Meet your mental health professionals: Sharon Katz, owner of Collaborative Care in Abington, PA

Sharon Katz. Even my mom knows who Sharon is since one of her friends thinks she's the best therapist ever!

Today Sharon Katz of Collaborative Care gave a very informative talk about bipolar disorder.

Sharon has been a psychotherapist for 25 years. She's a holistic practitioner, meaning she takes the whole body and mind into account. I praised her at the end of the talk for saying her patients "have bipolar disorder." They are not bipolar, just as you are not cancer or diabetes.

I was also so impressed with her wide array of knowledge and approach to mental illness that I asked her to be on our Board of Directors, which is meeting the end of March.

It's always a joy to have my assistant Ada Moss Fleisher at these meetings.

Giant has about seven classrooms. In the largest room, at the end of the hallway, they were having a meeting on Sjogren's syndrome, an autoimmune disease for which prednisone is often prescribed. A dear friend and her husband got off the elevator on the second floor just as I was about to board it. We hugged and I said, See you at our Board Meeting.

You would never believe this active couple are in their mid-eighties!

Excerpts from the talk of Sharon Katz, FPMH-ARPN, CRNP
Executive Director, Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner

She received her Masters in Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Nursing from the University of Pennsylvania, has her certification in Couples and Family Therapy from the Family Institute, and is Board Certified as a Clinical Nurse Specialist in adult Psychiatric Mental Health.

- I'm responsible for everyone who comes in our door. "13 therapists work for me and two psychiatrists, tho one is leaving." She is interviewing for another psychiatrist who specializes in treating bipolar disorder. [I actually gave her some names from our Top Doc list.]

- Psychiatrists tend to rely on OLD knowledge. They'll follow that pathway until they fall off the cliff.

- My focus is on evidence-based- practice: what has been proven by research to work for bipolar disorder. Not only should providers be on top of what the latest research says, but so should the patients.

- Bipolar disorder is the leading cause of disability worldwide! (Really? Hope I quoted her correctly.) I've coached depressed people who could not function to a functional level. Medicating the bipolar patient is a science not an art.

- Bipolar disorder is less severe in patients over 65 IF their illness has been managed correctly. The improvement is b/c of hormonal changes, changes in our brain, and emotional maturity. For some people, like Ruth Deming, it goes away entirely.

- Peer to peer support is crucial for managing bipolar, such as support groups led by lay people or in groups led by a professional, which she plans to start at CC.

- Sharon collaborates with each one of her patient's doctors, sharing lab test results. She reminded the audience the importance of knowing what other doctors prescribe to a patient. For example, adding steroids may cause mania or rage. (Happened to me when I had bipolar.)



- Patients have a 15-minute appt w/their psychiatrist. To help her evaluate you, patients should use a MOOD CHART. So easy to forget what happened between psych appts. This makes you more proactive. Any time you give inaccurate information - b/c you don't remember - your mood may cascade into highs or lows that endanger your health.

Nancy Youngblood, therapist at Collaborative Care passes out written material

- Do not waste your valuable time w/the psychiatrist by talking about trivia. You're there to talk about your mental health, not your brother/inlaw's wedding. Discuss those issues w/your therapist.

- A psychotherapist talks to you about your identity. When you have bipolar, sometimes you don't know if you got angry b/c it was deserved or b/c you were having a bipolar episode/outburst. The therapist talks to you about your dreams, what you want to accomplish. Yes, you can go back to school even though you're depressed now. The medication will work!

- Whole body approach. Get regular dental exams. Dental caries or tooth decay, usually caused by bacteria, can go straight to the heart and cause heart disease.

- Take vitamins and minerals such as Vitamin B12, which is good for the nervous system; folate aka folic acid, and Vitamin D, also good for the brain and well-balanced electrolytes. Omega 3 fatty acids are important.

- Eat a well-balanced diet. A hi-carb diet makes you feel lethargic and tired.

- Bipolar people should understand their DEVELOPMENTAL issues. Many bipolar folks are "stuck" in childhood-dependent phases. They need to understand the way their original families interacted with them and each other. Who else in the family is afflicted? Most importantly, you CAN get out these dependent and/or unhealthy relationships.

