean and bleeding under the water. The carnage was immense and powerful. I couldn't take the final battle scene however cuz I'd had enough so I asked Scott to fill me in on it. They succeeded in their mission to Save Private Ryan.
Now, newer wars are being fought. Will there ever be an end to wars? Yes, when the last human being is wiped off the earth. Even animals are territorial and fight to the death.
Our first guest speaker at our Suicide Seminar was State Rep Tom Murt, Republican from the 152nd District of PA, who told about his deployment as an Army reservist to Iraq in 2003 at the age of 44. He was able physically to keep up with young men and women half his age and served as a counselor for his platoon in Takrit. He told our audience of about 30 that many of the men were so scared to fight that they tried to get out of it by thinking of harming themselves by having someone run over their foot with a Humvee.
He was critical of Army protocol which wouldn't allow one of his men to go home for the funeral of his mother or a man who would miss the birth of his first child. Murt personally assisted these men - and many others - to make certain their reasonable desires were carefully considered by top brass and put into effect.
Tony Salvatore whose 28-yr-old son died by suicide 13 years ago gave an impassioned presentation about the stigma of talking about suicide and how he, Tony, will always address any audience where he's asked to speak to help tear down these barriers.
And Dr. Pam London Barrett, aka The Singing Psychiatrist, provided ways to deal with suicidal thoughts such as developing spirituality (a higher power such as your children to keep you alive during these horrible thoughts) and the importance of TALKING about your thoughts, getting them out of your head and calling someone.
I could not have been more pleased with the program! I was busy that day from morning until evening. I barely had time to check the headlines on the NY Times, or check my daughter's blog, or my son/law's blog, or clean out my birdbath.
The hardest thing of all was THE SIGNAGE. I had no idea what to do. I called lots of people for ideas. Then I went down to Michael's and threw myself into the hands of the woman behind the counter. I actually felt guilty - no no Ruthie! - asking her to ACCOMPANY me to find posterboard on which to write the signs. I mean, here she was in the middle of conversation with someone, and I'm interrupting her. First she pointed, then I told her I checked there, and then I said, Could you possibly accompany me.
Whew! I selected hot pink posterboard that showed up a mile away so people got the clue to follow the hot pink color to the Community Room. A woman from New Directions helped me. I'm not allowed to say her name so I'll call her - hmmm - Jenny. That's a good name. The two of us drew ARROWS on the posterboard and wrote the word SEMINAR - about 12 different times.
While doing so I learned All About Jenny who has been on a zillion medications, none of which do any good, and in fact have instigated mania. I told her, You've been misdiagnosed. You do not have schizoaffective disorder (her first diagnosis) which was changed to bipolar. I said if I were a shrink I'd give you a V-Code. That's a lesser diagnosis. I'd say you had problems with obsessions for which you could indeed try an SSRI, which she had tried but it did no good, or else get some powerful psychotherapy to help you stop obsessing.
People like Jenny who receive a psychiatric diagnosis, and I told her this, are reluctant to give it up b/c they use it to define themselves and to blame their problems on their so-called illness. She will most likely not listen to me b/c I'm not a shrink but I must proffer an opinion.
After the program, Tom Murt offered to pay the bill when we went out afterward to a pizzeria. I always like to unwind after a program by going out and schmoozing. Well, the pizzeria was now off-limits cuz the owner told me we had to get in there by 4:45 so it wouldn't interfere with his patrons who had reservations, so we went instead to Cafe Preeya, Le Bec Fin of Montgomery County PA.
The prices were really high and I didn't wanna take advantage of Tom's good nature. I said to everyone we've gotta share entrees (which are always huge here in spendthrift America where money grows on trees) and that we couldn't order beverages or dessert or coffee, except if we pay for it individually.
We had a super-nice waiter who I'm gonna look up on Facebook and he brought us out some spring rolls courtesy of the House and we had a magnificent time. Judy said it was one of the best days of her life. Me too.
