We love our leftovers! - Flu shot

My sister Ellen enjoying mushroom soup the day after.

Mushroom soup for me and a salad. Sarah also put some wild wild rice in the mushroom soup.

For today's exercise I decided to walk around the block. My leg muscles are killing me from the exercise bike. Here I am nearing home, and closer still, below, you can see my yellow house.

I told Bob the pharmacist I'd be there shortly to get my flu shot. Elders like me get 85 percent more of the antibodies b/c as we age, we lose our ability to fight diseases like when we were younger.

After Bob put on his SWAT gear to shoot me up, I actually felt scared. I thought I was in a monster movie. I sat in a chair, on view of the entire store - Bob, a room divider, please - and he shot me intramuscularly in the shoulder.

"Good job, Bob," I said, as a nosy man watched me.

The needle was quite long. Bob kept it under my skin about 10 seconds. My insulin shot takes less than 5 seconds and uses a a needle as small as a push-pin. The flu needle was about six inches long. No wonder kids get scared. Don't show em the needle!

Bob said the flu shot takes up to two weeks to start working. He talked to my kidney doctor before doing it. I get the full-strength injection cuz I'm over 65 - who me? - wait, I look like a kid here...

Can roasted cashews keep you youthful? Or perhaps Sarah's apple pie.....

The last of Sarah's apple pie. It looked so incomplete w/o whipped cream or ice cream that I melted some cheddar cheese on top, as did Sarah this morning.

Scott had never heard of that. And neither did you! I'm a mind-reader. Sarah said apple pie and cheese is part of American folklore. Or something like that. If I don't write it down, I can't remember it. What? I should take notes when my daughter speaks to me?

It just came to me....Americana.

In Cleveland, Ohio, the cradle of Western civilization since the pre-Cambrian age, apple pie and cheese were the thing! All the great leaders, sportsmen, emperors, potters and flint arrow-fashioners ate their apple pie around the fire. I was in the corner inventing the wheel.

Happy Thxgiving and to all a Good Nacht!

I never stuff myself. However, I have an enormous capacity to eat. When I came home, I went on my exercise bike for 25 minutes while watching a depressing Masterpiece Theater about a man in his fifties who gets together with his old flame, now married and with children.

He downs two bottles of wine and his behavior goes from dreadful to drunk dreadful. I wanted to change the channel but I also wanted to see what further disasters befell him. Song of Lunch it's called.

Sarah made the deep dish apple pie yesterday but did not bake it. Then she left for NJ to cook at Nikki and Steve's. It was up to me to bake it today, which I did using the milk and cinnamon-sugar mixture.

Got up early to bake the pie. Best apple pie ever! Served with a warm sweetened apple sauce.

This room used to be Steve's office. He changed it to The Music Room. Here's Ethan playing boogie-woogie, while Quinn the athlete looks on.

Hey, maybe Ethan would like to use this for his next album cover. They do have a CD coming out soon.

Sarah worked nonstop. Most of the women wore black. Watch and you'll see.

They never stop loving each other. And give each other a lot of freedom. Sarah is unusually flexible. She and I may travel to France to work on our kidney memoir.

Hostess Nikki is on the left. You wouldn't believe all the dishes she made. Everything was delicious. She and Sarah cooked a vegetarian meal for Jade. When I sat next to Jade, 24, after dinner I asked her what she eats for protein: eggs, cheese, beans and rice, tofu. Her fiance Matt is not a veggie.

My sister Donna picked me up and drove us to her daughter Nikki's. I'd packed the food in boxes I assiduously collect at the Giant ("Ed, dyou have any cartons for me today?"). Donna's a great cook. Hey, Don, did you make those stuffed mushrooms? I stuffed myself with them.

When we stopped for gas in Jersey - considerably cheaper than in PA ($3.03) - the guy in the turban said to Donna, "Ooh, Sexy!"

Here comes Mommy Dearest! Her handlers are my son Dan and Ethan.

Ethan and I went on a long walk. We walked along the RR tracks, which reminded him of when he was brot up in Wisconsin and would follow a path of telephone poles.

There's something really romantic and evocative about walking along the tracks. A metaphor for life?

There were lots of things to point to: we saw a huge hawk-like bird and I thot I may have seen a fox cross the tracks. The area is a haven for suburban animals. Donna said she saw a beaver by the side of the road, standing on his hind legs. "It's a woodchuck," I said. "This isn't Maine."

