Poem: Licorice Tea for Me - Chatting with Kenny Weinstein - Poem: Overdue Library Book

LICORICE TEA FOR ME

For someone who claims to love coffee,
even the names are beautiful -
El Pico, Chock Full of Nuts,
Folger's, Maxwell House -
why is it that I usually drink tea?

The best coffee takes time to brew.
Pull out my Chemex coffee maker,
pop in a Melitta filter, sprinkle in
quarter cup of desired sweet-smelling
grounds, add boiling water, and
swoon as the aroma rises like
a kite at the beach.

What's wrong with me? The hell with the
Licorice Tea. To the kitchen I go
to brew me some Starbucks Peppermint.

***

PS, I drank the Egyptian Tea, after all. 

A C Moore opens at 10 am. Gonna buy RIT DYE - purple - and color my beautiful pink linen napkins Mom gave me. They are all stained and purple will cover it.

***

 Napkins and undies.

Talked for an hour or more to my cousin Kenny Weinstein, who lives in Herndon, VA.  What a nice guy! He used to be a pilot at the Willow Grove Naval Air Base, which is closed.

Talk about loud noises! You'd be in the middle of something and these bombers would fly overhead breaking the sound barrier.

Was I showing off when I emailed Kenny some of my art work? I've gotta figger out how to affix these from my ceiling so they twirl around.

 When I got off the phone with him, I knew I was low. I stuffed myself, took glucose tabs, you name it.

Then I had a coughing fit. Something went down the wrong pipe. I coughed for nearly half an hour.

Called Mom to tell her about my conversation with Kenny. I kept clearing my throat and it got harder and harder to talk.

"I'm hanging up," I said.

Actually, I just coughed some more now.

Hold on. Lemme check the Internet.

Coughing is a reflex action triggered by some irritant in the respiratory passage. It is intended to expel this irritant as rapidly and forcefully as possible.  

Just sent a short story to my sister Lynn to review. It's true but I changed all the names. It's about a trip to THE BIRCHES, home for the elderly, which I called Franklin Row. 

I have two more days to submit to Bella Online. I actually wrote a one-act play. Wanted to do dis for years.  

OVERDUE LIBRARY BOOK

"Autumn" by Karl Ove Knausgaard
is several days overdue. As I
read for half an hour this morning
before I get out of bed, I couldn't
stop reading. And read for nearly
an hour.

Yes, it's worth it, I thought. A strange
book whose chapters include Fingers, Oil Tanks,
Badgers, Infants and Cars.

It's a book for thinkers. People who like
to read in bed and chew pretzels at the
same time, getting salt all over their
sheets.

Impossible for me to listen to music.
Sorry Gregg Whiteside of the Classical
Morning Show, but attention is
focused on Karl, whose photo
is on the back cover.

Truthfully? He looks like a serial
killer rather than a serial chapter man.   

***
In an interview I had today I mentioned that Karl Ove believes the best book ever written was Flaubert's Madame Bovary.

Let's take a peek, shall we, of the very first sentence. 

Click here on Project Gutenberg. 

Birthday Party in Jersey

 Tyler wouldn't let me post any photos, so I wrote this poem instead and posted it on Facebook.


BIRTHDAY PARTY IN JERSEY

The man known as Grandfather drove our family
across the bridge into the tiny town of Mantua
to visit Tyler, Kamelia, and their three-year-old
son, David. They'd just bought a new house. Could
40 people plus The Reb fit inside?

The food was divine. Kam, dressed in a floor length
ensemble, did much of the cooking, as she did when
she lived in Hatboro, before FEMA demolished the
condos for their dreadful habit of flooding.

We gathered in the kitchen and hovered over the food.
potato salad in a foil container, mushroom and asparagus
dish, chili in a Hamilton Beach crockpot turned to low,
breads that mama Kam made, tasting of garlic and olive
oil.

I ate until my belly was full. Turned my back and injected when no on was looking.

Roberto, I said, what do you think of your grandson
becoming a Orthodox Jew?

A handsome man from Ecuador with a thick head of hair and
wearing a white shirt like a matador, he said, "I am pleased.
He's doing better than we ever expected."

Mom sat on a small couch the entire time, from mid-afternoon
until darkness fell over the neighborhood. The Reb would be coming soon.
Wish I could have stayed to meet his bearded self.

Tyler's beard is thick with a tinge of red. We hugged goodbye.
I told him what a lovely house he has, and saw David's room
with a painting of Grandfather's and a shelf of books.

Grandfather drove us home across the bridge. Up front sat his
much-loved step-daughter June, who dispensed directions
and told him when it was okay to change lanes.

I tried not to look.

They will watch movies tonight. It's her turn to choose. What
will I do? Curl up like a cat in bed and read.

***

What a winding road it was getting to Mantua, N J.

And back.

Will go on my bike now for - oh! - half an hour. If nothing good is on, I'll read.

