Winter snowstorm - Poem: Grocery Shopping Before the Storm

The snow began around ten this morning. Who knows when it will stop?

My goal was to get out a letter to my friend Helene Ryesky

locked away in Granny Park, a name I made up while writing her. She really lives in Rydal Park. She says she has no intellectual stimulation in the old age home.

It gave me the opportunity to polish the above poem plus a creative nonfiction story about Wendy Davidson, who, in the story, I renamed Paula Kramer. I like to keep names short, since I have to type em over and over.

No "Vera Ilyichna Rostovas" for me.

Now here this! Writing REAL LETTERS is very important. It uses brain skills unlike any other. We're always aware of the form we're writing in. Blogs? Sure, I try to write well, but the goal is to keep the readers informed and then go and do something important, like napping. 

Cancelled our New Directions meeting tonite. 

I got a nice compliment about our group yesterday. Got a phone call from a therapist named Stefani Bohm who works at the office of Dr Scott Fleisher. She said their practice recommends people come to our support group as they've heard so many great things about us.

I added Stefani to our Top Doc/Top Therapist list.

Dr Robert Desmond of Lansdale also told one of our family members we do good work.

Nothing like an unasked-for compliment! I remember my grad student advisor Fabian Ulitsky told me how valuable these compliments are.

And now, Dear Reader, I'm going to compliment YOU, for your fine taste in reading blogs.

For some unknown reason we had 54 views on the last post.

Oh! Just figgered out why. I posted it on FB!

The Compass is mostly finished. Ada is doing a great job proofing.

One problem remains: NO PHOTOS YET FOR FRONT AND BACK COVERS.

Seriously, Dear Reader, if you have any ideas - or any photos - ship em to Ruth Z Deming immediately!

I had a brief panic this morning.

Realized I'd used up the last tea bag of



I certainly won't be driving out to Nature's Harvest to buy more, tho I just might order them on Amazon. Let's take a peek: Too complicated.

Was speaking to my friend Jonathan Katz this morning of Dr Katz comedy fame.

He and his wife are looking for a summer place in New Hope, PA, where my dad owned The Now and Then Shop, a head shop.

I made a Freudian slip when talking to Jonathan this morning and said, The Now and Then Shop, where I met my late husband Jonathan......

While speaking to Jona, as his family used to call him, he realized he needed to get mail out as well. He hung up and said he'd call me back, which he did.

I was eating my lentil soup. "Paul would be proud of you," he said. Never you mind, o reader, who the love of mine life was!

I've got WXPN on now - what are YOU listening to - and they just did a traffic report. Yes, it's a mess all over Philadelphia.

But not here in my living room

 where I'm watching the steadily falling snow.

 Four inches, I'd say, and 18 degrees.

Before I print my poem, I'm gonna ask you a serious question. Do YOU have any addictions.

I do. I'm addicted to SWEETS and to COFFEE.

Maurizio gave me a box of cookies from an Italian Bakery, probly, I'm guessing in appreciation of my coming out to watch a play he directed at Town and Country Players.

He's doing an article on Movies with a Psychological Theme for the Compass.

He gave it to me after our Movie Discussion Group at the Library.

Was gonna distribute these cookies, which I'm sure include



cannolis, but, of course, the meeting is canceled. Eureka! I'll give em out at our Book Discussion Group on Thursday.

I try to keep my DECAF drinking to a minimum. Why? I don't like stimulants of any kind.

My shopping list included Dr Praeger's frozen meat-free burgers which are delicious!

GROCERY SHOPPING BEFORE THE STORM

I arrived late
the rush was during the day
I swung my cart from aisle to aisle
Don’t those sausages look good?

Have you ever felt self-conscious
pushing a cart as if it were a
doll buggy from your childhood?
Men and women both!

We all looked at one another
eye contact in face of the coming storm
we knew, if we had to, we’d pull
each other from the ditch if our
cars rolled over

And gave each other knowing glances.

