Walk in the Pennypack - The Plastic Swan

Yesterday, I took a 20-minute walk in the Giant parking lot while my Writing Group was reading "Double or Nothing."

I could not believe my eyes.

A man was sitting in his jeep and I went over to him.

"Dyou know you have a plastic swan on the top of your car?"

I thot he may have forgotten to put it in his car.

He and his wife were down at the shore cleaning out a deceased friend's trailer, I think it was. They debated over and over whether to take the swan home and then decided Yes.

Since it had five holes drilled on the bottom, Mark Farber, a psychotherapist who works with brain-injured people, affixed it to the top of his jeep and thar she rides, a true conversation piece.

***

Four of us walked in the Pennypack. What a perfect day.

Here we are at Tony's Tree.

"Here are your turkeys, Patti," I said. I'd told her Ppack has turkeys and sure enuf there they were!

 We took a leisurely 45-minute walk through the park and then ate our lunches in the Picnic Grove. Ellen had tuna on Ezekiel Bread.

We talked about movies. The new film at the Jenkintown Highway is "Attack," highly recommended by my friend Judy Diaz, who has seen basically every movie ever made.

Ellen just finished watching Orange is the New Black on Netflix. I'll put it on my to-watch list. 

Ellen informed us that in January she's going to Peru, home of Machu Pichu. She'll be part of a group who will be working with children in orphanages.




Look at their beautiful digs! Me, sitting here in a dull black n white shirt and gray shorts, but jazzy pink socks from



The Sox Lady in Furlong, PA. The sox I've bought from them have lasted at least 10 years.

Here's my picnic lunch.

 Scott and I went to the Giant. I ate egg salad and their delicious skins-on potato salad. Plus a garden salad with plenty of radishes and chick peas.

I injected the maximum for me - 10 units of insulin - any higher and my legs get cramps. For dessert, I brought us the almonds that Bernie roasted for me which I'm noshing on right now.

I'd bought sliced watermelon for all of us but left it at the Supermarket.

Scott and I went back for it

We also drove to the Upper Moreland Park right next to Giant and went for another nature walk. I particularly wanted to walk off my potato salad, which really raises my blood sugar.

Here's what we saw on our walk...

 Groupings of mushrooms

Don't they look like bouquets beneath the tree? Maybe some deer are getting married.

Six-foot tall Goldenrod, once blamed for causing hay fever in the Fall. It's actually the Ragweed that does it. Ah-choo! As a kid, I got allergy shots for hay fever.

At the end of the park was the Upper Moreland Twp Utility Yard. A line of leaf-vacuuming trucks stood awaiting duty.

A SEPTA train waited on the 'spur' for anudder train to pass.

Scott told me that when he went to work last Thursday - he works at SEPTA - his train was late. That's b/c there was a 'jumper' - man had jumped in front of a train. He was not dead, however, had a huge gash in his head and many broken bones.

Wonder what his story was. I do love writing short stories but it doesn't appeal to me to write one about him. Leo Tolstoi took c/o that in Anna Karenina.

Two o'clock now. Time to lie down on my red couch and watch.... you guessed it!

Coffeeshop Writers Group Goes Overtime - say hello to Diana - My poems: Linda of the Night / Rain

Welcome to our group, Diana, a fashion editor. She was wearing a slinky sequined top and tho she didn't bring anything to critique, gave us helpful comments.

Diana said she'd like to write poetry. Our poets read their work. We said, "It's a lot of hard work."

Carly, on the left, was up in the wee hours of the morning working on her personal essay, "My Exhilirating Week." She and her entire family - Charlie and their two sons, plus the "infamous" grandson Cooper, went to " a quiet little town in the Poconos," - Jim Thorpe - where they relaxed w/o the usual amenities of their busy lives.

Deep into one of the many caverns they went - was it Crystal Cave? - and saw those hanging

  Her family also reminisced about spending time in the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico and many other memorable family trips. The family remains remarkably close-knit.

Someone commented about her conversational style of writing. Before leaving on her trip, Carly exercised on the elliptical machine for 45 minutes, and then ate with impunity, esp. at the French restaurant where she and Charley ate before seeing The Book of Mormon at the Forrest Theater downtown.

And you felt no guilt! remarked Floyd.

Floyd's essay was called "Read this First." It was about building a roll-top desk and of course following the instructions.

Which he did. And got a beautiful product as a result.