I always enjoy being alone with Ethan and talking. You never know how the conversation will go. I asked him about his childhood and when he started playing the piano. Everyone in his family has interesting names: his dad Sherman Iverson was a visual artist, a painter; his mom, Cara, a housewife; and his brother is Spencer, who lives in a group home.

His dad died at age 50 of cirrhosis. Ethan was living in NY at the time, but his dad called him the nite before he died. He must have known. His mom is also dead. I'd spoken to her once or twice on the phone. She had that midwestern twang I love.

As we walked along, Ethan said we missed our turnoff to Nikki's house. He had a GPS on his phone, so he located Colonial Drive. At this point, I felt a sense of dread, but said nothing. My blood sugar level was probably extremely low. In fact, we'd been walking more than an hour, and when we did get back, I quickly went into the kitchen and said, Give me some starch. I gobbled down a stuffed baked potato with cheese and took my sugar. 70 and under is low. Mine was 54.

Not to worry. I made sure I ate as soon as possible. Hey, why go into a diabetic coma on Thanksgiving?

On our way back to Nik's, we saw this neat Norman Bates-type apartment for sale.

One of the things Ethan and I discussed was the inexplicably of certain people who continue to live w/their parents through their adult years. We probly all know someone like this.

Jade and Miles are my sister Lynn's kids. Jade will graduate this December from Penn State - and yes, we discussed the Sandusky incident and how terribly the students reacted, with no thought for the victims - and Miles who's studying psychology at BU. He and his girlfriend are going to Madrid to study.

Jade's fiance, who I didn't photograph - he's a handsome guy who wore a bow-tie and also waxed his mustache! - is also graduating from PSU next month and studying psychology. I was surprised he was interested in psych, since he doesn't come from a dysfunctional family, like many of us do.

But we have the power to create healthy families of our own.

Seven-year-old Patrick, overseen by grandma Donna, played one of his recent compositions "Happy-Sad." It was outstanding!

Host Steve, next to my sister Lynn, loves the holiday, loves the family. This is my core group, he said. Your home group, I said. He wants everyone to come back next year. Tradition has it, that we go around the room and say what we're thankful for. I stood up and said I'm thankful for Odysseus, and pointed to my lower right abdomen, where Sarah's kidney happily resides.

I asked for leftovers and got enough for four meals. Scott and I will celebrate Thxgiving tomro, since he had to work tonight.

I'd like to invite someone over to partake of this bountiful feast. If you'd like to come, gimme a call. Seriously! Oh, I forgot, no one reads my blog!

Awaiting Turkey Day - Compass proofs arrive - Sarah bakes and leaves by train for Nikki's

Here's Sarah and her chocolate-drizzled cheesecake in spring-form pan. She was up till 1 a.m. baking, while I did a lot of clean-up and worked on chapter three of my kidney memoir, the part about my 'incarceration' at then-Bldg. 16 of Montgomery County Emergency Service. Amazing that the more I wrote, the more the memories came back.

Sarah suggested I type standing up, a tip given to her by her massage therapist. Good to get the blood flowing again in your legs.

Sarah takes a break from baking. Like me, she likes operating in her PJs.

We decided to go for a walk up n down hilly Cowbell Road.

"These people moved out in the middle of the night," I told her, as we passed by a lovely, totally refurbished split-level house like me and Scott's - 6 steps up and 6 steps down. A neighbor told me they're in debt for hundreds of thousands of dollars. A sign on the front door says: Sheriff Sale.

No one knew!

Proof of the Compass. When the Compass comes out - which will be next week - it's one of the proudest moments of my life. The cover art - and back cover art - is a highlight. I want it to be really beautiful.

Drove over to Boggs Printing in Hatboro today to give the corrected proofs to Rene. I told her I loved the format. She said since I'm a new client, she was worried I might not like the photos and artwork she inserted.

"I love it!" I said. "You did a great job."

I went over the dozen or so corrections with her, just as she had found some corrections for me.

Boggs was open until 5 pm today, and I left there at 5:03. Then I drove over to Mark Amos at Bux-Mont Printers. He had made five 'sample copies' for me so I could show them off on Thanksgiving. Ada and Sarah both helped me proof them.

Last year we made 1,000 copies, but I had too many left over. This year, we'll make 775.

Dinner time! Sarah told me about roasting vegetables. I bought a whole package of brussel sprouts (note correct spelling), put them in a bowl and poured olive oil and sesame oil onto them, plus dried basil and freshly ground pepper. Absolutely delicious. Did you ever hear of anyone filling up on brussel sprouts b/c they're so good? Scott loved them.