Now here's the clincher.
After we ate, I dropped off the Community Room Keys at the Lower Moreland Police Station. I LOVE COPS. Besides holding the power of life n death in their hands, they can also be really cute, at least the younger ones, who often train at the gym and have big biceps.
So I hop out of my car, jingling my keys and rookie cop Mike Donohue gets out of his car. He goes on duty at 7 pm and it's now 6:30. I ask him to please take the keys and make sure the Administration Bldg next door gets them.
Are you following me?
He runs in the department to check if he can do this (they did it for us 2 years ago when we gave another seminar) and then he came out and said Yes.
Mike, I said, I really appreciate this. I'm gonna tell you a little secret.
And I told him the secret. And I told him where. And I told him when.
Scott and I had found a den of bright orange foxes. We saw them from the distance. They looked like kitty cats except, unlike cats, they all looked the same. It was one of the greatest thrills of my life seeing those Little Foxes. How they shone in the sun! their coats were bright orange like tabby cats. They were playing with each other and rolling on the ground as all youngsters do.
When I got home from the Seminar, Scott asked me: How many times did you look at the foxes? I'll bet you looked at them five times, he said.
That's about right, I said.
The first 24 minutes were voted 'best battle scenes ever' and forever changed the way war movies were made, according to Wikipedia. 30 to 40 amputees were hired to play extras. Underwater cameras caught injured American soldiers falling in the ocean and bleeding under the water. The carnage was immense and powerful. I couldn't take the final battle scene however cuz I'd had enough so I asked Scott to fill me in on it. They succeeded in their mission to Save Private Ryan.
Now, newer wars are being fought. Will there ever be an end to wars? Yes, when the last human being is wiped off the earth. Even animals are territorial and fight to the death.
Our first guest speaker at our Suicide Seminar was State Rep Tom Murt, Republican from the 152nd District of PA, who told about his deployment as an Army reservist to Iraq in 2003 at the age of 44. He was able physically to keep up with young men and women half his age and served as a counselor for his platoon in Takrit. He told our audience of about 30 that many of the men were so scared to fight that they tried to get out of it by thinking of harming themselves by having someone run over their foot with a Humvee.
He was critical of Army protocol which wouldn't allow one of his men to go home for the funeral of his mother or a man who would miss the birth of his first child. Murt personally assisted these men - and many others - to make certain their reasonable desires were carefully considered by top brass and put into effect.
Tony Salvatore whose 28-yr-old son died by suicide 13 years ago gave an impassioned presentation about the stigma of talking about suicide and how he, Tony, will always address any audience where he's asked to speak to help tear down these barriers.
And Dr. Pam London Barrett, aka The Singing Psychiatrist, provided ways to deal with suicidal thoughts such as developing spirituality (a higher power such as your children to keep you alive during these horrible thoughts) and the importance of TALKING about your thoughts, getting them out of your head and calling someone.
I could not have been more pleased with the program! I was busy that day from morning until evening. I barely had time to check the headlines on the NY Times, or check my daughter's blog, or my son/law's blog, or clean out my birdbath.
The hardest thing of all was THE SIGNAGE. I had no idea what to do. I called lots of people for ideas. Then I went down to Michael's and threw myself into the hands of the woman behind the counter. I actually felt guilty - no no Ruthie! - asking her to ACCOMPANY me to find posterboard on which to write the signs. I mean, here she was in the middle of conversation with someone, and I'm interrupting her. First she pointed, then I told her I checked there, and then I said, Could you possibly accompany me.
Whew! I selected hot pink posterboard that showed up a mile away so people got the clue to follow the hot pink color to the Community Room. A woman from New Directions helped me. I'm not allowed to say her name so I'll call her - hmmm - Jenny. That's a good name. The two of us drew ARROWS on the posterboard and wrote the word SEMINAR - about 12 different times.