Carts were not overladen
just a few minor items
we would moan about
during our confinement in our
snow-shrouded homes each one
wore like an ermine stole
staying in, relaxing, drinking
hot chocolate
and saying “What a beautiful
world this is”

Leaving, I looked at the
black cloudless sky
plotting its assault
sometime during the night.
Smugly, I thought
I’m ready
as long as the heat stays on
the pipes don’t crack
the water runs clear
and the crock pot
delivers its bean soup
smelling of turmeric.

Tonight I shall sleep and listen
listen for the silent snow.
It gives itself away by
the radiant glow
through my bedroom drapes
and the way
my body feels
as a well-loved child
of long ago.

Coffeeshop Writers' Take over Front of Coffeeshop - Dinner with the Demings

Here's Max Atticus Deming, quite the eater. He's eating lunch, on view on FB.

Here's a portrait I did of him. It's about the size of a large envelope wanting you to give to the Nature Conservancy.


Here's Grace Catherine, who thrillingly calls me Bubby.

Here's a portrait I did of her last nite at 2 am.

So, I went over for dinner. What a thrill it was walking in and seeing Max and Grace playing in the living room while Mom was making dinner. She had the gates up so Max wouldn't come in and disturb her.

I sat down and showed Grace Max's picture. She loved it.

"Who dyou think this is?" I asked, showing her the painting I did last nite.

"It's me," she said, "but...."

She WOULD have to say but.

"But I don't have those kind of sandals. Lemme find my sandals on the shoe rack."

The important thing was they all liked the paintings. I was telling the Writers' Group about the paintings, how difficult it is for me to make them.

I had so much delicious food for dinner. Brought my own

Dr Praeger's veggie burgers - I ate one - plus his spinach patties. Scrumptious. Also had the remainder of Grace's no-nitrite hot dogs, mac/cheese, & applesauce.

For dessert, I ate

A new Lemon Shortbread, which I highly recommend, and that striped one above w chocolate and coconut.




Here's dtr/law Nicole in her smashing new haircut she got at LOVE in Warminster.

I went on bike for half an hour b/c of all the carbs I ate. Insulin-diabetes ya know.

WRITERS' GROUP

Record turnout.

Turning once again to Social Media, Martha, My Dear, put this on FB (two people didn't wanna be on FB). Linda Barrett left to go to work and Beatriz was recuperating at home.



I drank a new tea - Tropical Green Tea. Excellent. Conversation with Kiana: Oh, there's so much paperwork involved. Can't find my bonus card! Where is my Coffee Club Card? There were three people behind me.

Gee, I hadn't noticed Linda's nice T-shirt. That's cuz I sat next to her.

I had everyone introduce themselves b/c today was Linda Murphy's first time. She'd emailed us two stories, both well-wrin and very descriptive... perfect "show don't tell."

Linda lives in Wyndmoor, Wyndmoor, Wyndmoor, and kindly drove Mary Brucker home. Mary and her guide dog Garland.

I put my hand under the table and Garland, a black lab (?), licked it.

One story Linda wrote was the sad tale of a slave, whose teenage son had been flogged to death. The slaveowner had to pay $9 for killing "his property." And, no, Linda hadn't seen the Academy-award nominee for best pic this year - "12 Years a Slave."

This very compelling story was joined by one about a cat stalking a bird. You were there every minute with the cat, hoping he gets the poor birdie.

The law of the jungle.



Why do we like cats so much! My son Dan has three of em.

Mary Brucker's laptop wasn't working so she was unable to read her poem. She told us she began writing poetry after 9/11. She's such a natural poet I thot she'd been writing her whole life. She's also involved with an environmental group.

When Carly Brown introduced herself, she said she was retired - ah bliss! - from sales at Lazy Boy Furniture. I did not know dat!

What a great salesperson she'd be with her terrific personality and laffing ways.

Carly read two poems. "I am a Cheerleader" was about her cheering us on, thother called "I Am," about her desire to write and blow your mind!

Carly had emailed us a list of writing ideas from the Writer's Digest, which, Marf, in particular found very helpful.

Allan Heller brought this week's issue of The Public Spirit of Hatboro, PA. The Spirit, btw, is the first paper I ever got published in when I was 34.

Allan - who's written for newspapers, has had a couple of books published, and had his poetry and fiction published online - read a moving rhyming poem in memory of the late Poet Laureate of Hatboro, Ed Galing, who died at 97.