Well, if you'll excuse me now I'm gonna get back to the Steve Jobs book. We're still only 19 and are gonna travel to India to meet the maharishi. I can't wait!!!

And a great time was had by all at Chris's Jazz Cafe

My poor camera forgot how to take pictures in the dimly lit club.

Dan picked me up at 5:30 for the 7 pm show and we drove up busy York Road and on until it became Broad Street. We watched for Einstein Hospital on the left. Right across the street was a Greyhound Bus Station, which I'd never seen before, during the many times I'd driven to Kidney Clinic at the hospital.

Dan, I said, forget about Chris's Jazz Cafe. We can go anywhere in the country by bus - Chicago, Kansas City, El Paso - hey, we can go see Russell in Texas! What dyou say?

His Homer Simpson air-freshener just bobbed on his rear-view mirror. He was telling me how great it is to be a father. Grace learned two new signs, he said. Nicole teaches her sign language.

Lotsa traffic. "I'm glad you're driving," I said. "Otherwise I'd be nervous as hell."

At one point, he picked up his Apple iPhone, and said into it, "Tell Sarah we'll be there in half an hour." An inanimate secretary, well-paid.

"Mom!" he called out. "There's "Occupy Wall Street. Look at all the tents."

"What do they think they're gonna do? Overturn capitalism?"

Here's a New Yorker story about how the Occupy movement began. Kalle Lasn is co-founder of the idea. His family fled Estonia.

Lasn is sixty-nine years old and lives with his wife on a five-acre farm outside Vancouver. He has thinning white hair and the small eyes of a bulldog. In a lilting voice, he speaks of “a dark age coming for humanity” and of “killing capitalism,” alternating gusts of passion with gentle laughter. He has learned not to let premonitions of apocalypse spoil his good mood.

Nothing could spoil my good mood either. Especially when we finally arrived.

Here's the band doing a sound check. Ethan Iverson on left, Corcoran Holt on bass, and Steve Williams, drummer. Ethan announces the tunes and some history behind them. He also writes a great musical blog Do the Math.

Periodically, Ethan would announce that this is a fundraiser for New Directions Support Group. Our table would hoot and applaud. Not shy are we.

Our New Directions' table was filled. Here's Dan, my niece Nikki who came with her husband Steve and a couple of friends from NJ, Helen and Ada.

Earlier that day, Helen and husband Larry were at a fundraiser at a hotel to support Elizabeth Warren, a woman of intelligence and integrity, who is running a tough race for gov of Mass. against the well-heeled, super-fundraising incumbent.

America turned a corner decades ago, recently confirmed by our Supreme Court, that corporations count as individuals, so there's no limit on campaign contributions.

I don't know how to get rid of this big space, so scroll down. It's all the Republicans' fault.



Here's Terez and husband Dutch. These are their cool jazz names that Dutch suggested we all have. My cool name was Little Ruthie. Terez and Dutch actually own this company.

Here's Carole, head of our Family Member group sitting next to Erik. Sarah is in background talking to guest pianist Orrin Evans, barely visible. Dutch roared w/approval when he came on. He's a big jazz afficionado.

Here's a better pic of Orrin from the Internet:

Sarah also invited two former teachers she had at Abington Friends School. Fern Moffatt lives in Montgomeryville and babysits her 14-month-old grandson twice a week. She was Sarah's English teacher in the Upper School. She said Sarah was the smartest kid she ever taught. We always really loved Fern. I mentioned that I knew Sarah was smarter than me when she was three.

Chris Long was also there. A real sweetheart, Chris was her Lower School English teacher. She lives in Jenkintown. I mentioned to Chris that as Dan and I drove to the club, we saw all these businesses that had been closed down in Jenkintown. Amazing!

It's not do to the economy, she said. It's due to Jenkintown politics that make it difficult for businesses to say open - high taxes, unrealistic leasing arrangements.

We also discussed the former headmaster of AFS who I erroneously referred to as Bruce Henderson, who was my first editor when I began writing for newspapers.

"Whenever I talked to Bruce," I told Fern and Chris, "he never looked me in the eyes. He was always looking for someone more important to talk to."

"He never looked anybody in the eyes," the girls said. He's now at another Quaker institution. He must have great fund-raising ability.

After the show I asked Sarah to introduce me to Corcoran Holt and Steve Williams.

