Oh, look! She's written another poem

COLD ENOUGH FOR YA?

Come find me!
I sleep under a white
feather comforter,
marred by pink nailpolish
to show which way is "up."

and a quilted bedspread blue
and white like the
clouds strolling across the sky.

My cheeks are as cold
as a KitKat left outside
after Halloween
and I am interrupted
from a terrible dream.

Excited I am to go
outside and feel how
cold it is. You mean,
38 degrees feels like this?
Not bad. Watch! At the
grocery store, men will
appear in shorts and
open-necked shirts

all winter long.

***

Since it's Garbage Night, I ran outside in the cold several times, depositing things in the bins basking in the darkness.

For dinner, I boiled macaroni and whole wheat linguine in chicken soup with mushrooms, and then, when fini, sprinkled grated cheddar over it plus parm cheese.

Mmmm good.

Very hard to make out. Marcy and mom Gloria sent me cards. The bottom one, from Marcy, is the old Universal movie studios.

Just got off 20 minutes of biking. Great show on about Astronauts.

What shall I snack on?

From my new short story Woman in the Straw Hat, we have

corn dogs, hot roasted peanuts, Hires Root Beer and a selection of beers in cans.

I would LOVE a couple sips of Hires root beer now.

Glug glug glug.



If I'm still in the mood the morrow, I can go to Burdick's and drink some root beer or even sip on a root beer float.

Poem: Nice to see you Dr Renzi - and yes, he liked it

Says Hazel, "Don't know how you manage to watch, read, exercise, nap, and write so much!"

I also changed my sheets yesterday, an arduous task for Little Me, whipping around those sheets as if they were masts on a sailing ship.



NICE TO SEE YOU DR RENZI

First room on the left, said Ann,
Walls of maple, a poster for
exercises to help plantar
fasciiatis - a hellsome
condition.

The Maestro walks in. My
feet are bare, sitting as if
I've come to buy a pair
of shoes. Dress pumps
for Thanksgiving.

First, the diabetes test.
With an instrument like
a tuning fork, he asks
"Can you feel this?"

I do. Tells me "It's easy
to feel your pulse."

My pink toenail polish
is leftover from a cruise
I took in February. My
nails curve downward like a
Flannery O'Connell peacock 
laughing at us in a tree.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. The nails are
flaking off. Bouncing around
the room like tiny ping-pong
balls.

Driving home across the re-
opened Edgehill Road Bridge,
I remember how easy it was
to feel the pulse in my
feet.

I celebrate the only way
I know how. Wanna join
me at a Starbucks cafe?

***

Two more weeks until our Starbucks Cafe opens at the Giant. You could smell the glorious smell when you got close. I ate in the cafe.

***

Winter and freezing weather are closing in. How dreary these dead things look!

What! Ruthie baked cookies!

The direx on the Betty Crocker pkg were terrible, so I looked up the recipe on the Internet and proceeded to successfully make these DEE-LICIOUS cookies. 

At the Giant, I accosted a man in red. On the back of their shirts reads "Can I help? Yes I Can."

Dyou know where the BAGGIES are, I said.

Follow me, said he.

As I said, "Baggies," I thought, what a strange word.

Very nice for Bill Wunder to send me his award-winning book Hands Turning the Earth.

Finished my short story Woman in a Straw Hat. Two folks are reading it now.

Going upstairs now to read TERRORIST by John Updike, winner of every major writing prize there is. Sorry, sir, you didn't get the Nobel. But, as Joe E Brown said at the end of the movie, Nobody's perfect.

   Ya know what?  Maybe I should watch other movies with Joe E Brown. What a face!  Mwah!!!

Dyou think anyone will invite me to Thanksgiving Dinner?

Poem: Oh, those swiftly moving sophomores - Got me HP desk top fixed at Staples

OH, THOSE SWIFTLY MOVING SOPHOMORES

At the Giant I parked in the way way back
the bleachers, you might say, pushing my cart
with my dinner inside, the chocolate donut
I mulled over, deciding which was the best
for my condition.

A tall Asian man with headsets on
carried two plastic bags of groceries
swaying in each hand, a modern day
John Wayne, off to his Penn State dorm room
across the way

I labored with each step as I wove
my way through the packed parking lot,
smelling the Whoppers at the Burger King
reminding me of summer BBQs and that my
sophomore days are long gone.

***

Click here for ANGEL HEALING MUSIC, courtesy of Judy McD.

***

Scott n I watched Film Noir on TCM - c'mon Ruthie remember the name - I do remember it was the first movie filmed in NYC - it starred Bobby Driscoll as a boy who cried wolf.

Do not goggle Bobby unless you wanna feel sad. 31 when he died. 



         

***
Brought my detested HP desk top computer to Staples where Becky F fixed it quite quickly.

***

 This chocolate frosted doughnut was DEE-LICIOUS!!!