Allan was the last person the ailing Galing spoke to. Two days after his death, Allan received a letter from Galing in the mail. It's all in the poem.

"God is in the details," said Mies van der Rohe, German-American architect, who died in 1969.

 Donna Krause wrote a stunning poem "My Friend Catherine." Donna was a volunteer at St Joseph's Manor, an old age home, and was a special friend of Catherine, who was eventually transferred to the Dimentia Unit. 

Donna Krause on left. Tatiana Heller on right.
Donna went with Catherine to the Dimentia unit. I believe she visited three times a week. Catherine's family was very grateful. Donna chose exquisite details in her poem, such as the wrinkled hands that Catherine couldn't stand and liked to wear gloves to hide them.

How unusual! 

Scarves hide wrinkly necks. 

Martha's poem "Mars and Venus" explored the differences on how the sexes react to pain in the dental chair. Women have a higher tolerance for pain. My BF takes a Valium before he goes, as prescribed by the dentist.

I'm tempted to abuse it, but don't have the nerve. I took psych meds for 20 years and don't want anything to interfere with the finer workings of my mind. Do Girl Scout cookies count?

I told Linda Barrett to sit still and not pose for the photo. We all read the last 3 pages of her Mr Cat's Revenge, excellent of course. She knows how the story will end, but hasn't wrin it yet.

Mon dieu, the cat - who was really an evil man - had changed himself into a cat. Now he's been neutered but hasn't yet realized it since he's doped up. He wore a yellow cone around his neck when coming home from the vet.

Linda is sooo good with details. She doesn't even own a cat, yet figured this out.

Oh, goodie! I'm almost done with the blog! Sadly, I've gotta get on bike again. My sugar was 193.

Back to Linda Murphy. She told us how she wrote her two pieces.

"I sit down in a quiet room in my house." That's in Wyndmoor. Wyndmoor. Wyndmoor.

"I get in touch with my feelings and write down random vocabulary words," she said. One such word was "deliverance."

And then she weaves a story from all these words. Out came "Freedom Community," one possible title she's considering, plus the stalking cat poem.

And as for this woman in her warm gray sweater she loves from her shopping spree before she and daughter Sarah went to London and Paris in November

Hey, your neck doesn't look too wrinkly, Ruthie. Anyway I brought in a 6-page story I wrote in two hours this morning, a true story about my friend Wendy Davidson, who was rumored on FB to be dead.

I solved the mystery by calling her at her home in Burlington, Vermont.

When 11 o'clock came around this morning, I knew I would write about Wendy. Am looking f/w to revising it and coming up with a good product. Marf wrote and said the flashbacks of my past history "worked."

How bout one photo of the great Goddard College in Plainfield, VT? I went for a year, then dropped out and moved to San Francisco where I had more adventures than a tree has leaves.

Worked on Compass - Finally painted Grace

This post should only take me a second and then I can.... do what? Oh, that's right. I'm watching these movie star bio's on YouTube - Biography.com - and one movie star is as scandal-ridden as the next.



Bridget Bardot, b. in 1934, so she's 80 today, as a young woman, all she cared about was being beautiful. And having affairs. She was the plaything of rich men and the object of stalkers who occasionally let themselves into her house and landed in her bed.

Her parents were so uncaring and unloving, all she wanted was attention.



Clara Bow - the "It Girl" - IT meaning Sex. She grew up in Brooklyn, where her mom was a prostitute and her father raped her when she was about 15.

She and her father moved to Hollywood to attain stardom. She loved her father even though he was - what's a synonym for 'scumbag?' - and after she became famous he'd try to pick up women saying he was Clara's father. 

Then there was Jean Harlow. And Charlie Chaplin.

I watched all these docs while I was on the floor in The Quiet Room painting a portrait of Grace.

I'd set up the room about three days ago, waiting for the right moment to start work. I've said before that setting up is the worst part.

Here's a snack I just had. At about 1:35 a.m. Am trying to finish off my cream cheese. I eat the celery, leaves and all, and especially enjoy the mud that gets stuck at the bottom.

I basicallly worked on the Compass from morning until 10 pm. Look! Someone's gotta do it.