- As a psychotherapist, I see things a patient cannot see, b/c he is inside his own mind. I observe him and see what he cannot. I can tell when a patient is insecure or withholding something that it's important to address, which is unconscious. After all, I've been in practice for 25 years.

- One of the things I do is help patients ADAPT to their new diagnosis of bipolar disorder. All modalities work, whether cognitive behavior therapy or psychodynamic therapy. The most important factor is trust in the therapist and psychiatrist.

- Hospitalization is necessary for safety issues: when a patient may harm himself or someone else; or when they can't handle their emotional impulsivity. If a person is not properly medicated, then hospitalization can become a revolving door. For low-income patients, meds are available for free or lo-cost from the manufacturer, when recommended by a provider. Med samples of some are also available at CC.

- If you don't want your loved one released from the hospital b/c you feel they are not ready - and we know how short hospital stays are these days - say these words: I am not responsible for their health. That said, no one will take the chance of releasing him if he's still sick.

- Horsham Clinic has an excellent Partial Program and provides t'portation. Creekwood also has an excellent Partial Program.

- Collaborative Care's nurse Nancy Youngblood will begin a women's group shortly. And hopefully Hugh Brenner will start a men's group.

- At Collaborative Care, we only take people with insurance. We are looking for ways to see patients who don't have much money. We're investigating several grant possibilities.

Joe Tartaglia just got a master's in counseling from LaSalle University. He's now interviewing for a job. As a therapist myself, my advice to Joe is: learn all you can. By attending Sharon's lecture, he learned a whole lot.

We had a nice crowd who asked good questions at the end. Many people did their shopping afterward at the crowded store. Fortunately I found a self-check-out with one station unoccupied. Scallions, unsalted almonds, punkin seeds, olive oil, and two jars of Planter's unsalted peanuts.

In the entrance-way with the automatic doors, Ada and I talked about how good the talk was.

"Shall I invite her to be on our Board of Directors?" I asked.

"Here she comes right now," said Ada, pointing to Sharon who was going to her car to get her wallet to buy groceries.

"I'd love to," she said.

Book Club: Martin Eden - Letter to the Editor - A good cup of coffee

Jack London (1876-1916), incredibly prolific and popular writer, from San Francisco.

This month's book selection from my library was Martin Eden, a novel that closely resembles Jack London's life. I had a month to read it.

Came home from our daytime support group meeting at the Giant - I put in a supporting role and leave the rest to Helen - ate some lunch and then got down to the business of finishing Martin Eden.

I had 100 pages - of the 500-page book - to read and two hours to accomplish it. Piece of cake, I thought.

Not.

The book was so engrossing I lingered over every word. At times, tho, like a person who talks too much, London goes over and over the same material he's covered a thousand times.

Still, I view it as a superb book. Might I say one of the 100 best novels I've ever read? The ending is a shock. I was lying down on my living room couch, and had to sit up, I was so shocked by the ending.

Martin Eden is an aspiring writer. Takes forever to get published. He goes hungry, pawns his bicycle (which he refers to as 'wheel') goes without food for as long as three days straight, gets manuscript after manuscript returned in the mail, nearly gives up, and then - tada! - his luck changes.

He's been discovered. Now everyone wants him. As a writer myself, I can relate! I myself am waiting to be discovered. That Haggard and Halloo published my short story online sustained me and I'm in a mania of emailing out short stories and poems. May my novel be taken! (And ripped into shreds?)

Then something changes for Martin at the end. It's all bluff and buggery, he says, (not those words but some other ones) and he has no respect for the publishing world or for any human beings. He believes everyone is hypocritical and universally flawed.

So what does he do? He buys a ticket on a cruise ship to sail across the Pacific. He's in his stateroom and shatters the porthole with a chair and dives into the waters.

Dyou wanna know what it feels like to drown? Read the shocking end of the book.

Good Lord, readers, I was shaken!

Then I drove off to the library, 10 minutes late for the book discussion group. I needed to finish the book before I left.

As I walked in the library, I saw that the room where we meet was dark.

Where was my group? Adam, the librarian, Margie, Elaine, Kullie, Jean, Mary, and six others whose names I can't remember.