On the way home in the car, Grandfather, aka Jack Blair, discussed music. He has Sirius radio and listens to a station that plays Frank Sinatra. He and much-loved June - that was also Henry Miller's wife - discussed the artists who were playing - but I had trouble distinguishing them.

Jack said the best concert he ever saw was Tony Bennett. The concert was sposed to be over at 11, but he got so many standing ovations, they didn't leave until 2 am.

Ready to hear one of his famous songs? Click here.



Grandfather had never heard The Juliette Letters by Elvis Costello and the Brodsky Quartet so I emailed him the YouTube recording.

Elvis Costello The Juliet Letters

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tuCKn4EbIAA

Jack's favorite female vocalist is Diana Krall, Costello's wife.  

Here she is singing Night and Day.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YIpVsyHz7o&index=6&list=PLJNbijG2M7OwToyzwfvI0_PLlI0Ddt2Tr

And Ethan Iverson, jazz pianist, with his band The Bad Plus. They are disbanding at the end of the year as Ethan wants to "go his own way," as Fleetwood Mack sang.



I watched a Fleetwood Mac video on YouTube.




Here's .....Ethan Iverson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9hOSZGMXlI

So long, everyone. See you soon!

Purple Camera and I attend Ribbon-Cutting Ceremony on Opening of Edgehill Road Bridge

 My great fear: would I be able to find how to get atop the bridge. When I drove past, I saw teeny tiny people up there.

 I clumb up the stairs which were color-coordinated with Abington Township's colors.

 My reporter's instincts were aroused. Important to remember that altho we're focused on the bridge, which we were standing on, be sure to photograph the surroundings.

No man is an island, as John Donne wrote, and we're part of a community.

7,000 commuters, said one of the Suits, travel over this bridge every day. 

Jim Stanton interviewed me and and anudder woman. He works for Rep. Madeleine Dean. We each spoke about the year-long inconvenience in rebuilding the $3.3 million bridge.

 The woman is a jogger and lives down the street. When her husband died, a support group was very helpful to her.

 Sam is a civil engineer and project manager who hails from the Philippines.

 Mr. Red Tie began the ceremony. He was the man in charge of the entire project. Lots of people were hired so it was good for job growth in our area.

 Let's cut the ribbon.

 Each person had his or her own scissors.

They picked up the shears from the ground.

Whatcha gonna do with it? I spose, bring it home and show your family and kids, leave it around for awhile, and then toss it. Or maybe one of the kids will wanna keep it in their top drawer or hang it over their meer.

 Romoving those god-awful signs. For me it meant a detour to Abington Prez, where we hold our New Directions' meetings, and for motoring over to my son's house in Glenside, very fearful of getting lost.

The first car to drive over the bridge was this "Antique" T-bird.

Dig the extra tire on the back.

 "Nof" is his nickname for a long Italian name. They always wore their vests plus hard hats. Jeans and sweatshirt.

Fitzpatrick Funeral Home. I had to remember I'd parked on this street. Jericho was its name.

Homeward bound. Hey, I remembered, I'm going over the Edgehill Road Bridge and snapped a photo with Purple Camera.

If I still worked for Patch, I would've written up the story. In my opinion, they should've been there. Action News was there, Channel Six.

Found: My Purple Camera - Poem: Found

Went to the Upper Moreland Public Library.

Returned the 1949 film Bitter Rice, which I watched on my laptop,


Many famous, now deceased Italian film stars were in it.

Also returned the award-winning Redeployment by Phil Klay as it was too violent.

That leaves me with only five books left to read.

Hold on and lemme check my vegetable soup in the slo cooker.

Fini. It looks great and smells great.

At the libe, Linda was at the desk.

"I found your camera," she said. "Michael - her fiance - found it wedged between the seat."

A month ago I'd ridden with her to the daytime writers' group. If only I can return my new camera.

Here's some photos:

 Driving in Linda's new Kia to our writers' group in Valley Forge

Look, little Dan, or his son Max, 4. A bulldozer aka Holland Bulldozer Holland.

 A feast awaits us at Marlene's house. My contribution? Black eyed susans from my front garden.

Meow!

 I tested out my new camera. I love the look of vending machines.

They're paving the parking lot of the B & N shopping center so I did a lotta walking.

A tall guy was passing by and I asked him to take my picture. Had just gotten my hair cut at the Cuttery by Azar from Pakistan. Great job! She also threaded my chin.

I am so happy to get my purple camera back.

Now I'm gonna watch a couple minutes of The Thief of Bagdad - 1940 -and then submit.



First, lemme write a poem.

FOUND

Is there a joy greater than losing something
and finding it again?

Two months ago, I lost my purple camera
Coolpix, it's called. After searching the
entire house, between the cushions on my matching
red couches, reaching deep under the couches,
the chairs, the battery drawer of the fridge,
looking into the wastebaskets, I'd run out
of options.

There were no dogs who might sniff it out, so
I bought a new one.

Today at the library as I returned a batch
of books, librarian Linda, with swinging blonde hair,
told me her fiance Michael found my beloved
camera wedged between my seat and the console
as we drove home from our writers' group.