At naptime, Scott and I watched Quartet, the directorial debut of Dustin Hoffman. There were some good moments but it kept changing scenes too quickly. You couldn't sink your teeth into the beautiful cinematography and you wanted to spend more time with each of the characters. But once they made their appearance, they were quickly whooshed offscreen.

Now, for my portrait of Grace Catherine, who's 3 yrs old, I needed a photo of her, but did not have one. I wanted to do a full body portrait, since I did her brother's face, comme ca:

In this pic of Max, I did like I was taught by my teacher Chris, who told us to paint the background first.

I would not do that for Grace, b/c I wanted to finish it in a single sitting, there on the floor of the Quiet Room with Clara Bow's bigamist husband being shot to death while she was away from home.

I goggled Little Girl in Dress and this is what I came up with. Dig her fantastic socks!

Are you ready for me to unveil my painting?

It's not quite as bad as I thought.

And, now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna watch Mysteries and Scandels: Ruth Z Deming. I mean, Merle Oberon.

All in a day's play - Hair Cuttery Update - Clearing up the Wendy Davidson 'scandal'

Who is this gorgeous chick? Oh, it's me, Ruth Z. Deming. Couture by the Fox Chase Thrift Shop. Hair by Amanda at Hair Cuttery, Abington, PA.

She liked my red hair, which, as my faithful readers know, is Burgundy No. 48 by Revlon.

I always seem to ask the right Qs.

How's Ralph doing, I asked.

He just retired, said Amanda and Roz, who was working on a young woman's long hair in the station next to ours.

He was 75 and had been working in hair his whole life. He owned a barber shop, I believe with his brother, and then after he sold it came to the Cuttery.

Ralph had a nice following. He used to cut Dan's hair - beautiful golden locks, I kid you not.

When I get home I get an email from Jonathan Katz....


Heeere's Jonathan, my friend from Goddard College, saying there's a rumor going around that our classmate Wendy Davidson is dead.

She and I used to be best buddies at Goddard.



I got out my Green Address Book and dialed her no.

Don't you love looking in people's drawers with impunity? I also keep sox in here.

A man answered and said Wendy doesn't live here anymore. He said he gets occasional calls for her. Wonder what he was doing home during the day. I wonder what I'm doing home during the day.

Finally I called the Abington Library - my library was busy - and they looked on Ancestry.com but didn't find her death.

Of course not! The woman is still alive. After all, she's my age. Turned 68 on May 29, 2013.

A
Ah, here she is now. She was a beautiful kid when we knew each other, one of the few people shorter than I was. She was four-ten, to my four-eleven and a half.

Not only did Jon Katz email me, but so did my friend Iris Arenson-Fuller from Goddard. I told Iris I would get back to her.

Wendy and I spoke a good half hour. I was putting away my dishes and she said what are you making for dinner. I explained what I was doing, but you, Dear Reader, get to see what I did make for dinner.

Now don't get all drooly-mouthed when you see it!

Two scrambled eggs with pepper and my first dish of BROCCOLINI, doused with olive oil and lemon.

Better than broccoli. Let's see what Wiki has to say...

Wiki: Broccolini is a green vegetable similar to broccoli but with smaller florets and longer, thin stalks. Often misidentified as young broccoli, it is a hybrid of broccoli and kai-lan, Chinese broccoli, both cultivar groups of Brassica oleracea. It was developed by the Sakata Seed Company of Yokohama, Japan, in 1993 as "aspabroc". "Broccolini" is a registered trademark of Mann Packing Company, Inc.

OMG! This is too fantastic! A hybrid. Perhaps you can drive a car with it.

Wendy's car was a wreck, so she no longer has a car, but goes everywhere by bus. She takes the senior citizen's transportation.

Can you believe it? she said.

If you think that's bad, Wendy lives in a senior citizen's apartment!

Far from the Winooski River of our Goddard College days.



How are you wearing your hair these days? I asked.

She always had long hair.

Oh! I'm so embarrassed, she said. She hadn't got it colored in quite a while and the top was gray while the rest is brown.

I asked her, quite seriously, if she wanted me to mail her some Revlon hair dye?

