I learn it is 9/11 when I take my blood glucose - Poem: Lady Diabetes

People are shocked that I check my blood sugar 6 to 8 times a day. Well, diabetes is a slow-progressing disease and I don't aim to get any of the terrible complications in this one life I have to live.

If you take such good c/o yourself, why did you run out of test strips this morning?

Uh, er, well, I just don't know. Or, as 2-yo Grace Catherine would say, "I no-no!"

To make up for it, I was telling Bob the pharmacist, I licked clean a used bloody test strip and attempted to get a reading off it.

It didn't work.

Bob provided me with fresh test strips at the pharmacy. Expensive little devils. Thank goodness for Medicare!

Drove Rosemary to her hairdresser today.

Gary Charles Salon in the Fox Chase section of Philly. Spectacularly successful, they expanded and now have a water fountain cascading out front.

I dropped her off and commenced my walk.

I sat in Lions Park and ate my snack I purchased at the one and only Rieker's Meat Market which Rosemary introduced me to.

I'm on a search for Tongue, the meat that many Jews love. Ben and Irv's has fatty tongue. Jack's Deli has good tongue but is a bit far to travel.

If only Rieker's had it!

They did and call it Blood Tongue. It has enough salt to dry up the Atlantic Ocean. I ate four pieces and then later on threw it in the trash. I'm a composter, but didn't want our fox to have renal failure.

I am going to write another diabetes poem and then come back and put it on here. Deadline pressure!

Song of the moment: Elbow's "Lippy Kids." I managed to catch the name on XPN and play it frequently on YouTube,  

DIABETES

Lady Diabetes rides a golden chariot

black hair streaming across the sky

free samples, she cries, and

drops off Ben and Irv’s Chunky Monkey

Ghiradelli brownies and TollHouse cookies

hot from the oven.

I comfort myself with peanuts and almonds.

And feel the cold tile floor beneath my feet.

Poets reconvene at Elkins Park Library, Arthur Krasnow's Legacy continues

The long-awaited day of the return of Poets and Poetry, an event founded by the late Arthur Krasnow about 8 years ago at the Elkins Park Library.

Before we enter the library, let's get some history of Elkins Park, PA. It was named after the prominent Elkins family. Dad - William Elkins - was instrumental in the Philadelphia transportation system. His company refined gasoline so that trains could run from Philadelphia and out into the suburbs.

Dad's legacy was continued by his son George, who with his friends, founded Abington Memorial Hospital in 1914.

Thanks, George. Otherwise I would have had to deliver on my living room couch.

If you're an important wealthy person, you'll wanna live in an impressive house or island, so the Elkins family built this estate. You can judge for yourself if you're impressed or not.

This is a house, ladies and gentlemen, and George the butler will take your wraps and bring you into the sitting room while while Mr. Elkins finishes up a little paperwork at his desk. Can I get you some cognac while you're waiting?

Yes, please, I answer.

Now, you've heard of Tyler Art School, part of Temple University. They did move into the city, but Stella Elkins Tyler (young Stella married Mr Tyler) donated acres of land for an art school to be built in Elkins Park.

Stella had a feel for art and made hundreds of small sculptures which dotted the Tyler campus.

Here is one of her many female nudes. It was modeled on someone she knew. Perhaps her maid.

Hold on, I'm gonna call my maid now.

"Lee-Ann! Would you mind getting me another bowl of peanuts? I'm kinda twisted up here at the laptop and don't feel like getting up."

(We pay her very well.)

Stella Elkins, according to a PBS show, was......a manic-depressive!

Here's Arthur Krasner at another poetry venue, slender, white-haired, well-dressed with eyes of bright blue. His daughter Judy reconvened the poets tonite and here we were.

In for the event were Steve Delia (his photo is at the very top emerging from the library) - he read a poem about being laid off a few months ago after working at a company for 31 years! - Allan Rubin, who read a lovely tribute to Arturo, and Audrey Bookspan, a retired dancer who performed with Martha Graham and read some short poetry.

The new head of the program is poet .... hold on, I've got it wrin on my pad ....

Oh, thanks Lee-Ann. Her name is Kristina Marconi.

We always have a featured poet, someone who stands up there and orates for half an hour.The charismatic poet was named Helen Vitoria and she's published extensively.

She encouraged us to ask questions. Since we had a rather small audience and b/c I am curious I did ask her some questions, like "What inspired you to write the poem?"

Sometimes a friend would tell her a story and she would incorporate that into a poem.

 Helen joked about having terrible relationships with men and we all laffed. My poem-to-read was about a terrible relationship with a man. Helen came with a man named Walt who one wonders if she has a terrible relationship with.

