Chilean miners rescue begins

Here they come, one by one, the narrow tube-like capsule lowered half-mile down a slightly crooked shaft. International forces - including NASA - combined their expertise in devising this multi-million dollar rescue effort. Miners were trapped for 68 days, since August 5, all of them from Chile, except for one man from Bolivia.

Excellent coverage from the Times and other leading papers. 1300 journalists gathered at the rescue site of the copper-gold mine near Copiapo, in northern Chile.

Read more at Wiki.

Countdown to Cleveland

When I came home around dinnertime, the setting sun was reflected on my front door. I could not resist taking this shot.

I like working on the living room floor. These are solicitation letters I mailed out today for our new program Mike's Hikes. I personally delivered three of em, including to my nephrologist. Wonder what it's like for him working with such sick people all day long. He don't say much. (I like to use bad grammar on purpose, maybe cuz I'm not supposed to?)

Then it was off to the supermarket at the suggestion of sister Donna. Remember, she said, how mommy would pack lunches when we'd go on trips? All that delicious chicken, she'd make?

So I bought some chicken at the Giant, organic only, plus some eggs for egg salad sandwiches. It's important to keep my 88-yr-old mom busy and her forte is cooking. Hmmm, how would I spend my time if I were 88? Probably putting out The Compass for Aging Manic Depressives.

Masons Mill Park, Upper Moreland, PA

Water fountain at Masons Mill Park, Upper Moreland, PA. The water is always warm and not particularly delicious. I inquired about the temperature and the guy told me the pipes are too close to the surface to keep the water cold. Or something like that. I bring my own.

I drive by the park every day but stopped in today since I'd re-connected w/volleyballer Murray and wanted to reminisce. That's the whole point of traveling to Cleveland. We'll leave at dawn tomro morning. No computer take-with. Ada will come over to check the emails. Scott will bring in the junk mail and bills.

Who will greet Mailman Tom?
Who will listen for the to-whee-to-whee of the birds in the morning?
Who will hear the grinding of the gears of the schoolbus as it chugs up our hilly street?
Who will eat a shiny cherry tomato from our garden?
Or pick some sage leaves to cook in the rice?
Or marvel at that huge orange slice of moon we saw last nite on the way to the train station?

Not to worry. I shall take my whole sensorium w/me to Cleveland and exercise it there.

O Volleyball Days, where have you gone?

This, Murray, is my new granddaughter, Grace Catherine Deming. BTW, Dear Reader, this post is dedicated to my old pal Murray.

I'm driving down Terwood Road and there he is, bandanna on his head, down on his hands n knees in the hot October sun...gardening. I u-turned and pulled in his drive. My music was blasting.

I strode up the hill and stood in front of him, looking something like this, but w/o the pudding:



Who am I? I asked the Murr.

Ruth from volleyball, he said.

I plopped myself down in front of him and we talked. It's been 25 years...25 years and we live 5 minutes away.

He asked how my kids were.

Sarah's 36, married and living in Brooklyn. Dan's 34 and living in Abington.

He shook his head in disbelief.

It was then I noticed his wedding band.

Murray, married? Impossible. But there was something different about him. I could tell right away. Murray had mellowed. Sure enuf, he's been married 5 years to a woman from Brazil. They met at Borders Books in Chestnut Hill. She came out and we shook hands. She was holding her car keys and of course I was blocking her in, but she said she'd wait.

Murray had every gardening tool imaginable and I watched as he dug precise holes to drop in the bulbs, and even had a frigging ruler to measure how deep the hole went.

The sun was so hot I peeled off my jacket and then my outer sweater and sat soaking up the sunshine.

I asked about all the volleyballers and told him who I had flings with. My favorite was Randy Johnson. I don't think he remembered ole Randy, simply gorgeous, looked like a young Christian from Texas. After our, ahem, night of ecstasy, Randy never returned to volleyball...or me.

But, hey, I was used to being dumped, and besides I had more important things to do like prepare for my nervous breakdown. All this volleyball playing was before I ever went crazy. I was so mad my father never got to learn I was a manic-depressive. He would've been almost as shocked as I was. When the cops toted me in chains to Norristown State Hospital and after they shot me up with Haldol, they let me go in the gym with the other psychotics and play volleyball.

I longingly remembered my royal-blue kneepads I used to wear when I dove for the ball. Murr even remembered I wore an elastic band on my thumb so I wouldn't fracture it again.

I'd carry a big red thermos of ice water. The time I fractured my thumb I plunged it in the cold water to staunch the pain.