I was ONE WEEK LATE! You can't imagine how terrible I felt. I had even taken notes on the book for the very first time. Thank you, Dear Reader, for letting me share my sorrow with you.

I hunted up Adam, the librarian, and we briefly discussed the book. As I drove off I knew I needed to console myself by doing something that made me feel good.

What did I do? I talked on the phone to one of the women at the Giant meeting. She doesn't like her name used, so I'll call her "Anna," a nice short name. Like I had once experienced, Anna is losing kidney function and I wanted to review the kidney-healthy diet with her. Her nephrologist Dr Stein, who I credit w/saving my life, by prescribing Hytrin to me, gave her a list of foods, and she's doing very well.

I did tell her about missing my book club - that's called "processing your emotions" - and she told me about living in Hatboro for her whole life. Shockingly, she told me they're gonna construct a frigging Wawa down by the Old Mill Inn. They'll raze the White Billet Nursing Home and a spa someone owns.

The last thing this town needs is a g'dam Wawa. I think I'll go jump thru the porthole.

Or, maybe not. Maybe I can write a Letter to the Editor to the Inquirer. Helen Kirschner gave me last week's Phila. Inquirer w/an article called "Penn finds no plagiarism in ghostwriting case."

As soon as you read the headline, you know: PLAGIARISM and PROFESSIONAL MISCONDUCT. Read the article here.

At this point Scott came over to fetch me for our nap. I asked him to stick around while I composed the letter so he could listen to it.

Not surprisingly, the Psychiatry Department Chair, Dwight Evans, got off scot-free from charges of plagiarism and professional misconduct. [“Penn finds no plagiarism in ghostwriting case, March 2.] He was investigated by his colleagues, who didn’t want to defame him. Good for psychiatrist Jay Amsterdam who called for an independent federal investigation.

These findings have a direct result on people with bipolar disorder, such as myself and the members of my bipolar support group, New Directions. How can we trust our psychiatrists to properly medicate us when their egregious behavior defines them as corrupt, greedy, and willing to lie for the bottom line.

Hopefully, having been chastened and shamed by all the publicity, these Ivy League professionals will change their disgraceful behavior and become a credit to their profession.

Then I forwarded it to a bunch of people including Stephen Weinstein who wrote me:

It is an excellent response to a pathetic situation – especially at an “esteemed” university. I have said for many years that some day science will get to innermost core of a molecule and find pure, unadulterated bullshit. Welcome to the 21^st century.

The only solution is for people like you and I to continue chasing windmills.

Adios, Stephen

I wrote back thanking him, Senor Quixote, from his pal Sancho Panza.

Ever been in the mood for a good cup of coffee? Of course you have. I drove over in the dark to Dunkin Donuts and got me a small cuppa Decaf. I could smell it right away.....stale, but I trusted the guy to give me fresh coffee.

I passed by the chiropractor's office where I used to go. I wasn't surprised to see he's no longer there, only the sign. "Ray" used to spend five minutes with me - me! - the Belle of Cowbell Road - and then retreat into his smoky den where he would bid for Star Trek figures on eBay. That was his whole life. He was an addict!

And the guy was really smart. They study anatomy in kiro school and he could answer all my questions. I used to drive by and honk when I saw him outside, but he probly didn't recognize me. I wished I had stopped in and told him my back is all better, thanks to surgery. I spent several thousand dollars on chiropractic from him and a woman I met at LA Fitness, a very aggressive woman who had her secretaries call me all the time to return.

Is this interesting? To me, it is.

Oh! Almost forgot. So I get home w/the coffee, put it on the kitchen table, and take a sip. It's absolutely horrible.

Nothing as bad as old coffee. Thing is, fresh-brewed coffee smells delicious. Stale coffee smells awful.

I call them up - Yogi himself answers - and he tells me to come over for a fresh cup. That's what I've been drinking while talking to all you people - how many? - one? two? none?

In the grand tradition I've established, I will look thru the literally 10 piles of poems I have around the house and print something.

Wait a minute! I almost forget. This morning, for the very first time, I saw an OWL on my backyard maple. He was grey and white and turned his head halfway round on his neck. Carolyn told me it was probly a screech owl.