I asked Walt, who was sitting in front of me, if he'd mail me photos of tonite's event, which so far he has not.

"I didn't take a picture of you," he said.

"Oh, I don't care," I said. "It's the other people I want."

I wanted to see Kevin's picture. He's been there many times and has an unusual head of hair. Look, I know I'm half bald, but Kevin is not. His hair is parted on the left - do people still part their hair? - and then it spews out darkly on either side of his head.

Arthur Krasnow spent his last months at the Abramson Home in Horsham. Daughter Judy likes the place. Her mother Pearl is there.

The last time I saw Arthur I blogged and photoed about the event. Judy was there too. She admits she looks just like her dad and that one of her sons looks like dad.

The last time we saw Arthur, he was having difficult talking, the unusual respiratory ailment that would put him in Abramson's and finally kill him.

Three people were snapping pictures with their tiny cameras. Of all the times to not bring my camera! Here's what I wanted to take a pic of.

Judy and her sisters are cleaning out dad's house. They found a big notebook of his poems and letters all the way back to when he was in the navy in WW2. He wrote a tender and loving letter to his father.....in Russian. Apparently Arthur learned Russian in WW2.

When I saw that notebook I wanted to say to Walt, please photograf that notebook and mail it to me. But I do not know Walt.

I walked out with Allan Rubin and his enormous white moustache. His car is on the blink, or if you watch film noir movies, the car is on the brink, so he was gonna take public transportation home.

When I got home I listened to Terry Gross, a show about nursing homes. I earmarked it for Facebook, saying "Everyone over 55 should spend 20 minutes listening to this."

No one "liked" it.

This is Martin Bayne, a former Zen monk. Read his article in the Washington Post. He is now 62,

But I loved that show. A man named Martin Bayne had early-onset Parkinson's and at 52 was confined to a nursing home. He greets every single new member of the facility. He also videotapes them to get their stories, which they are only too happy to tell. When the person dies, he shares it with their family.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ONE WHO HAS PASSED

Happy birthday to my husband of long ago

the day went by and I thought of you while writing out a check

the numbers “9/6”

your Social Security number is still in my desk drawer

though when you passed you were too young to collect.

And that jacket you left here when you and Donna came up

to visit the kids

it’s still in my closet

with nary a white hair or an eyelash

or a sprizt of deoderant to remind me

you were once the man who swept me off my feet

with your command of knowledge

as we lay in that field in Bucks County

you pointed out the clouds in the blue sky

Cumulus, I believe you said, then drew me to you,

I looked into your sad blue eyes

the son of a drunkard who ran you over

when you were a boy

and left you for dead

Don’t worry, I will heal you with my love

my vast fields of love I will pour like honey

from my mouth and my body

You took me to your country of Texas

where we tried to make the marriage work

but your anger spewed like lava rocks

from your mouth

I was young and beautiful then

and departed in secret

with our daughter and unborn son

I will keep your jacket from Bobzien Tailors of

Oklahoma City

the kids can throw it away when they clean the house.

Watching Obama - Book Club - The indispensibility of peanuts

Here's Clinton as seen on my living room laptop. A Times op-ed likened his speech to a professional violinist as compared to talented amateurs.

Were all the men wearing white shirts to show they were real Americans and not the dreaded words liberal or progressives?

It was good to see speechmaker Gabby Giffords (L) making progress after being shot by one of America's famous crazed gunmen.

All these pics are from the Times. I liked Obama's short haircut, flecked with gray.

He certainly can't appear with 'radical' longer hair like Dr Cornelius West of Princeton and the Union
Theological Seminary in NYC.

Images are everything.

White-shirted Joe Biden, 69, is a strikingly handsome man. And a bore. What? He's just named my blog as one of his favorites? Oh, Joe, I could listen to you talk all nite long.

When Obama came on I raced upstairs to my bedroom in this one-TV house and flipped on the television. Something very strange happened. You know all them buttons on the remote? The buttons no one but a genius can comprehend?

Well, I hit the wrong one and could not get a picture. Darn!

I also wanted to hear the commentary at the end by David Brooks and Mark Shields.

Fortunately my laptop sufficed. And I lay down on my new red couch and watched the entire performance.

Flawless. Not a wasted word. Covered all the important issues. All of them.

At one point as I watched,

there was a side-view shot of the president and all you saw from this far-away shot was a black man at the podium.

What a miracle that this happened in America where bigotry is still king.

 I didn't know which one was Sasha and which one was Malia. So I went on Wiki. Malia is the oldest. Sasha is short for Natasha. Dyou think I'll remember this tomro? Alpha order, Ruthie.