Sarah and Dan would play in the playground. This all took place at Masons Mill Park in Upper Moreland.

I told him that my dad was dying of cancer at the time. I'd mentioned it to no one, except one time, I couldn't stand not talking about it so when I was sitting on the sidelines, I mentioned it to Lou, the electrician. He was the boyfriend of a miserable woman named Pat. As soon as I talked about my dying father, Lou got up and left.

Murray and I laffed about it today.

Look at how things that once mattered, that once hurt like hell, that once tore at your heart so you thought you'd die with pain, don't mean shit no more.

There's a lesson there somewhere. Send me an email if you can figger it out.

I couldn't take it any longer!

The Huntingdon Valley PA Starbux where I went this morning was packed! I ordered a decaf, just half a cup, brought it home and took my first sip. Haven't had a cup in nearly a year.

Unbelievably strong and bitter. I boiled some water and am now sipping it while blogging.

After yesterday's nutrition seminar, I decided to treat myself by making chocolate pudding w/Rice Milk, available in the health food aisle.

Rice milk has very little flavor. If asked to describe the flavor I'd say a little like paper or cardboard. If asked to describe the taste of chocolate pudding made w/regular milk, I'd say it's one of the most delicious things on earth. So I'm anxious to see how it tastes w/rice milk. I don't drink real milk cuz it's not on my kidney-healthy diet.

Here are the stages of cooking the chocolate pudding with rice milk.





Do you realize that the Goggle company that I'm using to write this blog is also responsible for the first unmanned automobiles? These people are incredibly smart. Obama should contact them and ask their advice on how to put America back to work. Remind me not to send him an email.

My eating plan calls for me to eat once every three hours. I've gotta wait until 1 pm before I can taste my pudding. What time is it now?

Goggle is putting so much energy into other things that blogs like mine continually malfunction. A red warning band comes across the top alerting us that it's stopped operating. Plus it takes twice as long to blog something b/c there's frequently a 'service error.'

Machines! Can't live w/o em!

Nutrition Seminar, come one, come all

Mary Ann Moylen, dietician at Willow Grove Giant Supermarket. I refer everyone I know to her.

If I live 2 miles from the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket, why did it take me 20 minutes to get there this morning?

We were having a nutrition seminar by Mary Ann Moylen and I didn't wanna be late. 11 a.m. was the starting time.

The traffic on Davisville Road, which I dub the Willow Grove expressway, was so thick it took me 3 minutes to make a left onto it. Add to that the arrival of the train.

I park my car in a section away from the fray and relish the luxury of being able to walk briskly in the sunshine, with an occasional glance at my shadow, and let the sliding glass doors swallow me up.

I take the stairs. And there was Mary Ann at the top. My sister Ellen was off to the side.

Are we the only ones here? I asked in desperation.

No, said Mary Ann, there's two more in the room.

Oh no, I thought. My worst fear. Four people to hear this woman's words of wisdom.

By 11:20, many more people showed up. I had gone to massive lengths to advertise the program, phoning people that very morning, and having sent email reminders to vast numbers of people.

When I told Scott I thought we had about 16 people, he actually thought it was a lot.

We had 5 people from a drug halfway house. They only stayed halfway thru the lecture.

One of em said she liked my sweater. "Four bucks at Impact Thrift," I said. I handed out two copies of my Yes I Can book which I told them tells the story of my manic-depression.

We also had a married couple from NAMI who told me they had a married bipolar son who is doing very well.

The main thing about the lecture is understanding the concept of healthy eating. You've gotta balance every meal you eat and every snack. Otherwise your body can't use the food properly. It goes to waste.

Eat protein with every meal or snack plus a starch such as bread or cracker and a carb such as fruit or veggie. The woman sitting next to me was astonished she never knew this before. "It's gonna change my life," she said to me.

Chatting w/Mary Ann at the end, she said she'd gotten three of our people to sign up for one of her consults. I was happy for her. I also realized, hours later, I'd forgotten to give her a special New Directions gift. Kremp's grows their very own sunflowers so I'll probly bring her one next week.

I was particularly pleased to see a newcomer who drove in from Doylestown. You're the actor, I said. He hooked up with our Mike who runs our hiking group.

I'm trying to get funding for Mike's Hikes. Mary Ann suggested I asked store manager Shawn and told me he was standing right there out in the lobby.

The two of us hurried on out where I gave my spiel. He listened politely and said he was certain 'corporate' would not be interested in funding Mike's Hikes.

Any ideas? I'm thinking of simply sending out a donation letter and asking people to donate $25 or more apiece for this very worthy cause which...