Can't find any short poems to type up, so I'll conclude with another coffee anecdote.

Ever see the movie Sunday Bloody Sunday with Glenda Jackson? The only thing I remember about this English film is that she was in a hurry one morning to go to work.

But she needed her cup of coffee.

She spooned some jarred coffee into a cup - Taster's Choice used to be my favorite - and then she ran hot tap water over it.

The audience groaned.

Just discovered guitar great Joe Bonamassa / Poem: Byberry Road

It's Pledge Week on Channel 12, WHYY.

I've watched Wayne Dyer, PhD, who I never liked much but acquired a taste for. He's 72 and has 8 children. He's battling chronic leukemia. His new gig is called Wishes Fulfilled. His adoring audience laffed and applauded as he set forth his newest theory of self-improvement.

Instead of wishing passively for something, say, instead: I am.

For me that would mean:

I am a good psychotherapist (my new Goals Group would agree) who is able to help the members attain their goals

I am a published novelist, my novel is being read by two publishers now - I toss off the words "Yes" into the night, hoping for a good email to end up in my Inbox

I am incredibly prosperous for an unmarried woman living by herself

I am altogether skeptical about these beliefs. In fact, I consider them unadulterated bullshit.

But don't let me influence you in the least.

I just called up WHYY and donated $60 so I could get a CD by Bonamassa. I gave them my credit card, which I want YOU to feel free to use anytime.

Just be sure you use it wisely, as I do.

1024 3982 0024

Expiration 09/14, Security code 114

Gradually I'm putting all my old poems up here. Lemme go to the pile and select one.



NOT TOO FAST DOWN BYBERRY ROAD

I am in the lead here on Byberry Road
steering my car over the first settling of winter snow
while cars swifter and finer than mine
follow in the tracks I have laid down.

I have cast aside my doubts and fears
of sliding wildly, of never returning home
and look neither to the right nor left
for nothing will distract me
from my place on Byberry Road.

How has it fallen to me to lead
when others with far more
valor and desire trail behind.
My car is small and unremarkable
its windshield streaked, its tires worn,
lacking all signs of prowess.

I turn down Masons Mill Road.
The snow is thicker here, slippery.
A bridge carries my wet car over the
creek where bicycles
in warmer days parked
so their riders could fish and wade
and splash the cool waters
over their bare hot arms.
Now the creek's frozen.
I see it gleam from my darkening window.
I wonder how fast I must spin
to bend and break the metal railing
and soar to the ice and rock below.

Trees and broad whitelands press between me and home
I pass the remains of an old mill fallen long ago
and places further back where the deer walk in silence
And I, like the deer, nose ahead
clasping the wheel with tight hands
aiming for what's around the next bend.

Parade up Cowbell to see Turkey Vulture eat Dead Squirrel

Luckily, Nicole brought her iPhone so she could take a pic of this TURKEY VULTURE eating the run-over squirrel in the middle of the road.

It was the talk of Cowbell Nation.

Mom, said Dan, are you gonna revise your poem?

No, I said, I'll just mention it on my blog.

Dan works at AWeber.com, an email marketing firm. His boss Tom called him to come into work this morning, a Saturday. Tom said no one else answered their phone. Wonder why.

Turns out the server that AWeber uses is down. Dan drove down there, a short drive, and he can't do anything until Ben drives to where the server is.

Reminds me of when the New Directions' site was down for three frustrating days!

The Demings arrived here bright and early a little after 9:15 am. I was heating up my fish soup for b'fast cuz I had so much food in the frig I needed to finish it.

I had slept until 8:45 cuz I couldn't sleep during the nite. Maybe I was stimulated by the party at Paul Bongart's last nite.

Before the Demings arrive, I must scurry around child-proofing the living room: I carry my diabetes' supplies upstairs and put em in the middle of my bed, along w/my laptop.

Plus move my precious CDs away from reach.

You never know what will interest Grace when she arrives. She enjoyed the turkey vulture walk and also playing w/the old-fashioned phone that Sarah's high-school classmate Jonathan Ford made:



She loves to play a game w/Daddy. She slams my bedroom door and then Dan peeks inside. She comes running out, straight into his arms, laffing hysterically.



