I meet Jazz DJ Bob Perkins of WRTI-FM - Day with Sarah and Ethan - Big bash at my house for my family - Morris Arboretum - Poem: Barber's Adagio for Strings

I'm shopping at the Willow Grove Giant Food store and compliment a gentleman on his lovely shirt. Turns out it's the one and only Bob Perkins, jazz DJ at WRTI-FM. His wife Sheila kindly photographed us.

Called my friend Judy Diaz to let her know I'd met him and she was absolutely thrilled!

I could hear her cat Missy meowing in the background.

Our party to celebrate the arrival of Ethan and Sarah.

I asked my pet tiger, Richard Parker, if he'd behave himself and act as the Greeter for the party.

Sure, he growled softly, so I put him outside on the grass.

The party was held in the house and on the front lawn.

 Dan and Max on the spinning chair.

 Jade and Matt hovering over the feast.

Matt is sposed to be a dead-ringer for the actor Matthew McConaughey

I thot a moment and asked if he were in one of my fave movies, Dallas Buyers Club. Yes, he said. 

 My sister Lynn lived in Bonita Springs FL for a couple of years but decided to move back home to New Hope. Sarah spent the day before with Nikki and Steve and swam in their pool in NJ. She brought back garden veggies from Jersey, including tomatoes and cukes, which we used in the salad.

 We went shopping at the Willow Grove Giant. Appetizers included fresh pineapple wrapped inside prosciutto. Cherries and pistachios. Quesedillas filled with either chicken or kimchee, whatever that hot stuff is called.

 Sarah forgot how to use my new Cooktop with its counterintuitive knobs, so it took 45 mins for the water to boil.

I made a delicious scallops dish, which turned into a soup when I added the juice of a whole lemon. Also present were mushrooms and peppers of many colors and fresh basil and parsley.

 What a treat it was sitting outside on the grass and chomping away.

 Sarah broiled Jersey tomatoes and zucchini and grated cheese.

She also made this incredible salmon. Ethan calls her a genius in the kitchen, to which we all agree.

Ethan commented that this is what Americans do in the suburbs. Celebrate the Fourth of July with our BBQs and our families and friends.

Sitting on the rough wet grass.... James Agee wrote about this collective experience and it was set to music by Samuel Barber, who attended Curtis Institute of Music, here in Philadelphia.

On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts.

We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there. First we were sitting up, then one of us lay down, and then we all lay down, on our stomachs, or on our sides, or on our backs, and they have kept on talking.

They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near.

 More insulin please!

Three pints of ice cream.

Butter pecan, my dad's fave. Pistachio and amazing salted caramel.

Ethan had a chance to bond with his niece Grace Catherine Deming. They walked down Cowbell searching for treasures.



As kids, we used to make bracelets with these clover flowers.

It's so important that we introduce children to the glories of nature. And Grace is indeed a fan! Their backyard could pass as a miniature arboretum.

Now it's Sunday. We began the day by visiting a recording studio in south Philly where Ethan might record an album. Bill Cosby had been there the day before. And the Rolling Stones were the first ones to record in that studio. Sarah pronounced it "beautiful."

It reminded me of when I appeared on Comcast Newsmakers, particularly the chilly temperature. When you're being taped, you certainly don't wanna shiver and have your eyelashes freeze.

After that we went with some friends to Morris Arboretum of the University of Pennsylvania. We'd been there several times on Ada's Outings.

Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.
This is a beautiful tree, but not a lemon tree. My friend Marcy has em in her yard in California.
Helloooo Marcy! Miss you!

If only I could remember the name of this many-trunked tree.

The Fernery of Morris Arboretum. Don't you love kids with red hair? Part Viking, n'est-ce pas? New Directions, under the auspices of one Brenda Mower, used to volunteer at the Arboretum.

Morris has everything.... meadows, hills, and ponds with swans. Its original owners, siblings John and Lydia Morris, lived in a grand castle with views of the grounds. It was razed and a kinetic sculpture put there to mark its presence.

Who doesn't love a fountain!

 Ethan is listening to the sounds of nature through these whatchamacallits! They slide down so that people of any height, including kids, can hear the sounds of the forest.

We are up in the Treehouse now.

 Simulated robins' eggs, one of which is beginning to hatch.

A giant baby robin will likely appear.