My camera was in my pocketbook and I needed it to download the Clinton foto above. So I reached inside and there was this viscous liquid inside.

I dumped everything onto the kitchen table and cleaned everything off. My loose change is now soaking in a basin in the sink.

What was the culprit?

An impulse purchase. I never chew gum. Now it chewed me.

Earlier today I went to my Upper Moreland Library Book Club to discuss The Great Fire by Shirley Hazzard, a difficult book to read but very enjoyable.

It was Kullie's 87th birthday. She said one of the highlights of her life is our book club! Adam, the librarian in charge, said the book club is 15 years old.

I've probly been going for 2 years.

I usually check out about 4-5 books at a time knowing that I'll only like one of them. I must read a good book or my life is not complete.

What must YOU do, to make your life complete.

If I don't have this, my life is not complete

I buy the unsalted Giant brand.

One wonders if there's something critical in the nuts that my body needs. High in protein, of course.Some calcium and iron. Before my kidney transplant, I couldn't eat nuts in order to preserve my diminishing renal function.

Look with what lapidary fluidity I type the words 'renal function.'

When I stopped in at the office of Abington Prez where we hold our New Directions meetings, I saw two CDs on the desk made by the church's famed orchestra.

I bargained and got the two for $10: Mendolssohn's Elijah and the Brahms Requiem. Am listening to the Brahms now. Exquisite music. Nice and relaxing - and melancholy.

The Elijah I'll bring into the kitchen to listen to. Mendelssohn, a Jew, was a prodigy and rediscovered Bach.

Last call for peanuts! The peanut vendor at the ballgame, a young man, who helps his parents out in this worst of all economies since the great depression, has only a dozen more bags to sell and then he can text his girlfriend and tell her he's coming over.

Are you as amazed as I am that it's Monday, Labor Day?

Decided not to put my flag out in the rain. But I will put it on my blog

Since it was pouring today, Scott and I walked at the Willow Grove mall. He was shocked at all the stores that had gone outa biz. But, the mall was mobbed! People were carrying not one but many shopping bags.

Showed Scott where we used to have our Mornings at the Mall.

Got to the mall and I realized my blood sugar might get low so I bought a scrumptious

Williams and Sonoma is one of his fave stores so we stopped in to browse.

They always offer samples, so I ate a tiny piece of waffle with a delicious cherry topping. Very small piece and I figgered I would walk off the sugar.

As I told my sister Donna, who lives 12 minutes away, and I see once every two months:

Diabetes rules my life.

So I've just finished the waffle and I see a coffeemaker on the counter.

It just arrived. Nespresso, made in Switzerland.

Boy, if there's one thing the Swiss know how to do it's make watches and clocks. But coffeemakers?

"I would love a cuppa coffee," I said to the maiden behind the counter. She was wearing a green apron that didn't have her name on it.

"Sure," she said, "take your pick."

These teeny-tiny plastic capsules hold coffee grounds inside.

Of course I wanted decaf but I told her to just pick one for me.

I drank it while Scott and I wandered thru the store gawking at all the things I would never be able to afford.


And speaking of saving money, I saved $60 today by coloring my hair. I use 112A by Clairol, but settled for 112 at the Giant.

Not much of a self-portrait but there I am.

When Scott came over for dinner, I said, Gimme a kiss.

What for? he asked.

Just kiss me.

He did.

Dyou have glue on your lips? he asked.

I went back to the Willow Grove mall, which, again was super-crowded, and went to the Pro-Nails Salon, where they do facial waxing.

I was beginning to look a little like ole Abe Lincoln, so I checked in under an assumed name, signed in - the place was absolutely packed - and sat reading a horrid People magazine.

Finally, my name was called and I was told: Go into the room in back on the right. Right now.

Okay, I said, bringing my magazine. Always, dear reader, bring your reading material with you.

All the employees in Pro-Nails were wearing MASKS. The fumes of nail polish are awful and who knows, possibly carcinogenic.

A very slender man, with a mask on, waxed off me hairs. He could barely speak English. I asked him if he was from Korea and he said, Vietnam.

Like a fool, I apologized for the war, and said I love Vietnamese food.

Little Ruthie saves the day!

He asked me something in Vietnamese and I said Yeah.

Maybe he said, As retribution for the war, would you like me to bludgeon you to death?

Yeah, says Little Ruthie.

It cost $13 and I gave him and $2 tip and left with my lips glued together.

Of course Romney and Company do not like immigrants who haven't learned to speak English. These lying anti-American hypocrites must be defeated. And if today at the mall was any indication that the economy is improving, albeit ever so slowly, and people are spending money, it will look good on Obama's resume.

I spent all of $15 plus $1.09 for the Hershey bar.