She loves climbing the stairs which she now does perfectly.

After they left and I was washing my dishes I realized again how I love my house.

Several years ago I had the window at my kitchen sink "lowered down" so I could see out the back yard.

All my rooms are carpeted the way I like them, altho some of em have nice wooden floors. What I esp. love above all my carpets is the way they feel on my bare feet. Feet have lots of nerves and are very sensual. Sometimes I just stand still and let my feet sink into the upstairs hallway carpet.

Nick, my carpet man, said he and Sandy used to have this very same carpet in their family room. He personally chose it for me. Remants, cuz they're cheaper.

Dan liked my new sofa-bed I bot from Gamburg's in Hatboro.

I think it's important to love where you live, so you can do your best work in the environment you, yourself, have created.

Party time! Hi Paul and friends

Scott drove us to his boyhood friend Paul Bongart's house on Comly Ave. in Philly. Down Roosevelt Blvd, I took this pic of the former IRS bldg, which neighboring company Pepsico just bought. The car was moving when I shot this. My faithful little Canon treats me very well.

Here's Paul Bongart. He's been a mailman for 15 yrs. Prior to that, he was a sheet metal welder. The man is handy, the singular greatest quality in a man. My Scotty is very handy.

Can you believe he didn't have to use his new snow plow this year?

Mike Kramer is Scott's best friend from childhood. His wife Donna works at the Giant. Mike is my auto mechanic. He's honest and doesn't take advantage of this helpless woman.

This blurry picture shows a propeller that Paul's son made - in woodshop? I loved it. He had very healthy food at his buffet table.

I stuffed myself. Yes, Dear Reader, I can't control myself sometimes. Read on for loss of control. Fortunately not bladder or bowel.

I remembered Chuck and his wife Terry from last year. They live in beautiful Ivyland where my friend Phyllis Bubeck and husband Bob live. I drive over every few yrs unannounced.

Here's Marge. She and Paul went together yrs and yrs ago for seven years. She lives in a trailer park, as did a few of my clients when I worked at Bristol Bensalem Human Services.

Can that woman talk! I listened carefully since I'm hoping to get inspiration for my next short story. I like the idea of a person living in a trailer park.

Couldn't wait to see Jimmy P. His girlfriend Kim or Kym works at Brooke Glen Psychiatric Hospital in Ft Washington. They had a terrible flood and were closed for several months.

Jim works at Colonial Nissan where my sister Donna recently bot her used Pathfinder, which she loves, and I bot my used Nissan which I love.

She refused to tell me about her horrible experience at Colonial.

I'll gladly tell anyone about mine, tho I couldn't bear talking about it when it first happened.

I found my car on the Internet. The price was about $15,000 for a 2006. When I got there I ended up paying $16,000. I had to hire my attorney friend Ron Abrams to get them to charge me the original price.

My sales manager was Gary something. That's how Pietrowski got the job. I told Jim to say hi to Gary. And tell him I'm sorry that his 22-yo son died of a drug overdose.

Twenty-two. The end of your life.

Michael Board, a drug addict, died in my 1994 Nissan.

I think I found his parents online. Should I contact them and tell him he died in my car? And left his Menthol Newports in the car? A friend of mine said, It's nice to smoke menthol newports after shooting heroin.

I personally like to shoot insulin before eating Barb's fabulous cookies. I ate three chocolate chip cookies and three peanut butter cookies.

Exercised for 40 minutes on my bike after I got home. Watched the Cab Calloway documentary - critic Stanley Crouch was interviewed - so I 'friended' him on Facebook - and then I watched my beloved Smokey Robinson interviewed by Gwen Ifill.

The man is 72 yrs old. And has blue eyes like my son Daniel.

Ah, poetry! Coffeeshop Writers' Group / Two poems: View from the Second-Floor Window - Flags Fly High on Cowbell Road

Two deadlines today.

First one was noon, which is when the Bryn Athyn post office closes.

"Only 11 more minutes," said Maria when I gave her the envelope.

Mailed off six poems to Coal City Review.