Here's my own robin's nest complete with feathers. Got it from Scott's back yard after the family abandoned it and moved to a trailer park.

 Oak tree. Wonder how old it is.

An evergreen with branches kissing the ground. When Sarah taught at Kripalu Institute in Lenox, MA, she had her favorite trees. One of my best experiences was visiting her there, with my sister Donna.

 We three jogged downhill to smell the fabulous Mimosa Flowers on the Mimosa tree. "Evelyn," my former therapy client, had a mimosa tree in her front yard. I'd always bring a branch home with me and put it over my kitchen sink.

Holy cow! Can this be one of the geometric sculptures by Robinson Fredenthal? Yes, it was. I profiled him in Art Matters. Here's a blog post I wrote about him. He died in 2009 at age 69 of complications of Parkinson's disease.

Magnificent fountain. Look at the feet. Darn! This may be the true Fountain of Youth and I should've thrown myself inside.

Actually, I do leg exercises every morning so I was in no pain during our leisurely walk thru the Arboretum. On the way home, we passed Curtis Arboretum, where Sarah had been.

The long goodbyes......

 Have some delicious filtered cold water, Ethan!

 Sarah, I shall deeply miss you! She and Ethan helped me with the cover letter of the grant I'm working on plus the entire proposal. Is this taking advantage of them?

 What a fantastic couple!

I was wearing my new $7 shorts from Walmart. Bought four pair, making sure they had pockets.

Also, read Ethan my new poem. "I love your poems," he said. Wow! That surprised me.

He edited this one but I left it as is. (No wonder I get only a few poems published online.) 

I wrote the poem after driving home from watching fireworks in nearby Bryn Athyn. Pulled into a parking lot by the new Lemon Basil French Thai restaurant and sat in my car and enjoyed the boom boom booms and the flashing lights in the sky.

Driving home, bc I have cataracts and lights blinded me, I had a terrible time, plus I got lost. I wanted to convey those feelings in a poem, but made myself be on the Pennsy Turnpike.

Listen to the Adagio here.

Hey, I think I'll add the word Adagio to my most beautiful word list.

BARBER’S ADAGIO FOR STRINGS   

His Adagio for Strings
could have been playing
when I drove home on the
Turnpike in the night storm
Gripping the wheel
I seemed to be the only one
on the road
I could see no one
I could see nothing
but a spark of light
before me
like a match burning bright
then fading
death is surely coming
I thought as I wondered
how long I could bear
the terror and the monotony
of the nothingness ahead
of me.

So this is how I would
meet death – we always
wonder, don’t we?
Not this way. I’d wished for
a comfortable mattress
at home with a view of the
maple out back
and a squirrel waving goodbye.

Was this the tunnel they spoke of?
I checked to make sure my wipers
were on full force. There must be
a way to escape, I said, touching
my heart and saying, We will prevail.

The stars and the moon were
no where to be found, nor the dappled
trees and meadows that made way
for this now deadly road, with its
expectant exits and tollbooths,
its huge green signs prophesying
home, welcome home, you made it.
Or could this be the one time
I don’t.

When the lights go off on Cowbell... we head to the Giant Supermarket

I was napping at Scott's, totally exhausted from the heat, and I didn't hear the thunder storm.

When I awoke, I began reading my paperback book and then the lights went off.

Oh, they'll come right back on, I thot.

They stuttered on and off and then stayed off.

Darn! I wanted to stay in the A/C and read, but there was lots to do at home: Take evening pills, put clean sheets on bed, put in my contact lenses, and then take blood sugar.

It was low so I ate a pretzel, then packed up to dine at the Giant Supermarket, drove Scott to the train and arrived at the Giant just as they were closing the salad bar.

Had a delicious salad. Radishes are key. As are the chick peas. When I nearly finished who should show up but Carly from my Writing Group.

She and husband Charlie were shopping.

Carly's bday was today. She showed me new earrings and a necklace her family gave her and also said they'd eaten a delicious b'day cake from Fresh Market.

Chocolate and raspberry interior. Is that called a Black Forest Cake, I asked.

Here's your black forest cake.... layered, cherries and whipped cream.

Then her husband Charlie wheeled his cart over.

It's so interesting to look at the food people buy.

What caught my eye were crisp Ginger cookies made with molasses. Carly swears that by eating a few before bedtime her hip doesn't hurt.

