Film: The Light and the Darkness - Poem: Driving Down Terwood with Dr Wayne Dyer

Was so engrossed in phone calls this morning, I almost missed the above film. Was talking to Sally at Dr G's office - we were discussing the the four young murdered men - and I realized it was 11:10 am and the film started at 11 am.

I took off very carefully. The rain would stop and start. I don't think I missed too much of the film but the below poem is about my getting there.

Read about the film here.



The colors were so striking in the film. Many scenes were simply gorgeous. Rembrandt colors.

DRIVING DOWN TERWOOD
WITH DR WAYNE DYER

When you watch him
from your sweaty sheets
you never want the show
to end.

He's dead of course, but
like Jesus his message
remains.

You can be your own
hero, your own superpower,
your own do-what-you-
wanna do. You can
make it happen!

The road was slick.
If your wheels would
falter you'd end up
in a wildebeest of
thickets and disappear

Tumble down, tumble down
like in the best of the
film noirs.

But Doctor Dyer sat
beside me. I would
conquer this roller-
coaster ride!

Rolling down my
window, I remembered
Doctor Dyer left this
world with a
heart attack.

I clutched my
chest one-handed
and went into
the flow of
Terwood Road.

"Whatever will be,
will be," sang Doris Day
through my throat.

What's for dinner, Mom? The gang's all there,
contemplating Costco.

***

I'm procrastinating writing a short story for tomro's writing group. Instead I let YouTube play with me. First they sent me the life story of Lee Remick, dead at 51 of breast cancer. Next I listened to Little Miss Dynamite, aka Brenda Lee, born in 1944, who is still touring.



Also, earlier, I watched the musical GREASE for the first time.

BTW, this is why people have jobs so they don't just sit around all day and entertain themselves.

  Boy, can he ever dance!

Oh! Just got back from Scott's after watching the first of an evening of Hitchcock films.

This black and white was called Shadow of a Doubt.

Terrific!! With Teresa Wright and Joseph Cotton.

Let's look at the whole cast here.

     Quite terrifying!

I am sitting here drinking HOT COFFEE which is very enjoyable at 10:40 in the p m.  Will watch one more film and then, with a little bit of luck, start by short story.

Cosi fan tutte - Two deaths: Jim Berry and Angie Ruth Walker - Poem: In Memorium Jim Berry

Very hot today. 96 I think. I'm inside all day. At the bottom of this post is a poem about the claustrophy I felt about the day. Pronounced CLAUSE-trof-ee.

On TV is the Mozart opera buffa in two acts.

In fact, it's still buffing right now.

Finally my favorite part comes on. A trio with two women and a man.

Round about then I started thinking about my former accountant/friend Jim Berry. Wonder how he's doing, thinks I. What that really means is, Has he died? He went from one cancer to another. I think his larynx was removed.

Sure enough, my old friend passed away. Read his obit here. I left a comment.

Died on Saturday, Jan 16 2016 at Doylestown Hospital. 

James J. Berry of Warrington, Pa., passed away Saturday, January 16, 2016 at Doylestown Hospital. He was 68 years old. Born in Phila., he was the son of the late John and Catherine (Kehan) Berry. He was the beloved husband of Donna P. (nee Pulli) Berry and the loving father of Brad and Brandon Berry. He was the brother of Joanne O’Brien, Joseph Berry, Joyce Lavin, Judith Cousart, Jill Coogan and the late Janice Romberger and John Be

His office was in his brightly painted basement. While he was ill, his wife got sick. Here's what I wrote about her on my blog.  Skip the part about Obama and scroll down.

*

A week earlier I was wondering about "Angie." Her real name was Dr Ruth Walker. She hired me to be the therapist of her great-niece, the most difficult client I've ever had.

Angie is one of the most brilliant people I've ever met. She was deeply religious. A Catholic. Read her obit here.  An older brother was a retired priest who lived in Manhattan. His caregiver was ripping him off.

Somehow Angie would get someone at the Quadrangle to drive her to Manhattan to visit her brother. These were all long-lived people.

Associate Dean at Lehman College, CUNY, died on February 26th, 2017, at age 96. Ruth was born in N.Y. City in 1920 and grew up in Manhasset NY. She earned a B.S. in 1942 from Vassar College and a PhD in organic chemistry from Yale in 1945, one of the first women ever to do so. She contributed to advancements in both the pharmaceutical and textile industries, including the isolation of penicillin, the development of non-fading blue dye for clothing, and even "No More Tears" shampoo. In 1957, she moved to the world of academia, joining the faculty at CUNY's Hunter College where she taught organic chemistry, and later and b

"Mother Would Have Liked You" is only one of a number of poems I wrote about her niece Julie or Brooke - she was always changing her name - and I called her Evelyn in my poems.