How great my joy!
The camera shines with happiness.
We pledge our troth and I promise
"to always keep you in the same places."
I thank the heavens every time
I see thee.

Nothing like fresh Halloween Candy the Day After - Looking out the upstairs window in the dark - Clem

A kid asked me if I had a Three Muskateers and I had to say No.

An important woman in the world of mental health died suddenly.

Kathy Sharp. Learned about it on Facebook. The woman who posted the news refused to tell the cause of death. I visited her house in Levittown PA a couple of times. She gave me a sweet-smelling white vine which lasted many years.

I believe her husband Chris was the gardener.

She was related to the Peace Nun of the Irish Revolution. I believe we ran a story about it in The Compass.

Kathy was a real beauty with short black hair and a stately posture. She participated in so many events on behalf of those of us with mental illness.

Just wrote the below poem. I like it very much.

LOOKING OUT THE UPSTAIRS WINDOW IN THE DARK

All is black.
Where are the houses?
The trees?
The cars that line the street?

Silence reigns.
Is it my imagination
or am I all alone
in the world?

One thing I know
for sure.
I exist.

DINING WITH CLEMENT IN CRAMPED QUARTERS

There he was! Tall, slightly bearded, oversize
ears that listened to every word I said.

After I chose my lunch, I lugged it to the
coffee shop where workmen were transforming

it into a Starbucks. Only two tables available
for sittin and eatin.

There was Clem, slugging down a mango drink.
May I sit here, I asked, sitting down. A woman
on my other side was eating a pepperoni pizza.

Clement and I only meet by chance. We know lots
of the same people. He attended the funeral
of a centenarian, who played tennis until
he was 95.

A friend gave him a Samsung phone, which he is
learning to use.

Once he was on the edge of suicide, tottering
daily over the abyss.

I munched my fried chicken and spooned out my
shrimp corn chowder, as I marveled at my friend
who saved himself from annihilation.

Long live Clem!!!

GOING UPSTAIRS now to read a bit...Am giving up ReDeployment, an award-winner, by Phil Klay. Too gruesome.

Did you know that's the name of Scott's scarecrow?

  Scott's scarecrow Gruesome. 

Lunching with Helene at Rydal Park

Helene doesn't like the food, but I sure do.

The dishes are all brightly colored.

Had a bowl of beef orzo soup. Orzo? What's that?

Orzo also risoni is a form of short-cut pasta, shaped like a large grain of rice. Orzo can be served alone; as a soup accompaniment; as part of a salad, pilaf, ...

       Love the lengthy pasta.

I also ate a hot dog with heaps of sauerkraut and mustard, a cold glass of water and a cup of excellent coffee - they switched brands once again - made by Farmer's.

The cost of Rydal Park is going up.

The cost of everything is going up.

Here's a poem I wrote this morning before leaving for lunch.

NOVEMBER

November, with your slowly
falling leaves, your
left-over Halloween
candy. Melting in my
mouth now is a tiny
Hershey Bar, a foreign
object, really, as I'm
too old to eat candy

Fifty trick or treaters perhaps?
A favorite candy, they said,
was a regular-sized Hershey Bar
The kids couldn't remember who
gave it out, they were in the middle
of our labyrinthine neighborhood

In their marvelous costumes
One was the Edvard Munch "Scream,"
"Can you breathe in that?" I asked.
Another, in her dad's arms, was
Little Red Riding Hood

It was dad I asked to open my jar
of spaghetti sauce. I sat with my
door open wide, heat off, and ate
my spaghetti while watching "Bitter Rice"
subtitled, with Silvana Mangano.

I sent out my first postcard
in November, to Nancy Joy,
then sat down to eat a
breakfast fit for a Queen
which I suppose I am,
since I have no rivals
for her majesty of Cowbell Road.

***
Sitting next to Helene in the dining room was a woman named Betty. Helene told me she was a poet.

After our meal, we went upstairs to the sixth floor. I went into Helene's book-filled apartment.

"Haven't been here in ages," I told HAR, who walks with a cane at a fast pace. She showed me a photo of her hirsute grandson Haim who will be married next year. His family moved to Israel years ago. His lovely fianceeee stood next to him.

Probly not touching, as they're Orthodox, like my Gramma Green was. Back in the day. 

Oh, this reminds me. If you have Netflix, there's an interesting film called One of Us, about the difficulty of getting a divorce, even if your husband is violent, and then transforming your life from the rule-bound Hasidics to the mainstream. Read this review.



Oy veh! Such hats.

Thirst consumes me from my lunch. Hot dogs always have too much salt.

This morning, I walked down the street to give Kimberly a sculpture her son Zeke had made.

He and I painted two Styrofoam containers on the screened-in back porch and left them to dry, which took a long time.

As I walked, I saw not a single candy bar left over from last night.

Helene had told me to bring her a treat.

I scooped up some of the candy I had left over from last night.

Kit-Kats

Mini-Hershey Bars.

She chose a Mr. Goodbar.

Good bye!

Good bye!