Linda, who I congratulated for eating a healthy snack of peanuts (she was gonna grab a parfait at the counter) brought us another draft of her sci-fi piece "Mother of Society." It takes place 100 years in the future. After the nuclear holocaust.

The "Eternals" are men n women who are kept alive by the insertion of new body organs forcibly donated by the "Ephemerals."

A great concept from one of our most creative writers.

Was so happy to see both Donna Krause and Martha Hunter, since they were absent last week.

Donna said she wrote a poem earlier today but ripped it up.

The poem she presented "Runaway Summer" talked about the flowers "taking a final bow" and "children's chins dropping" b/c they've gotta return to school.

For Martha, the time has come for her grown daughter and granddaughter to move out of the house. Such silence will greet her and husband David next weekend, I believe.

A major adjustment. Don't tell her, but expect a poem about the silence.

Martha's poem "Born Too Soon" was in response to the death of Robin Williams. The person in the poem was in such despair that he finally did the deed. Her many great lines concluded with the the individual entering the golden corridors of heaven and finding peace everlasting. 

I just love Donna's shiny red nails. I told her that when I next get my nails done, I'll get silver nail polish. My Scottie is so cheap that he actually offered to paint my nails in order to save money.

Beatriz was feeling strong enough to attend group. A good comment she made about Floyd's piece was that he took an 'experimental approach' to the writing of his rolltop desk.

Beatriz's 'pollinator of the week' was "The Unbeetle Beetle." The tiny creature has some very clever ways of pollinating flowers with her young little beetles, esp. Ringo.

 When people commented on how prolific I am, I said something that made them unhappy. At 68, I said, I'm competing against the Grim Reaper.

Stayed up last nite until 3:20 am working on my newest short story "Double or Nothing." Someone in my support group was very upset about a neighborhood tragedy that affected a nice family. The father killed his wife and then turned the gun on himself. Two teenaged children were inside the house.

So I elaborated on the story. Beth Crowley, from the famous Crowley Farm Market in Bucks County, lives right next door to Kate and Mike Matthews who did the deed.

Naturally our Beth from the fictitious Crowley Farm Market




is quite disturbed by this and sets about finding a resolution to her persistent nightmares and daily relivings of the shooting.

I polished the story this morning, which was great fun. Unfortunately I've gotta write a new ending. The one I've got is about Beth visiting a woman she has always admired from afar

In my story, Martha Stewart chastises her maid Gloria at table for doing something wrong - can't remember what it is - and tells her, There are thousands of other people who'd like to work for me, so consider this a warning.

LINDA THROUGH THE NIGHT

Midnight, she’s got the light on,

stands at the door, the daughter

across the street, white dog

peering through the screen

a car or two streaks by

blond hair, big teeth,

smiles a lot, worked with

the aging but was “bumped”

from her job, home now,

nothing to do

takes out her dog

lets him poop on the grass

they don’t walk him

she’s too fat and her mom’s

too old

a silent tragedy across the

street. Pray for the dog, the

little white dog named “Kalie.”

The name means “beloved”

Living out her death sentence

in the house across the street.

RAIN

Best of all is

leaving your

noisy writing room

the fan cools your

humid body

the radio

features Janis Joplin

so when I turn off

the light

the music

and the fan

I hear it

unmistakable

What else can it be?

lollipops on the roof top?

Barthomew and the Oobleck?

At last! The long-awaited rain.

A smiling young man on

the News Hour says the

Arctic is warming much faster

than we ever expected and lists

the coming damages, much as

another guest talks

about the president’s ignorance

on how to best kill our enemies.

It is the rain I want.

The Almighty’s watering can

so much more efficient than my own

Of course you will find me outside

on my front porch. Getting a little

wet, yes, after all, this girl

needs watering too.

Hello Helene - good publishing news - Poem: Crepe Myrtle, My Son

Here's Helene when she lived in her house in Maple Glen, PA. When I invited myself over, she hemmed n hawed as usual - I said Yes for her - and then she told me she'd made up her mind to always say Yes when someone invited themselves over.

I was fearsome tired around noon this afternoon - forgive me for using language from the Huck Finn audio tape I listen to in my raft, I mean car - and after I set off for Rydal Park

I remembered a dream I had while napping. I was listening to a short story in the New Yorker read by the author, an English woman named Tessa Hadley. She's an acclaimed author none of us, my 12 delicious readers, have ever heard of.

Soon I was snoring away on my red couch. When I awoke with a start, I had no idea what time it was. Nor did I remember the dream until driving to see Helene.