Of course she said no, but I did promise to write her a letter, which I will do the morrow.

Tonite I've got compassing to go, miles and miles before I sleep.

My fans may remember I told you that Peach Tea is the best flavor ever!

Is a lady allowed to change her mind?

Let's just say Peppermint is tied for first place.

I wrote Judy Diaz a letter this morning and enclosed two bags of peppermint tea.

I ran after Mailman Ken, walking up the hill, panting all the way, before I saw him and handed him the puffy letter.

Ken Graver, our mailman, drinks Decaf. I just love these little nuggets of information that connect me to everyone I see, including you, Dear Reader.

Coffeeshop Writer's Group - Poems: Diabetes and the Bike - Yellow Day - The Flying Bride or Why I Paint my Nails

We all loved Martha's poem The Snow Visitors. She looked out her upstairs window and saw snow tracks of all the animals who visit by night.

Regulars.

Martha had a great idea. Why doesn't our Coffeeshop Writer's Group put out a magazine of our fine poets. She hadn't been with us when we used to meet at Weinrich's Coffeeshop. We published Icing on the Cake, underwrin by Stephen Weinrich!

Couldn't find a photo of our Icing on the Cake poetry journal. Everyone above was published in it. Here we are during one of our meetings at Weinrich Bakery.

Marf, this was a wonderful place to meet. But they closed down the coffee shop on weekends cuz it didn't make a big enough profit.

Martha, the idea person in today's group, had another great idea. I told her that I'd written poems about possible deceased donors for my kidney transplant.

She suggested I have a display case at our library - the Upper Moreland Library - on transplants. Look, I have a photo have Margie Peters, library director, on file.

Margie Peters, FW.  That stands for Fabulous Woman.

Okay, who's the next victim.

Carly Brown gives full attention while Marf reads. She's got a couple of story ideas in her shiny blond-colored head, but they're germinating.

This is funny b/c the same is true with me. My poem Diabetes and The Bike  came to me while riding my stationery bike but I was nervous, as I always am, about writing a poem I'm happy with. It came out better than I expected.

I told the group that the most important thing I do all week is to write a poem. Martha, I think that astonished you. Carly you probably feel the same way, right?

Short stories are much easier for me to write than a poem.

Linda always spots me when I try to shoot a candid shot of her. She perks right up and always takes a great foto.

Her poem Lobsters is so good I want it for the Compass, which she pronounces COMpass. 

OMG! You have no idea how hungry I am. At the Giant, I ate the most delicious


tapioca. We used to eat it as kids.

Unfortunately, by eating two containers my sugar shot up to 165, so I'm sitting blogging, waiting for it to come down, and then I'll eat my lima bean soup which is in the slow-cooker.

I burned the first batch and sat the burned pot out on a pile of wet leaves on the deck. The house stunk!

Donna read a poem called Andrew's Plight about a homeless man who takes shelter on a train. Donna said she thinks a lot about homeless people. Linda said she does too.

I asked when they last saw homeless people. The Upper Moreland Library has a few, as does the very same Giant where we meet.

After the meeting, I went to Van's Jeweler in Hatboro. Last week I brought in a b'ful bracelet of Venetian beads my niece gave me for my birfday. For only $10, Mr Van, who is from LAOS, transferred the beads to an elastic band so I can easily put it on and off.

What a terrible photo!

That's better, Ruthie!

But I do want you to look at the one-cup coffeemaker that my sister Ellen gave me when I went over after the group.

It's made by BODEN, and says Made in Denmark on the glass carafe. I am ecstatic! My first Danish-owned object.

My mom kindly gave me some coffee filters for when I brew my coffee. My sister Donna has provided me with enough coffee so that I won't fall asleep for seven years.

So I went upstairs with mom and we spent two hours going over her papers.



Here's mom now. We had a frank talk about when she's no longer here, what we should do. I was shocked she has no burial insurance b/c she always told me to get mine own, which I'll never do.

She showed me various files which I'll need to know about and also let me have several old-time photos she's now able to part with

Gramma Zali. My name is Ruth Zali Greenwold Deming. Zali is mom's grandmother. Jews name their children after deceased relatives.