While doing so I learned All About Jenny who has been on a zillion medications, none of which do any good, and in fact have instigated mania. I told her, You've been misdiagnosed. You do not have schizoaffective disorder (her first diagnosis) which was changed to bipolar. I said if I were a shrink I'd give you a V-Code. That's a lesser diagnosis. I'd say you had problems with obsessions for which you could indeed try an SSRI, which she had tried but it did no good, or else get some powerful psychotherapy to help you stop obsessing.
People like Jenny who receive a psychiatric diagnosis, and I told her this, are reluctant to give it up b/c they use it to define themselves and to blame their problems on their so-called illness. She will most likely not listen to me b/c I'm not a shrink but I must proffer an opinion.
After the program, Tom Murt offered to pay the bill when we went out afterward to a pizzeria. I always like to unwind after a program by going out and schmoozing. Well, the pizzeria was now off-limits cuz the owner told me we had to get in there by 4:45 so it wouldn't interfere with his patrons who had reservations, so we went instead to Cafe Preeya, Le Bec Fin of Montgomery County PA.
The prices were really high and I didn't wanna take advantage of Tom's good nature. I said to everyone we've gotta share entrees (which are always huge here in spendthrift America where money grows on trees) and that we couldn't order beverages or dessert or coffee, except if we pay for it individually.
We had a super-nice waiter who I'm gonna look up on Facebook and he brought us out some spring rolls courtesy of the House and we had a magnificent time. Judy said it was one of the best days of her life. Me too.
Now here's the clincher.
After we ate, I dropped off the Community Room Keys at the Lower Moreland Police Station. I LOVE COPS. Besides holding the power of life n death in their hands, they can also be really cute, at least the younger ones, who often train at the gym and have big biceps.
So I hop out of my car, jingling my keys and rookie cop Mike Donohue gets out of his car. He goes on duty at 7 pm and it's now 6:30. I ask him to please take the keys and make sure the Administration Bldg next door gets them.
Are you following me?
He runs in the department to check if he can do this (they did it for us 2 years ago when we gave another seminar) and then he came out and said Yes.
Mike, I said, I really appreciate this. I'm gonna tell you a little secret.
And I told him the secret. And I told him where. And I told him when.
Scott and I had found a den of bright orange foxes. We saw them from the distance. They looked like kitty cats except, unlike cats, they all looked the same. It was one of the greatest thrills of my life seeing those Little Foxes. How they shone in the sun! their coats were bright orange like tabby cats. They were playing with each other and rolling on the ground as all youngsters do.
When I got home from the Seminar, Scott asked me: How many times did you look at the foxes? I'll bet you looked at them five times, he said.
That's about right, I said.
NAMI Mental Health Walk / Poem: Violets for Susan
Saturday a week ago we met at the ungodly hour of 7 am and drove in a couple of cars to Philadelphia's Fairmount Park for the annual NAMI Walk for Mental Health.
The day was beautiful. We hopped in Peggie's huge white car. Peggie raised some money for New Directions. Thanks Peggela!!!
There were 80 Walking Teams. Each had a banner. Our banner read New Directions. What? It should read Atheists Unite? Or Jimmy Piersall Fan Club?
There were 11 of us including daughter Sarah who was here for a long weekend. They grow up so fast, don't they Roberto?
Due to those fantastic banners, I introduced myself to a lot of folks I'd never met before. I like to tell the following story. Yes, yes, I know, I'm a blabber.
I saw a sign reading Magellan. They're a huge insurance company and have loads of money. Three blond bombshells were carrying the banner. They have no idea the toll mental illness takes on a life. They keep people waiting for as long as SIX HOURS in the ER until they agree to spend their insurance money - of which they have millions - to admit a suffering individual into the hospital for treatment. This includes suicidal individuals who must sit there in the sterile emergency room alone with their thoughts until the Magellan power-hungry assholes grant them hospital admission.