Very warm individuals! We all hugged. Corcoran will be spending Thanksgiving w/his large family in DC.

For sure, I'm buying their CDs. Ethan will send me suggestions.

And now, I've gotta work on my kidney book. Am writing about how I got 302'd. It's amazing how when you begin writing, it traces a pathway thru your brain and you remember more and more things. In my Yes I Can book about my manic-depression, I had to omit certain things that happened to me at Building 16.

In the real rendering, however, I can tell the truth about the shenanigans that happened among the inmates.

Getting ready for the big night at Chris's Jazz Cafe - Pink Hair Salon - Jewelry by Elaine

Hair-do and styling by Amy at Pink Hair Salon in Hatboro, PA.

Ethan just called. Twas a thrill seeing his name on the caller ID. He and the band had a great gig in DC yesterday and are driving in their van toward Philly. I told him to please thank the drummer and bass player for me. We'll all meet around 6 pm for dinner at Chris's. Dan is picking me up.

It was Ethan's idea to have the fundraiser for New Directions. We have nearly 20 people from ND who will be there. I'm excited for them to meet my fantastic family!

The most important thing is that I look good for tonite.

Made a hair appt for 1 pm at Pink Hair Salon in Hatboro, recommended by my sister Ellen.

I arrived 3 hours early, at 10 a.m.

Fortunately, Amy was able to take me. She also served me green tea, but Asian green tea. Made from brown rice. I told her Americans eat white rice w/the healthiest part - the germ - removed.

Without exaggeration, Amy did the absolutely best job on my hair of anyone I've ever gone to. However, she was not my first choice for today. But she was the only one open on Monday.

At one point, I was sitting in the chair and I asked for a drink of water. Hmmm, what made me so thirsty? I'm not on lithium anymore. Anyway, a man had just walked in - he was not Korean like Amy is - and he walked straight back and brought me a glass of water!

What, I said, you walk in from the street and get me a glass of water?

He told me he owns the place! They will do a complete makeover of the place, even tho I liked it the way it is.

It'll be even better, said Tony.

My one mistake, othan being three hours early, was I didn't have any reading material. While the hair dye was on my head, I actually wanted to drive home and get my fantastic book

I'm on page 4 of the Steve Jobs bio. Terrific! Jobs agreed not to interfere at all in the writing of the book by Walter Isaacson. However, he couldn't stand the cover, so he chose these wonderful images.

After my appointment, I drove over to County Line Pharmacy to fax something. Renee said to me, Ruth, I love your hair.

I got it done at Pink Hair Salon, I said. You turn into the same parking lot as the Wawa.

I'm already advertising for Pink.

Not to mention Elaine Klawans, the jewelry-maker/artist on a nearby street. I came late to her home show b/c I was at the library watching the Japanese film "Still Walking." I won't comment on this superb film here since I said my peace during the discussion afterward. In fact, my words - as well as the others' comments - are still reverberating in the room and out into the cosmos beyond.
Aren't these lovely? I actually said that to Elaine and she said, Don't ask me. I think they're all lovely. Wait'll baby Grace sees them! Just kidding, guys.

The necklace is made of vintage blue beads, iridescent acrylic discs, and little tiny blue beads.

Love at first sight!

Am on Chapter Three of my Kidney Memoir. Chapter two is called "So this is a Psychiatrist?" I had a simply awful man, who is subsequently practicing in Plattsburgh, NY, as a geriatric psychiatrist. I detailed all the things I didn't like about him, finished off the piece, and emailed it to Sarah.

This is really, really, good, Mom, she wrote.

I'll brew myself some tea, now, and work on the next chapter, "Valentine's Day, 1984," the day of my manic episode.

Aren't ya glad you don't have manic depression? I sure am!!!

It's been a long time, Judy - Hello Grace - Poem: Helicopter Man

Armed with foolproof directions for the 40-minute trek to the home of Judy Diaz, whom I haven't seen in a couple of years, I pulled up to her condo and photographed it.

Not much of a picture, but it's good enuf to remind me of all the fun times I'd spent at her house. Judy will move to Boulder, CO, to live near her son Michael and dtr/law Tory, whom I have already immortalized in my poem "Lakota."

Traveling down Street Road to find her place was like being on a speeding interstate highway, except that gaudy signs assault you from either side of the road. On my way home I saw a spectacular sight I wish I could've photographed:

Our Lady of Fatima, a Spanish-style church and school, stood like a bulwark of integrity, while behind it, the Philadelphia Race Track flashed huge screens summoning the public with fireworks to come gamble inside and bet on the horses.