While driving home I noticed all the American flags on our street. I'll write a poem about that, I thot.

A la Jasper Johns and his famous painting of an American flag, I painted this a couple of years ago. I had central A/C put in and needed a new fuse box. This is the door of the old fuse box upon which I painted the American flag.

Deadline was 1:30 at the Giant Coffeeshop.

I'd wrin a poem that morning about the view from my bathroom window.

Never early, I get to the Coffeeshop 11 minutes early. No one is there. But I see Jeff and his wife Wendy so I talk to them. Their 5-yo son Ethan is on a play-date.

Then Linda Barrett arrives, followed by Jovon Belcher, and Beatriz Moisset. A full house! Good people. Roll the photos and narrative, Ruthie:

Linda read a narrative poem "The Kiss that Kills." Quite good, but needs a little work so we can tell the characters apart. Uncle Thimon and his niece Ulrike. Such names!

Jovon read a nicely disturbing poem called "Nice Rude People." I am one of these nice rude people b/c I always must know where people come from. For example, the ancestors of my boyfriend Scott, a Jew like me, came from the Ukraine.

Jovon also brot w/him a 25-page short story. I began reading it, looked up, and said, "Jovon, this is really good. Where'd you learn to write like this?"

He majored in Creative Writing at the University of Pittsburgh, which is where his family lived at the time. At 35, he's humble, and knows he's gotta improve before he submits his work to major online journals, something I just accomplished at age 66, although when I was much younger I was published in Creative Nonfiction, my story "A Sunny Day at the SPCA." That's when I won my Leeway Grant for five grand.

Ya know what I did w/the money? Bought some Glenn Gould records and opened an account w/Vanguard. God only knows how I knew about that.

Beatriz, a biologist, will be published in a prestigious nature magazine. She showed us her editor's suggested corrections, but the editor was very pleased w/her work. Editor's new title for the article is: Beetle tests native vibernum's resilience.

The beetle larvae are destroying these b'ful shrubs.

I always print my poems on "backs." The backs I used were copies from my diabetes records, which I keep every time I test my blood.

Somehow the conversation turned to my diabetes which I got after my kidney t'plant. Jovon said his dad had a kidney t'plant 7 yrs ago!

He'd been on dialysis a year when one day a woman he knew wrote him a note on a match cover: God told me to donate my kidney to you.

It was a perfect match!

Subsequently, tho, he's had cancer since he's a heavy smoker.

His dad, Amos, was a professional pool player - like Minnesota Fats - and used to travel around the country playing in tournaments.

At group's end, Jovon began reading his exciting short story, but then I look at my watch and said I've gotta go. Scott's friend Paul was having a party of boyhood friends.

VIEW FROM THE SECOND FLOOR WINDOW

a van gogh painting certainly

buds on the backyard maple open,

pink-nippled avatars of

wonders to come,

is that baby squirrel making a nest of her own?

scrambling skyward up the prickled bark

one dead leaf at a time,

years past I have used these very same buds

to mark my progress throughout the world

- when will I finish the Compass?

- when will I be discovered?

- when will I disappear forever?

today I only ask for patience

the patience of the squirrel

the gas station manager came out

to help me

ma’am, said Bucky, may I have your

patience?

you’ve got it, Bucky, I said, feeling

like a little girl who had to go to the bathroom bad

the nest has doubled in size

she will raise her family in a nice neighborhood

coming up with daffodils and crocus

a rusted wheelbarrow beneath their tree

and all the time in the world

Dr. Stamper shoots squirrels as vermin

but here on Cowbell

we have only one

white-belly-up lying in

the middle of the road

my squirrel will teach her

children well.

FLAGS FLY HIGH ON COWBELL ROAD

rife with american flags

our long and spiraling street

overflows with flags

but not with negroes nor latinos

when they come to visit

eyes appear at windows

will she marry one?

my flag came out when

the Towers came down

black Jehovah’s witnesses

appeared at my doorway

thinking only of the

Kingdom of Heaven

I brushed them off

refusing their

outrageous panacea

for a world gone wrong

my flag flies

in my aorta

pumping red and blue

throughout this mortal soul

daughter of a Marine

I shall never see again.

the flag appears immortal

but one day, it, too,

shall fall

a better world than this

I cannot imagine:

but the conquerors can.