Listen to this. Scott bought the candy bar for me in the Sears men's department.

There was an impulse-buying rack of candy just below the counter.

He put the bar on the counter.

"Would you like to donate to the poor hungry children of the world?" Rosa asked.

Scott said nothing.

"What's your zipcode please?" she asked.

"Just ring the thing up," said Scott.

That's my guy.

Here was our dinner:

Fresh salmon cooked in coconut oil with mushrooms and onions, lightly steam asparagus and carrots, and the first polenta I have ever made.

Jersey tomatoes

Scott and I went for an after-dinner walk to lower my glucose - diabetes rules my life - and I'll drive him to the train station in 10 minutes.

Scott keeps the trains running.

What did you do on this hot first day in September? Falling thru the ceiling

Actually, the reason for this post is I wanna see the date September 1 when I re-read this a year or two from now. Ever notice how at the end of the day we all say, This is what I accomplished.

I accomplished nothing today.

 I did finish listening to the interesting audio book Memoirs of a Geisha, which I'll share with Aunt Selma, who has macular degeneration, and listens to one audio book after another, as does her niece Ruthie.

Since I only listen to 5-7 minutes at a time, it's tuff to find a good audio, esp. when I drive.

When I wiki'd the author, I found out he's a descendent of the New York Times family. He interviewed a famous geisha on condition of anonymity and based the title character on her. When she found out he had used her name - in the book's acknowledgments and on TV - she rightfully sued him.

I was so surprised that a scion of the Times would do dat.

Did I tell you I saw the wonderful film Alfred Nobbs at the Huntingdon Valley Library yesterday? Glenn Close and Janet McTeer gave wonderful performances as cosseted women playing men in an Irish society where women couldn't make any money.

Hmm, maybe I should try that. Oh, I forgot. I am a woman.

Look, I don't know what cosseted means either but I think it's correct. My writing vocabulary is much better than my speaking one.

After the movie I drive to Mom's.

A huge white truck with equipment in the back is in the driveway. Workmen are jumping in and out.

Hi, I say. I'm Bernice's daughter. What's happening?

Weatherization, says a man with wild white hair, shorts and an equipment belt on his waist.

I go in the front door and find Mom, resting her tired legs in bed, while she's sewing some curtains.

Something terrible just happened, she said.

One of the men was up in the attic and he fell through.

OMG!

She told me to go look at the hole in the hall.

Did you warn him, I asked.

They know, she said. Mike also fell through.

Who's Mike? I thought. And then remembered I used to be married to him.

I'll be right back, I said. Meantime, I took my blood sugar since I sat for two hours at the movies. The sugar was fine, but I had brot my own fresh peach which I would eat when I got back from looking at the ceiling.

I didn't say it, but when my father lay dying for the nine months it took his brain tumor to kill him, in 1980, I sat in the same chair right next to the bed with the Monet poppy print over the bed.

Rob, I don't think you've ever been to her house, have you? 

I'll be back, I said to mom. I'm gonna go downstairs and flirt with the guys.

The first worker I saw was the one with the white curly hair.

"You're not the one...."

"Yes, I am," he said, and hiked up his shirt to show me the wound: an 18-inch thick red mark which really hurts, he said. He said he doesn't need medical attention. Yeah, a great way to spend the day...in the waiting room.

A couple hours ago I chose another cool place in the house - yes, I'm averse to turning on my A/C - I've got a $3,000 tax bill coming up - and am also tempted to buy a new Ford Focus, I believe it is, which I saw in the Giant parking lot and then looked up on the Internet, but I realized these new cars have not proven their durability.

They have surpassed the most popular US car - Toyota Camry, which my former psychiatrist Glijansky used to drive when he was first starting out.

I love the way it looks but I remember seeing another one and the paint was chipping off.

Mormon Archives Vault, Steward Brand in center, who he? Probly one of those 89-yo prophets and gay-haters. Just checked and he's a good guy - the founder of the Whole Earth Catalog which you're too young to know about.

So I'm upstairs with the fan going on high speed and I'm reading The Story of My Life,

about a young girl from the Afghan whose leg was destroyed when she stepped on a land mine. She ultimately ends up in the USA.

Doesn't everyone?

Not if the Republicans get in.

In the book, Farah was talking about her big Afghan family - they can take more than one wife - and I began thinking of mine own big family. I wondered when my Uncle Don had died.

I looked him up in the Mormon archives. He was only 65 when he died in 1995. You can look anyone up in here. Luckily his last name - Begis - is uncommon.

So then I started looking up all the dead ones including Great-Gramma Zali who I was named after.

And that, lords and ladies, is the conclusion of my blog.