- increases the physical health of our members
- increases our awareness of our beautiful and valuable environment
- shows the community that people with mental health concerns are assets to the community and might spur them on to do their own nature hikes and also think better of folks w/mental health issues, thus helping abate stigma

Actually, you know what? I think I convinced myself to start a letter-writing campaign.

Pre-cert arrives in plain white envelope - handle with care

Mark Amos of Bux-Mont Printers in Hatboro, PA.

Last-minute me brought my Yes I Can book over to Mark to print up by Monday. Luckily his biz is slow - I'm hanging in there, he says - so he can get 100 copies done before my trip to Cleveland on Tuesday.

I always think of new things to add to the book, such as the last line of my bio: Ruth has been pre-certified by Blue Cross for a kidney transplant.

Pass the anesthesia please. Make sure I'm out before you start digging.

I closeted myself in my house from 9 to 5 re-writing the darn thing, listening to Joni Mitchell and Keith Jarrett and the hum of the schoolbus chugging up the street depositing the kids.

Then it was off to Mom's for dinner. No matter how old we are, we always eat when we go home. She and Ellen fixed me this nice meal - plus a delicious turkey breast sandwich - while I mooned around.



This dude was on the PBS News Hour. I kept shooting my camera trying to get a split-screen photo of him and Judy Woodruff (please bark when you say her last syllable) but my camera wasn't fast enough.

I suggest everybody buy a camera and take photos. I have one extra disposable camera I just found on my kitchen shelf. Write if you want it and I'll give it to you for free. Mailing charges will be $100.

Pre-certified by Blue Cross until 2020. "I won't be around then," said my neighbor Nancy when I told her.

Will I?

Goofin' off

This is my darling friend, Helene Ryesky. Oh, did we have fun together. We went on a walk in the little woods beyond her house where Upper Dublin has made a park of it. We stood on a little bridge over a babbling creek and she said, Look at this, Ruthie, look how beautiful!

I went over to her and looked down into the little creek with the autumn leaves spread out down below and said, You missed your chance to marry me long ago.

Neither of us knew what I was talking about, but we really did.

She wanted some help moving her flowers on the deck. We lifted, we tugged, we pulled, but it still wasn't right so I said, Let your next visitor figure it out. All the while I was munching on two pieces of licorice from Trader Joe's she keeps in the dining room.

Driving home I was exhausted and thought, It's probly my darn kidney disease that makes me so tired. And then I remembered....new kidney on the horizon.

Somewhere at this very moment, a stranger is headed toward death. Most likely he and I will eventually meet up. The poor fellow tho shall be quite stone dead and I shall have a new lease on life.

I am not mentally prepared to have a transplant. I kept calling up Nurse Paige today with questions like How long will I be in the hospital after surgery? (5 to 7 days). What if I get psychotic from the prednisone? (they'll give you something) Will I have any dietary restrictions w/my new kidney? (no grapefruit)

Guest what I had for breakfast this morning? Ripe red grapefruit. Mmmmm.

I give myself ultimatums. Was driving rapidly thru a 25 mph zone. What if the punishment for going above the speed limit was 'death by hanging?' Would I still drive over the limit?

What if my kidney donor was a serial killer?

These fun questions are part of my fun mind.

So. We had our Giant meeting this morning. Good turnout. Mandy and Helen do a better job than I do, which is really what you want in leaders. When it came my turn to speak I told em about the kidney transplant.

There's a possibility, I said, it's very small, but there's a possibility I might die and we've all got to be aware of it. Mandy paid sharp attention. "What dyou want us to do? Tell us what you want us to do?"

Just continue what you're doing, I said. Everything's going great! I looked over at Mike and told him his hiking group is a real plus.

Then one woman starts whining. Three times she mentions she doesn't want me to die.

What dyou say?

Then we started getting existential. By now Helen had joined us. She's a good one for the existential element. We started talking about:

- it's meant to be
- there are no coincidences
- Dr Phil says there's no accidents

Well Janie busts out saying that's a lot of hogwash. Her grown son died for no reason at all.

We had a nice give n take about God. Mandy said she's searching and doesn't have a clue. That's good, I said, search around, you may never find the answer, but go ahead and search.

I mentioned the Buddhist temple in Bensalem on Knights Road.



Now, it's no accident that I think I'm hot shit. "Hot stuff, eh?" my friend Bill Cardinale used to say when he was alive and pumping. But as alive and alert and eyes wide open that I am, I was still in shock after I got word this a.m. that I'm on The List for a transplant.

This really calls for a good song to celebrate. Join me in.....