Yep, right into the confessional with you, after you've spent the family money for a day at the track. Thank you Father Meehan for absolving me. Judy and I used to work as therapists at The Atrium in Bensalem. Our suite of rooms is now an accounting firm. See above.

Judy's house is filled with antiques. Her mom was an antique dealer and Judy inherited many of "Mother's" things. Since she's showing her house, she can tell that young people sniff their noses as these once-priceless objects. One man insulted her by asking, "Will it be easy to remove the kitchen wallpaper?"

She and I are both Luddites and proud as hell of it!

Judy and her ex-husband Andy traveled extensively. She bought these b'ful objects in New Delhi

Now let's step outside into her backyard. She is a master gardener, though most of the garden has bit the November dust.

Dazzling fiery-red pyrocantha. She gave me a scissors so I could snip the thorn-ed wonders and bring them home to my window sill.



I also took these morning glory pods.

What we won't do for a little bit of beauty!

Hopefully the pods aren't the same as those in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." Don't go to sleep, Dana Wynter, don't go to sleep.

I drove home with a satchelfull of DVDs and VHRs she lent me. I was so exhausted, I lay on my couch and watched - and slept through parts of - a documentary about how the Mormons poured millions of dollars into defeating Proposition 8 in California, nullifying gay marriages. Though Jesus Christ is a god of love, the Mormons hate gays. God speaks directly to the senior prophet of the Mormans. He gave the word to Go all out and get them gays.

We all have temptations, say the Mormons, we're not perfect. Sure, we may be tempted to wander and try having carnal relations w/ the same sex, but it's up to us to know the difference between right and wrong. And, lordie, lordie, I swear on the memory of Joseph Smith, our founder, that being gay is wrong. It says so in the Bible.

A little therapy and medicine will fix it. Interviews are done w/gay men who were giving aversive conditioning w/electrodes and drugs to quell their natural urges. A few men killed themselves after the sessions. Utah has the highest suicide rate in the nation, according to the documentary, with gays killing themselves b/c they can't take the pressure from the families.

On to more pleasant things, but we've all got to be aware of what's going on in our community, Mitt, don't you think?

Grace left her phone here.

Champion walker. She's wearing "Chucks."



Grace, 15 months, changed her m.o. when she came to Bubby's yesterday. Instead of going straight for the stairs, she headed for my kitchen. That is, after she made sure the living room was to her liking: Hmmm, I don't like these books on the coffee table, I think I'll sweep them to the floor. What? You're listening to WXPN? I'll find something better.

She loved my kitchen cupboards, esp. a box of flex-straws I have. She would take one out and hand it to me, and then another and another.

Mom, said Dan, she'll do that until there are no more straws left in the box.

After they left, Scott and I went for a walk on a new trail at Pennypack. The boy scouts had built a bridge on it. We walked a good 20 minutes and then there were no more signs so we never did get to the bridge. We did not wanna get lost in the woods that are Pennypack, so we grumblingly turned around.

I think I'll go to my poetry group, after all, I told Scott. I'd cancelled my appearance saying I had too much to do (kidney memoir). I did complete a new poem, which you'll read below. I still can't look at it tho I'm pleased with it.

After I printed up 9 copies I decided not to go. That's when I called Judy Diaz and invited myself over.

The one and only....Helicopter Man!

THE HELICOPTER MAN

At almost midnight
I step outside
blinded by my living room lights,
tottering a moment on my
front porch steps,
I hear it:
a small buzz a few houses down
the crickets have left
the bumblebees too
the distant sun is
closing us down
here on Cowbell Road

beneath a streetlight
a man I know only as Mike
faces the sky
performing a ritual
for his wife and his sons
sacred as the prayers
of the Algonquins
he prays alone
as I back inside
to leave him to his:

Mike is the Helicopter Man.
his tiny model
with its dreadfully pumping wings
soars above the denuded maples
can the planets view it?
pick up signals from the electrifying whirr and buzz?
or see the sweating blue-eyed man with cragsome brow
whose intensity
wills the plane to soar ever
higher?
What he doesn’t realize is
he is out there
casting a cosmic spell over the
sleeping inhabitants of Cowbell
asking the gods that no harm shall
come to our quiet street,
as a fistful of feathers
falls unseen to his feet.