 I dunked it in Earl Grey Tea. A big hunk of doughnut fell inside the cup and sank to the bottom like the Titanic.

 Liz Smith, gossip columnist, died today at age 94. The Times had a 20-minute interview with her when she was a young thing of 85.

Guess what I'm gonna do now?

Fall into bed.

PS - Emailed Freda Rose my latest version of The Human Albatross. Scott liked it and thought it was true. No, I said, it's yet anudder story based on a friend of mine. 

Coldest Day of the Year - Poem: Coldest Day of the Year

COLDEST DAY OF THE YEAR - 28 degrees

At two in the morning
I wanted to see what
it looked like

Stood on the front porch
leaves of every variety
swirling, unconcerned

Concerned, I went
inside, and snuggled
under my warm blankets

During the oil crisis
of the 70s, we were
advised to set our
thermometers to 58

Fifty eight!
Now it's the morning
and I have chosen my
hot beverage for the
day

Iris, my Coffee Maiden,
had sent me pumpkin roast
a good three years ago.

With my heat turned
to 68, I sip on this
still fresh, still
delicious, still
powerful

Coffee of all coffees.

***

My friend Roy O'Riley, a cheerful Irishman, will be the hero of my next short story I'm gonna begin writing in a moment.

Roy, not his real name, has given me ideas, thru his own life, for several other short stories.

***
Mom called me this morning while I was preparing the coffee and my breakfast, which is my veggie soup with hunks of cheese for protein.

She began with her famous line:  Did you call me?

No, I didn't.

She said she slept with her new hearing aids in. Ellen will remove em later.

Last night I was up until three am, munching on pretzels - the O Ring Style - and raisins and submitting to something called Lit Mag. Marf was kind enuf to review Tucker and the H olocaust Survivor, earlier in the evening, and I sent in five poems plus a short story featuring blood and bird poop.

More coffee, please garcon!

Merci!

Photo of Little Miss Kaia Rose - My First Trip to Costco - Mom got her first hearing aid - Poem: Costco in Warminster, PA

Sister Lynn aka Nana with daughter Jade and little miss Kaia Rose.

Ellen drove us to Costco in Warminster, PA.  I had never been there.

We did some shopping at Costco. I bought a humongous pkg of many rolls of TP. It's still in the car. Also bought salmon burgers, which I don't think they sell at the Giant. 

Chris, above, was Mom's great helper! Endlessly patient, he explained how the aid works. It's the only one with a rechargeable battery. It cost something like $2800.

I asked Chris to take the above pix and email it to me.

While we were driving home I'd say Mom could hear 75 percent of our conversation. I was overjoyed!

We were all starving so we stopped at an Asian restaurant called Wild Ginger and bought an assortment of foods, which we gobbled up when we got home.

Mom has an enormous appetite, as do I.

I injected 14 units and when I got home went on my bike for 25 minutes. My sugar was still very high.

I'll bike again later on.

Watched Washington Week in Review while biking. Robert Costa gave a tribute to Gwen Ifill who died a year ago today.

Very moving.

She had a certain something - charisma and compassion and ability to ask the right questions - that really drew viewers to her.

When I heard she had died, I ran next door to tell Scott.

***

I suppose I should write a poem about Costco.

Hold on. Ahem. Me-me-me. I have no idea what to write but I'll figure it out.

Hold on! I did write one earlier and posted it on Facebook.

PREPARING FOR COSTCO

All you sophistokats out there
are familiar with this store
which in Cleveland, Ohio, sells
automobiles.

I have memorized the term
- oh! what is it now? -
Kirkland Signature.

Watch the Four Tops singing it
during Pledge Week!

It's Costco's own brand of
wonderfuls, marvelouses,
King of Kings and I shall
fill my shopping cart
with my necessities.

Mom will be fitted with a
hearing aide. I thought to
buy her an ear trumpet, but
she advised me to wait.

In the car going home, Ellen
at the wheel, Mom in the
passenger seat, me with
a lifetime supply of
Quilted Northern, we shall
see if the hearing aide works.

Any bets?
Bet you a new Toyota Rave!


THE COSTCO IN WARMINSTER, PA

It's called a big box store.
Like an airport hangar, it's
not much on design - nothing
pretty about it, or memorable,
hard cement floor, a ceiling
as high as the bleachers at
Citizens Stadium.

If you're me, you wanna get out,
escape as if you're in prison.
Imagine if you're being
punished and given a
three-year sentence to live there.

The carts are huuuuge!
The better to fill up with
bulk items like the Charmin
and a bag of frozen Salmon Burgers.

Ellen told me where to find it,
way down at the end, against
the wall. Cartless, I hugged
it toward me like a stuffed
animal for Grace or Max.