Dad was a Marine during WWII. Here's his carte d'identite and mom's also. Oh-oh, hers expired in Sept, 1945. Wonder if we can renew it.

For my millions of fans out there, I was born in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. I'm really in a chatty mood now but must stop myself... I was gonna say that in elementary school I would do state reports on North Carolina, the Tarheal State. Luther Hodges was the govnah!



Told the group I'm working on a short story where the female lead is gonna kill someone, but the author of said story has no idea who she'll knock off.

They reminded me that last week I said I'd never killed anyone, but did intend to. My female characters have suffered rape and one poor woman was thrown overboard on a cruise ship and left to fend for herself. I left the ending open like in The Lady and The Tiger.

DIABETES AND THE BIKE

Diabetes, if not controlled,

is a spreading cancer to

every vital part of the human

organism or even a cat or

floppy-tailed dog

whose owners hide the insulin pill

inside what they call a “treat”

The name “diabetes” sounds sweet

like a playful nymph frolicking

in the woods with Zeus, who will

trick and capture and ravage her

all the same, just as diabetes

will get us

perhaps it will ruin our eyesight

so we can no longer read a book

or comb our hair in the mirror

perhaps it will bring heinous pain

to the bottom of our feet

said a friend who has painfully

trundled off to the afterlife

Hedge your bets, says I,

as I climbs aboard my stationery bike

set in front of the television whose

rabbit ears quiver as it pulls in

news from Japan

I speed up my pedaling

as we hear an “inside report”

on the young babyfaced leader

of Korea North who dwells

in the land of Pyongang with

his banditos who terrorize

the land where mountains

hold their breath and plan

to topple them one day

Tired of the eternal nonsense

I blow my nose in what used to

be a light-green T-shirt

and switch channels

but the charismatic leader

has his hooks in me

and I watch and with the

mountains, plot his demise.

Won’t be easy, but I think

we can do it. Are people

killed off in fairy tales?

Solomon Grundy met his

demise of unknown causes

on a Sunday. Nuns pray

for peace, I pray: Almighty,

send down a multi-colored

balloon and lure the gentleman

aboard, we will take him to

a kindergarten class, give him

drums and a tambourine

to amuse himself with

and teach him to be a man.  

Quick comment on Yellow Day: Oh, will you shut up, Ruthie! What are you, manic?

Anyway, I started a similar poem last week b/c the same yellow tinge filled the air. I wrote a very bad poem about it and it's one of very few poems - or maybe the only one - I've actually trashed.

YELLOW DAY

On the eleventh of January

I awake to Yellow.

I blink my bleary eyes

and gaze from my

upstairs window at what

seems to be my street

but you can never be sure

dementia and parallel universes

and doppelgangers makes

reality an ever uncharted sea

Yellow becomes the color

of the sky today

the air the grass and

the toppled-over

nativity scene across

the street

if ever there were an

apocalypse

this is the perfect day

I practice tumbling

over and over like a

dizzy acrobat

rehearsing for the

next brilliant move

of Einstein’s world.

L
La Mariee by Marc Chagall.

I've always admired Donna Krause's beautifully polished nails. She does them herself! Perhaps that's what influenced me to get "my nails done."

As I wrote the poem, I think I discovered the underlying reason why I do so!

THE FLYING BRIDE: OR WHY I WEAR NAIL POLISH

Dad told me he liked plain

girls like my unadorned mother

who to this day, nails tinier than

mine, wears no earrings and applies

lipstick only

on Thanksgiving while the

turkey spews its juices

in the oven

Hands are for our own

private viewing

others may look if they

choose

I let a nail artist

have her way with me

an artwork I can see

the moment I wake up

before I greet the sky

Each time I go

Another color I try

like painting the kitchen

new colors every day

Green for the kitchen

not for the nails

Shades of red my favorite

not too red, you know,

no bullfights or toreadores

for me

A nice airbrush of pink

the color of Chagall’s

Mariee - the flying bride’s dress.

Smooth too when you rub

the nails against your lips

I wonder if I shall do that

on the very last day.

 Delicious lima bean vegetable soup. Needs some seasoning, tho. Hmm. I don't use salt. Help! What should I do?