I went up to the Magellan gals. Hi, I said cheerily, I run a fantastic support group for people with depression and bipolar disorder and their loved ones and I was wondering if we could apply for a grant from Magellan.
I knew that Magellan gives grants.
The Magellanite in charge gave me some bullshit.
RZD: Ya know, I said, I'm not surprised that you're giving me the run-around. I've called Magellan only last week, twice, and they never called me back.
In fact, I'd called Magellan numerous times over the years and was always given the run-around.
MAGELLAN: Oh, we're not giving you a run-around.
RZD: Yes, you are. You never told me who to contact about my request.
MAG: Oh, you want me to give you a name right here on the walk?
RZD: Sure, I said, I have a piece of paper and pen in my backpack.
MAG: Well, I didn't bring my business card.
RZD: Well, do you remember your name and email address?
MAG: What? Right here during the walk.
RZD: Actually, no. You just go ahead and have a nice walk.
I turned away and re-joined my group.
Later on, I saw a booth for Aetna Insurance. David Stimmler gave me his name and email address. He wrote back the same day with website links to contact.
During the walk I met a woman who used to come to New Directions, the support group I founded to help me deal with my manic depression, an illness I thought I would never shake. As you know, I like to use the word 'cured' when I refer to my condition. I've learned to 'contain' all my emotions within my brain so I don't need to resort to the unconscious mechanisms of mania, anxiety, and depression.
I did not know what to do with my intense feelings about "Susan" so when I came home I jotted down some notes about her and wrote the following poem. Details are changed.
VIOLETS FOR SUSAN
only this morning
on good morning america
a learned psychiatrist stunned
the audience with
his remarkable looks,
hair that looked like
it was undergoing shock treatments
and hands flitting about his face
as if warding off flies
no one laughed
perhaps he had taken
on these characteristics from the
depths of his unconscious
to wake up an ignorant world
to the unimaginable horrors
and wasted lives of the
people on his ward
I wondered, did you watch it susan?
schizophrenia scratches the brain like
stiletto heels ripping through fresh growing grass
it sculpts a rent between thoughts and emotions:
think a sad thought
then giggle or guffaw
until your voice breaks
you were not like that, susan,
what you did was smart, symbol-laden
- are schizophrenics like that? –
is there room for diversity? –
no, you never laughed
not now, not ever
the best we can expect is
a forced smile
in conformance with your parents’ wishes
another mark of a schizophrenic
always your parents child
- oh, how is she these days?
has she gotten a job? –
living with mom and dad
till they die one by one
leaving you to drown in
their backyard pool
when the time comes around
your hair going slowly gray
your fingernails lengthening
unpolished forever –
you do not turn heads –
your skull
a warrior’s helmet
hiding the rages within
fjords of jagged Norwegian ice
where quarrelling birds
swipe at each other mid-air
only you can hear their screams,
small spectator
with sad eyes
surveying the damage
far from a giggle
you planned a war
a rescue operation when you
realized the truth,
o brave soul,
your very own sister,
the social worker in Yardley,
was planning to smother her third grader
you couldn’t be fooled
the news came disguised as a
$22 sewer bill
you would rescue the child
the way you failed to rescue your
life as the spinster sister
silent as a mouse tiptoeing in the basement
you filled your cerulean blue Beetle
with your children’s books and some
hastily thrown together sandwiches
for when you bore her away
out of captivity
Perseus unchaining his lady
but they spotted you
didn’t they
when you pulled up unexpected
your forced smile appearing as
your body crumpled into its
position of repose
I found you ten years later
sitting on a park bench
with your keepers and your
housemates
did you know I care about you susan?
that I remember you from the writers group
when the worm began nibbling you ever so gently
you could barely grant me a hello
sitting in the sun on the park bench
in your customary shirtwaist
a sprig of nostril hairs sprouting
like violets
I longed to pluck
and deliver
at your sandaled feet.