I bounced it into the cart.
Traffic lights would be
helpful. People looked
miserable. "Things" are
important, but beauty
is a necessity!

Finally, we were ready to
go. I pushed Mom in her
Costco wheelchair, hoping
I never need one.

The wind whipped into our
clothing, making us shiver.
Safe, at last, in the home of
our car, we marveled at the
store and our marvelous
helper Chris - also known
as Kris, Kris Kringel.

Poem: The Chase is On - The Last KitKat (photo) - The Odyssey of the Geranium

Talked to a friend of mine late last night. He was squabbling with his wife. It reminded me of a short story I wrote - true - about Eddie Van Noys. I kept his phone no. in my Rolodex, but removed it after he took his own life.

Read the story here. He Died in the River. The publisher, Ray's Road Review, has also died. They loved my work.

Now it's 11:15 pm on Tuesday night. I've got 45 mins to submit a 'play' to Bella Online.

The play I submitted was called Daddypops: A One Act Play.

I hadn't known you can only submit one play, so I'll have to figger out what to do with it.

Quite good.
   Here's Daddypops! Ken Smith, the founder, was featured in a couple of YouTube videos. Enter "Daddypops."

THE CHASE IS ON

I had just completed a
thank-you email - Thanks
for the magnificent
presentation on Fitness
at our meeting last night -
when the mailman
disappeared from sight.

I knew where he was.
Up the high hill.
I was freezing,
unprepared, but I
thought about
Admiral Byrd
freezing his
fingertips in
Antartica.

"You made me climb
to the top," I said
to Dante, giving him
a postcard of Ai Wei Wei
and Chinese surveillance
cameras.

Relaxed, I jogged down
the hill, and noticed
the lovely autumn
leaves waiting to be
sucked up.

What's this? A football
shaped leaf. Looking up
I saw the source:
a beech tree.

***

Just ate three Kitkats.

I photographed this atop my cigar box from Burdick's. I had a dozen mini-bars left over from Halloween, which I carefully husbanded.

Brought in the geranium from outside on November 8, 2017.

We'll see how she does.

Will write a quick poem now. Hold on while I turn on some music.


THE ODYSSEY OF THE GERANIUM

Visiting Mom and Ellen today
I told them I would put my
hardy geranium in the house.
Must succor it before it
freezes like the bog men
in Denmark.

But where? We knew my
living room windowsill
hadn't a space to spare:
Dead Winnie's philodendron
plus my late brother's
ceramic bird house,
a tea service from Marf
and a lovely two-toned rock
(all poets have rocks
in their homes)

Carrying it indoors,
its vines trailing like
long Rapunzel hair,
I was led into my kitchen,
cleared away a space
and there it sits
the lovely red geranium
and sweet-smelling leaves.

All is calm with her neighbors
an electric steamer, pots n pans
hanging from S-hooks, dainty
cups n saucers I bought from
Mr Jim's in Hatboro.

I fear when I go up to bed
and am out of sight,
fisticuffs will ensue,
potting soil will spill
all over the floor
and red blossoms
torn to pieces.

If you see my light on
in the middle of the
night, c'est moi
playing referee. 

Finding the Mailman - Postcard to Cousin Kenny

FINDING THE MAILMAN

It was difficult
fashioning a post card
for my cousin Kenny
Weinstein, once a pilot
at the Willow Grove
Navy Yard.

Bits of paper and cardboard
were strewn across the floor.

The mailman had left
but I got in my car
and the search was on.

In a senior moment,
I thought his name
was Damien, like Damien
the Leper, we all read
in Seventh Grade.

Disaster books were all
the rage. Have you read
"Death be Not Proud" by
journalist John Gunther?
His son died of a brain
tumor at 17. He was
brilliant, making a
keen scientific discovery.

Took me five minutes to find
the mailman. You slow down
and look for a moving object
the way a frog does in the water.

There he was. He has no idea
how happy I am to see him.

I sat in my car, window
wide open, and when he
came down the hill, I
handed it to him,
showing it off.

A photo of an airplane
in the sunset was on
the front cover. Staples
and Scotch tape secured
everything together.

I can still feel the
pressure of the stapler
as I squeezed as
hard as I could.

***

***

  Finally finished my cooking and sweeping and washing kitchen floor audio book LIVE TO TELL.

The ending was terrific, but it was long and drawn out until we got there.

Can't wait to load anudder one when I make dinner.

***

Last night after reading Paris Review about the short stories of Lydia Davis, I had an idea for one.

Lydia often doesn't name her characters. I did the same in my new story BROKEN BONES, which I wrote quickly for Bella Online. Today is the last day to submit. Was thinking of writing anudder play. We'll see.

While I was writing that story I was afraid I'd go low so I stuffed myself with pretzels. O-rings.

***

Upstairs I go now to read for 10 minutes on my stationery bike.