I told her that at our last Bonfire we made S'mores with the same ginger cookies.

We had a long discussion about eating. Eating healthy foods.

I told them both that bc of my diabetes, I couldn't eat 98 percent of the food in the store.

Then I pulled out my

and injected four units into my upper arm.

Charlie and I each told where on our bodies we inject. I do both arms, belly and butt. First I stick in the needed to see if it hurts. If so, I remove and try another spot, injecting when there's no pain.

You get to be a pro at this stuff.

Charlie had cataract surgery fairly recently.

My first operation is on Tuesday, July 15, early in the morning. My neighbor Nancy Myers will drive me to and from the Abington Surgical Center.

But who will drive me to the support group meeting that nite?

Carly will!

Then I'll find a ride home from someone in the group. I'll be wearing an eye patch, so feel free to call me "matey"




Here are some of my fave things I can't eat:









Pity me! Pity me! Pity me!

Finally! Reliable lawn mowers - And Shrub Clipper - Two house tours today

 Bill Babb and his son Steve arrived early to cut my lawn yesterday.

 Don't we love all this greenery? There's Steve in the back yard.

Father and son.

Next day, Thursday - today - I buy more flowers at the Hatboro Produce Junction.

Imagine me outside digging in the dirt in the hot morning sun, sweat pouring from my body, even tho I wet my head and body with the garden hose.

Since my blue delphinium is dying, I needed a splash of color in one of my beds. It's called CELOSIA.



Isn't it something! This, btw, is an internet photo. Luv the colorful plumes.

Bought two pots of petunias, one a very soft purple. Nearly white.



Near my burgundy colored Dahlia, I needed more color so I bought a bright pink Petunia.




Gave everybody plenty of water.

Then at around 7 pm we had a thunder and lightening storm. Beautiful beautiful yellow jags of lightening flashing thru the sky.

Heidi King and her son Walter came over today. Walter cut my shrubs for 80 minutes, coming in the house for some homemade peach lemonade.

Peach iced tea: Steep three tea bags. Then transfer into a pitcher of ice and cold water.

Delicious! Scuse me while I get a refill right now.

This is the first iced tea I've ever made!

Heidi is recovering from a torn meniscus. I've been trying to find someone to go with me to the Michener Museum and, like Molly Bloom, she said Yes. Heard a radio interview about a newish bio of James Joyce which you can read about here.

Hadn't realized that Heidi was brought up in a Swedenborgian enclave in Illinois. How can I have forgotten the name of the city? Oh, that's right. Old age.

She has two litters of children. One from her first marriage to Jason, up in Illinois. And the second to her marriage from Greg. Greg must've had a musical gene cuz Walter here plays the cello and his sister Cheyenne plays the violin.

Scuse me for admiring the well-trimmed tree lawn behind mom and son.

Eiko Burkle! Hello! Since Eiko and I were the only two people at the newly formed Willow Writers Group I sent an email saying the group is canceled until further notice. "Enjoy the thunder and lightening," I said to lighten the tone.

But Eiko and I have become friends, so the group was a good thing for the both of us.

Drove Eiko to my house tonite during the thunder n lightening storm.

Gave her the grand tour.

She's hand-writing her memoir in Japanese and works on it every morning for three or four hours. That woman is disciplined!

In August she'll visit her parents and other relatives in Japan. Her folks are 97 and 91.

While on my stationery bike tonite, there were two great shows on PBS, so I had to switch back n forth. One was an investigation of insider trading on Wall Street. One guy, from India, is serving 11 years in prison.

What bothers me, tho, is the way in which he and others were found out. Indiscriminate wiretapping. I'll have to check with Scott and see if that's all right to do.

Thother show was Ghosts of Murdered Kings. In bogs in Ireland, preserved remains were found. the theory is that these men, who suffered extremely violent deaths, were once kings. They were murdered in the same spot they'd been crowned.

OMG, this is so depressing. Quick! Think of something good. Ah! FIREFLIES! You know, their sex drive is so strong they even come out in the rain.

Ruthie, go upstairs right now and clean your room! - Yes Mommy - "Found Poem" - Progress of the Sun Across the Wall

Here's the disaster-room that I worked on for five whole hours, marching up and down the stairs, carting away loads of papers into the recyclable paper carton, then sweeping the bare floor with my whisk broom, then vacuuming with my cordless Bissell.

In a moment.... the results.