The day was beautiful. We hopped in Peggie's huge white car. Peggie raised some money for New Directions. Thanks Peggela!!!
There were 80 Walking Teams. Each had a banner. Our banner read New Directions. What? It should read Atheists Unite? Or Jimmy Piersall Fan Club?
There were 11 of us including daughter Sarah who was here for a long weekend. They grow up so fast, don't they Roberto?
Due to those fantastic banners, I introduced myself to a lot of folks I'd never met before. I like to tell the following story. Yes, yes, I know, I'm a blabber.
I saw a sign reading Magellan. They're a huge insurance company and have loads of money. Three blond bombshells were carrying the banner. They have no idea the toll mental illness takes on a life. They keep people waiting for as long as SIX HOURS in the ER until they agree to spend their insurance money - of which they have millions - to admit a suffering individual into the hospital for treatment. This includes suicidal individuals who must sit there in the sterile emergency room alone with their thoughts until the Magellan power-hungry assholes grant them hospital admission.
I went up to the Magellan gals. Hi, I said cheerily, I run a fantastic support group for people with depression and bipolar disorder and their loved ones and I was wondering if we could apply for a grant from Magellan.
I knew that Magellan gives grants.
The Magellanite in charge gave me some bullshit.
RZD: Ya know, I said, I'm not surprised that you're giving me the run-around. I've called Magellan only last week, twice, and they never called me back.
In fact, I'd called Magellan numerous times over the years and was always given the run-around.
MAGELLAN: Oh, we're not giving you a run-around.
RZD: Yes, you are. You never told me who to contact about my request.
MAG: Oh, you want me to give you a name right here on the walk?
RZD: Sure, I said, I have a piece of paper and pen in my backpack.
MAG: Well, I didn't bring my business card.
RZD: Well, do you remember your name and email address?
MAG: What? Right here during the walk.
RZD: Actually, no. You just go ahead and have a nice walk.
I turned away and re-joined my group.
Later on, I saw a booth for Aetna Insurance. David Stimmler gave me his name and email address. He wrote back the same day with website links to contact.
During the walk I met a woman who used to come to New Directions, the support group I founded to help me deal with my manic depression, an illness I thought I would never shake. As you know, I like to use the word 'cured' when I refer to my condition. I've learned to 'contain' all my emotions within my brain so I don't need to resort to the unconscious mechanisms of mania, anxiety, and depression.
I did not know what to do with my intense feelings about "Susan" so when I came home I jotted down some notes about her and wrote the following poem. Details are changed.
VIOLETS FOR SUSAN
only this morning
on good morning america
a learned psychiatrist stunned
the audience with
his remarkable looks,
hair that looked like
it was undergoing shock treatments
and hands flitting about his face
as if warding off flies
no one laughed
perhaps he had taken
on these characteristics from the
depths of his unconscious
to wake up an ignorant world
to the unimaginable horrors
and wasted lives of the
people on his ward
I wondered, did you watch it susan?
schizophrenia scratches the brain like
stiletto heels ripping through fresh growing grass
it sculpts a rent between thoughts and emotions:
think a sad thought
then giggle or guffaw
until your voice breaks
you were not like that, susan,
what you did was smart, symbol-laden
- are schizophrenics like that? –
is there room for diversity? –
no, you never laughed
not now, not ever
the best we can expect is
a forced smile
in conformance with your parents’ wishes
another mark of a schizophrenic
always your parents child
- oh, how is she these days?