In the dream I'm driving my car in the neighboring town of Hatboro, PA

This is Janis Joplin's 1965 Porsche.

But, me, I'm driving on the sidewalk! I made a right turn on York Road and ended up on the sidewalk. I couldn't believe it.

Then I started backing up to get OFF the sidewalk, but I could barely see a thing.

Darn! I said. I've either gotta stop driving or take lessons.

Of course I just had cataract surgery so my eyes were on my mind.

Today, in my car, I had two important letters to mail. I cruised around my neighborhood but couldn't find Mailman Ken.

Yesterday I made two trips to find the mailman. The first one was easy. Here's what I said to Ken the second time.... "Finding you was a challenge of a lifetime!"

He shook his head as if I was the biggest bother in the world. 

This man will not get a penny from me when he retires. I took up a collection for Mailman Bob when he retired.



After Helene kicked me out - it takes her an hour and a half to get ready for dinner - I walked over to Whole Foods, carrying my own bag, a green one from the Grange Fair, courtesy of Calkins newspapers, where I used to work.

I wanted to eat something different and I got the notion to buy vegetarian hot dogs, which I will eat for dinner, along with some Moroccan lentil soup.

Just had a taste of the soup. I don't like their food and was pleasantly surprised that it was fairly good.

Whenever I go to Rydal Park, I buy a cup of their Egbert's Decaf. Well, sir, the guy was washing the floor and had his yellow caution signs up. They ain't getting sued when some ole lady slides across the floor and breaks her hip cuz she's gotta have her caffeine fix.

I tested the floor. It wasn't too bad. But they saw me and wouldn't let me cross.

Well, I said, why don't YOU get the coffee for me. I was speaking to one of the black aides. She checked with the floor washer who said it was okay.

The coffee was a dollar. "I'm leaving you $2," says I. "The extra dollar is a tip."

"We're not allowed to take tips," she says.

"I'm leaving it there anyway," says I.

I LOVE making trouble at Rydal Park!

So I got my delicious decaf

and went upstairs to find Helene. On the wrong floor. They had a wall phone, so's I called up and said I was lost. An aide was accompanying a white-haired pigtailed resident and told me I wanted the sixth floor and I was on the fifth.

Delicious veggie hot dogs from the Whole Foods in Jenkintown. At last I've discovered another meal I can make. I'll serve it with a garden tomato.

Throughout the day I've been receiving E's from BellaDonna Mused, an online publication. Cynthia Parker and her staff have been reading manuscripts, rejecting and accepting various ones of mine.

FINALLY, I got two very important pieces published.

My Favorite Felon is a true story about when the kids and I lived in Village Green Apartments and had a nice jailbird and his family living across the hall until they were evicted for nonpayment of rent.

I wrote it last year and it's been rejected by 8 lit journals. Bella Online, for the most part, likes my work.

I try not to submit to them, but try other journals first.

The Bedroom is a fictional story of a little girl - I think Sue Ann is 12 - who comes to grips with Gramps' death. I think it's a wonderful story, but the 8 lit journals I applied to did not agree.

I can't remember how I got the idea.

They also rejected one of my poems but accepted Lines about lines on your face when you get older.

Am working on a short story now, based on a true story by a member of my support group. This woman lives right next door to a married couple and their two children. The man shot and killed his wife and then turned the gun on himself.

My story is very good so far, but I can't think of an ending!

Perhaps I'll be inspired when I watch the next installment of



Don't wanna deprive you of a poem, so I'll re-publish the one about my crepe myrtle, whose magenta-colored blossoms are blooming in my front yard.

CREPE MYRTLE, MY SON

They say I never recovered from

Johnny’s death in Vietnam

oh, I do go about life,

sip my coffee, read the morning paper,

nap in the afternoon,

but his bedroom remains the same:

his smiling photos

the prom he and MeSook attended in

a huge limousine

the letters he wrote with the Schaeffer

pen I gave him one Christmas.

He died on August Third and instead of

crying and tearing out my hair

instead of falling on the cold kitchen floor

and beating it with all the strength I had00

left in my forty-year-old body

I bought You: a Red Rocket Crepe Myrtle.

The man came out and planted it,

I stood by, arms crossed, speaking barely

a word.

It’s all I have of you, Johnny, even as I watch

the cars drive by and the walkers with their dogs,

still hoping one of them will be you,

you, Johnny, all grown up now, with

children of your own.