Met deadline for Montco writer's contest - Hello St Tony - Meet Paul Page, tree trimmer

Here's me new sofa-bed from Gamburg's Furniture Store in Hatboro, PA. I special-ordered the "check pattern."

It was on this sofa that I proofed the final draft of my short story "Love Under the Willow Tree."

I probly revised it fifteen times. The last time I added more dialogue. Thing is, now I'm constantly paying attention to dialogue!

I wanted to postmark it today - March 1 - cuz it must be postmarked by March 3 - and mailed to the Writer's Contest at Montgomery County Community College.

I also sent in my poem, "The Tyvek House."

Quelle relief!

Checked out a foreign movie from the library called "The Temptation of St. Tony." Knew nothing about it, not even the language. It was vaguely Germanic, but when I goggled it afterwards, I saw it was Estonian, made in 2009.

The movie was visually gorgeous! The dialogue was also superb. I can't rightly tell you what it was about, other than: man's quest for meaning... is there salvation at the end? ...why do I participate in debauchery when I hate it? ... what is love?

The movie is often hard to watch b/c of the brutality. But I couldn't tear my eyes away from it.

Here are a few of the haunting scenes, all done in black and white:

What kind of cars do they have in the Eastern bloc? They were all big and beautiful.



Much of the film takes place among Rubble, such as found in the devastation of war. Here is a b'ful office building, but behind it is.....rubble.

I'm watching the film and a guy knocks on my door. My door is wide open cuz it's not that cold out and I like the light.

Meet Paul Page. He works for Mason's Tree Cutting Service. His boss, Scott Mason, makes him go around and knock on doors to get more business. Paul hates doing this, but does it anyway.

He's had doors slammed in his face. One guy swore at him and said his house is being foreclosed why the @#$ would he want his trees trimmed?

Paul lives in Jersey Shore, PA, a city I only heard of for the first time in my Diabetes Forecast magazine.

Ain't no work in Jersey Shore, so he called his buddy Scott Mason who told him to come up here and help w/trimming trees. He stays for free in a downtown hotel.

Near where Paul lives is Williamsport, PA. A reality show is going out there and Paul is downright pissed! All they're gonna do, he said, is drink at the bars and I forget the other thing he said.

The minute he came in the house Paul said I looked just like his friend Denise Mitchell.

I was struck by the name and wrote it down. I told him I'd just mailed off my short story and was looking for good names. "Love Under the Willow's" main character is Margaret A. Fitzpatrick, PhD."

Paul told me he used to write short stories and poems while in high school. His teacher Mrs. Reinhardt told him he was very talented. He was shocked! The first story he wrote "The First Snowfall" garnered much praise from his teacher, who recently passed away.

He met her a couple yrs ago at the store and she asked if he was still writing. He told her the last time he wrote was when he was in her class.

He's got two kids - Jonathan and Jessica.

Then Scott came over to fetch me for our nap, so the three of us talked.

You're a Democrat, right? I said to Paul.

No, he said.

Who dyou like?

Santorum.

I groaned inside but said nuffin.

When Paul was old enuf to vote, he told his grandmother he was gonna go out and vote. She told him to vote for Reagan, but he didn't need no telling, cuz he liked Ronny hisself, and he's voted every since.

This sounds a little bit like a short story, don't it?

In "Love Under the Willow," I debated whether to have young Brian speak grammatically incorrectly but I decided upon the King's English.

My friend Coach Iris really liked the story. I shore hope the student judges do too!

Here's some more photos from The Temptation of St Anthony, right off the laptop.

He's a priest. A line of the great dialogue is written below, something like "The trees are not trees, and the houses are not houses."

I mean, that's beautiful, right? Even if you don't know what it means. It doesn't always matter.

Here the self-same priest is literally climbing the wall of the church, an amazing scene.

I know Scott wouldn't like the movie. Bet my daughter Sarah would. We often have movie marathons when she comes to town.

Another photo of rubble with our hero leaning inside.

I like the juxtaposition of my orderly living room behind it.

Just reviewed the film on Amazon.com.