has she gotten a job? –
living with mom and dad
till they die one by one
leaving you to drown in
their backyard pool
when the time comes around
your hair going slowly gray
your fingernails lengthening
unpolished forever –
you do not turn heads –
your skull
a warrior’s helmet
hiding the rages within
fjords of jagged Norwegian ice
where quarrelling birds
swipe at each other mid-air
only you can hear their screams,
small spectator
with sad eyes
surveying the damage
far from a giggle
you planned a war
a rescue operation when you
realized the truth,
o brave soul,
your very own sister,
the social worker in Yardley,
was planning to smother her third grader
you couldn’t be fooled
the news came disguised as a
$22 sewer bill
you would rescue the child
the way you failed to rescue your
life as the spinster sister
silent as a mouse tiptoeing in the basement
you filled your cerulean blue Beetle
with your children’s books and some
hastily thrown together sandwiches
for when you bore her away
out of captivity
Perseus unchaining his lady
but they spotted you
didn’t they
when you pulled up unexpected
your forced smile appearing as
your body crumpled into its
position of repose
I found you ten years later
sitting on a park bench
with your keepers and your
housemates
did you know I care about you susan?
that I remember you from the writers group
when the worm began nibbling you ever so gently
you could barely grant me a hello
sitting in the sun on the park bench
in your customary shirtwaist
a sprig of nostril hairs sprouting
like violets
I longed to pluck
and deliver
at your sandaled feet.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Obama Artwork
From the NY Times June 4, 2009. Click here and feast your eyes.
My daughter told me that the night Obama was elected she was in her Brooklyn apartment. Her husband was overseas on a musical tour. It was around 2 a.m. Suddenly she heard shouts from the street below. Louder and louder shouts. She knew he had won. She called her husband to tell him the great news.
From Cairo, Obama said, Anti-Semitism in Europe culminated in an unprecedented Holocaust. . . . Six million Jews were killed . . . Denying that fact is baseless, ignorant, and hateful.
He was our first black President, praise the lord! Now click on those amazing photos of artwork created around the world in celebration of this brilliant man, logical yet passionate who has gone where no man or woman has gone before. He is our Fearless Leader. And I am his Fearless Follower.
To tell you the truth, I feel like sending this artwork to Gina, my therapist.
My daughter told me that the night Obama was elected she was in her Brooklyn apartment. Her husband was overseas on a musical tour. It was around 2 a.m. Suddenly she heard shouts from the street below. Louder and louder shouts. She knew he had won. She called her husband to tell him the great news.
From Cairo, Obama said, Anti-Semitism in Europe culminated in an unprecedented Holocaust. . . . Six million Jews were killed . . . Denying that fact is baseless, ignorant, and hateful.
He was our first black President, praise the lord! Now click on those amazing photos of artwork created around the world in celebration of this brilliant man, logical yet passionate who has gone where no man or woman has gone before. He is our Fearless Leader. And I am his Fearless Follower.
To tell you the truth, I feel like sending this artwork to Gina, my therapist.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Timing is everything: a rescue mission
Was it the spirit of Marjorie Bayersdorfer that led us to Pennypack Trust at the exact perfect moment? Who knows why we dilly and dally, how we decide to go to a particular place and then leave when it's time to go.
My goal was to entertain Sarah and show her the beauty of the emerald green suburbs on her whirlwind visit with her Pennsylvania kin. First I took her to The Secret Garden, part of The Lord's New Church in Bryn Athyn where a wooden gate with a cut-out symbol of some sort of cross actually swung open at our approach as if inviting us inside.
The pond was overgrown with yellow-flowered cedum. A white fountain with cupid-like figures seemed to stop gushing as if waiting to be turned on again.
Marvelous iris and daisies and tiny shrubs grew wild all around it as if awaiting a gardener and his trowel to pick up where he last left off. Benches seemed to ask us to sit down and contemplate the tranquility of the garden and take a huge bite out of life, a golden sandwich.
I picked up a few fallen branches and tossed them in a pile to neaten up the place.
Then we headed for Pennypack Trust where I wanted to show Sarah my favorite view: Raytharn Farm. They made up the name Raytharn after the founders of Bryn Athyn - Raymond and Theodore Pitcairn. We went into the Barn which Sarah remembered as a kid. A group were huddled together talking very seriously. Some words they used were:
Lake, turtle, fishing line, tangled, what are we gonna do.