Spoke to my daughter Sarah Lynn this morning. She was also gonna do the odious task of cleaning house.


Here she is with Ethan and sax player Sam Newsome and a friend. The boys gave a concert at a music school today.

Dust bunnies, Sarah Lynn? You shoulda seen mine. Ah-choo!

Watched a really sad PBS show tonite about the Tucson Good Samaritans who help Mexicans cross the border.  


The Mexicans are woefully uninformed about the difficulty of the trip. Many of them die and many are lost when the trail peters out.

They don't trust The Good Samaritans b/c they think they're 'the authorities' who will arrest them.

Ya know what just happened?

I lost the entire contents of this blog post. The poem at the end took 20 minutes to type up.

Scott n I celebrated the last day of June with a fab dinner



Scrumptious salmon, buttered asparagus, cole slaw. Esp. tasty with our homegrown herbs.

Five hours work....
 
Took an intermission and sat on the back porch watching the fireflies flirt with one another. Don't let a day go by, Dear Reader, w/o watching this summer spectacle.

Cleaned off my desk and have new containers for paper clips, toothpicks, pens.

I have Claudia McGill's bas relief above the keyboard.



I bought it at her Art Open House. 

 Here's a paper collage by Claudia McGill. And some paper photos of our our old next-door neighbors from when we lived on Glenmore Road in Shaker.

Meet the Turnocks - Judy, Suzy, Tommy (Mary Thomas) and Libby.  Libby had a photography show in Manhattan. My sister Donna and her daughter Melissa went.

Mom bought me this rug ages ago. It's frayed at the edges. Had to turn it cuz I can't get my desk chair over it. I've tripped over it many times and even fallen.

When I'm in my 80s, I'll get rid of it so I don't fall and break my pelvis.

You have no idea how big a room you have until you clean it! Mon dieu, all the shit that's stuffed in here. It used to be Dan's blue bedroom. With a coffin in it. Dan was quite quirky and delightful when he was a kid.

The glass lamp is from Elinor and George Schuler when they lived on Cowbell. They gave me lotsa stuff before moving into Ann's Choice. Elinor got dementia and died a few years ago.

George met a widow and they traveled together to Oregon to meet her family. He's 90.

Just took another look at the room - good job, Ruthie!

Now the laborious typing of the poem again. It's quite good.

THE PROGRESS OF THE SUN ACROSS THE WALL

I take a day off and
sleep and sleep and sleep,
the couch where I lay is old
and bowed and smelling of
children who long ago
threw off their shoes
and dug their toes inside the
cushions before unwillingsly
being taken up to bed.

I bury my body deep inside the
cushions and disappear
into dark and distant dreams,
wondrous places where I go,
green tropical waters floating
with starfish, electric eels,
tame whales who only want
to sing me to sleep with their
special lullaby attachments
few people are aware of.
I awake frequently, the better
to relieve my dreams.
With each awakening, I lean toward
the kitchen to measure the
day's light across the room,
moving from the cupboards to the
sheen of the white no-scrub linoleum, to the
brazen flowered wallpaper that makes
me wonder if I'm in the right house.

I am called to awakening by the final
badge of sun, stamping my
tablecloth - orange -
for reckoning with -
and, still clothed in starry dreams
I crank open the kitchen window
kneel on the cold linoleum
and watch out there
for the stilled sun
to sink beneath my
maple. This is not
such a bad thing. Maybe I will
rest here and ring in the
darkness too.

A black cat cuts through my yard.
I know him.
usually found on the other side
of Cowbell, trotting across the street,
a proud cat, as if dignity alone
will grant him safe passage.

The phone rings as it should.
It is Valentine's Day and I know
whose voice it will be. Not that I take him
for granted or tire of the way
his white hair bobs up and over
his ears like a violin-playing
matinee idol or even an uncle who never
came round often enough with
his satchel full of jokes
and terrible puns.

I hold in my hand his mercy-filled
voice I have come to depend on
in the latter half of my days,
my girlish allure and sauciness,
my sap and sinew running scarce.

He says he does  not mind.
He tells me, Yes, he can see the
blast of sun from the lone
window in the hall,
that earlier when he was out in
the quanrangle having a smoke, he watched
it disappear behind the building,
a golden melon being consumed, he said,
then thought to crush the cigarett
beneath his foot, and turn to come to me.