Here's what the Demings did about it.
Sarah and Scott went down to the pond. Scott stood on the deck with two other virile muscular handsome hairy men while Sarah waded in the water in her jeans, T-shirt and shoes to protect her feet. She waded in the water about 15 feet, hands held in the air, water up to her waist, and then picked up a calmly thrashing turtle who'd gotten tangled in some fishing wire.
Bringing it to the overhanging pier, she handed the turtle to the virile men who in an amazing operation turned Mr. T upside down and removed the fish hook from his claw. After handing him back to Sarah, she gently put him back in the water and watched him swim away.
We all applauded our teamwork and I handed Sarah a towel. I always keep a towel and my bathing suit in the trunk in case I find a place to swim or save turtles.
My goal was to entertain Sarah and show her the beauty of the emerald green suburbs on her whirlwind visit with her Pennsylvania kin. First I took her to The Secret Garden, part of The Lord's New Church in Bryn Athyn where a wooden gate with a cut-out symbol of some sort of cross actually swung open at our approach as if inviting us inside.
The pond was overgrown with yellow-flowered cedum. A white fountain with cupid-like figures seemed to stop gushing as if waiting to be turned on again.
Marvelous iris and daisies and tiny shrubs grew wild all around it as if awaiting a gardener and his trowel to pick up where he last left off. Benches seemed to ask us to sit down and contemplate the tranquility of the garden and take a huge bite out of life, a golden sandwich.
I picked up a few fallen branches and tossed them in a pile to neaten up the place.
Then we headed for Pennypack Trust where I wanted to show Sarah my favorite view: Raytharn Farm. They made up the name Raytharn after the founders of Bryn Athyn - Raymond and Theodore Pitcairn. We went into the Barn which Sarah remembered as a kid. A group were huddled together talking very seriously. Some words they used were:
Lake, turtle, fishing line, tangled, what are we gonna do.
Here's what the Demings did about it.
Sarah and Scott went down to the pond. Scott stood on the deck with two other virile muscular handsome hairy men while Sarah waded in the water in her jeans, T-shirt and shoes to protect her feet. She waded in the water about 15 feet, hands held in the air, water up to her waist, and then picked up a calmly thrashing turtle who'd gotten tangled in some fishing wire.
Bringing it to the overhanging pier, she handed the turtle to the virile men who in an amazing operation turned Mr. T upside down and removed the fish hook from his claw. After handing him back to Sarah, she gently put him back in the water and watched him swim away.
We all applauded our teamwork and I handed Sarah a towel. I always keep a towel and my bathing suit in the trunk in case I find a place to swim or save turtles.
Reward Yourself after an Odious Task
I told this to my therapy client the other day. "Yeah," she said, "but all my rewards are bad for me."
After I did today's most odious task I went downstairs and watched an hour's worth of the HBO show "In Treatment." When I originally requested it online from the library, a message popped up saying, "You're the 18th person to request this video. Dyou still want it?"
"More than ever!" I typed in. But since it's a Yes or No question, I wrote Yes.
Sarah was in town for an unprecedented three whole days. I couldn't believe she didn't like In Treatment so I asked her to watch an episode w/me and this time she really enjoyed it. And now, Dear Reader, I'd like to open up YOUR eyes to this show and ask you a question.
Should we watch a half-hour segment at New Directions?
After I did today's most odious task I went downstairs and watched an hour's worth of the HBO show "In Treatment." When I originally requested it online from the library, a message popped up saying, "You're the 18th person to request this video. Dyou still want it?"
"More than ever!" I typed in. But since it's a Yes or No question, I wrote Yes.
Sarah was in town for an unprecedented three whole days. I couldn't believe she didn't like In Treatment so I asked her to watch an episode w/me and this time she really enjoyed it. And now, Dear Reader, I'd like to open up YOUR eyes to this show and ask you a question.
Should we watch a half-hour segment at New Directions?
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