Truthfully, this is not the kind of blog post I like to write.

This is for "memories only." People who once played an important role in my life.

The exhaust is cracked in my car, so I drove down to REMS Auto on Davisville Road so I could walk home.  Rems is their last name.  It was about 90 when I got out of the car, dropped my car keys in the slot, and began walking home.

Loads of traffic. How will I ever cross the street, I wondered. Suddenly, there were no sounds. I quickly stepped into the street and ran all the way across.

All that was left was the high hill behind Keystone Screw. I walked as fast as I could. Why tarry out in the heat and suffer heat stroke?

Now all's I needed was to find the path home.

Scott had trimmed it with his new chain saw. But....Look at all the poison ivy! And me in my shorts. I balanced carefully as I ascended the path, squeezing beside the three-leaved ivy.




Poison ivy, Lord, will make you itch!
Gonna need a potion
of Calamine Lotion.

STUCK

Car's in the shop
me, home alone,
just watched a film
Breaking the Waves

A love story
she, a praying woman
with faraway eyes,
he, a broken man,
CRIPPLE, she calls him
and disappears at sea
An ancient seafaring town
in church, only men
can speak, chastise her
and call her damned
when she returns home
with knife wounds
piercing her flesh
He will always love his
Bess when they toss her
Mary Magdalena body
in the sea
And, head swaddled in
turban, her husband
walks free.

My friend Rem suggested I watch the movie. Exceedingly painful to watch.

IN MEMORIUM JIM BERRY

In the middle of Cosi Fan Tutte
last night with Maestro Levine
at the baton, I arose from my
bed, half asleep.

There you were, beaming all
over the obituary page. Dead
and buried and prayed for
a man of 68.

When I knew you, my friend and
accountant, cancer had hopscotched
across your innards. What a handsome
man you were!
With a smile wide as the grave.

I'm toying with the idea of inviting you over
for lunch. I'll run to the market and buy some good ham. Once you made me a ham sandwich as we took a
break between documents.

The sun paused a moment at
the patio door.

Cool is the grave
on a hot day like today.
Sleep well, Jim Berry,
a master of philosophy,
afraid of nothing, nada,
not even death.

NOTE ON MAESTRO LEVINE. Peter Gelb, the general manager of the Metropolitan Opera, interviewed him, saying everyone was glad he'd returned.

Returned from where?

This morning I goggled him.

He's had Parkinson's for many years. Read about him here.



Born in 1943.

PART TWO: The faux Beatles Concert and more - Mailman just came at 5:17 pm

RAIN is still doing it. Click here.

Question for my readers: It's 4:14. The Mailman hasn't come. What should I do? Drive to the post office?

I wanted to tell all my neighbors about this concert. Many were sitting chatting on the side of the road.

B/c the band was playing so loud, I wandered about taking pix. Perhaps part of the band arrived on this truck.

 Drinking fountain. Yes, I did stick my head in there and drink! The water is always lukewarm.

 Borrow a book, then bring it back.

The books were fantastic! Funny bc I was thinking of writing a short story about a girl named Trixie. One of the Call the Midwives was named Trixie.

I never read the Trixie Belden books since I concentrated on Nancy Drew. You know what? And I'm serious. I WILL go back and read a Trixie book but only when I finish my John Sandford thriller.

In the car I'm on the last disk of

  Philip Glass's memoir.

It's quite good BUT it peaked two discs ago with the Liver Cancer Death of his girlfriend - she was diagnosed by the physician of the Dalai Lama - Glass and his crowd know everyone - and now we're just cruising to a close, like sipping on the last drops of red wine.

Love seeing Muslim women. They carry modern pocketbooks.

 Hard to make out, but just beyond the white lawn chair is a very long shadow of me. Oh, Mary Martin, you were the greatest Peter Pan.

 I believe this woman's name was Mina, but I'm probly wrong. Quick story: When I was married and living in Texas, I attended the University of Texas Library School in Austin. Next to me sat a lovely young woman. For sure her first name was Mina.

Married with two children, she would wake up early and study! She was from Iran.

Ever heard of a MAGNUM chocolate bar. Superb! Bought it at the Willow Grove Wawa with my gift card, then wrote and thanked my friend "Tree."

No mailman. Wanted to send my Guest Column in the Intell to one of our funders.

Watched a terrific horror film on YouTube today called Nightmare. Very tricky. Made in England.

When it gets dark I'll submit three poems and write a Letter to the Editor.

What treat shall sustain me?

PART ONE "Beatles" Concert at Masons Mill Park - Poems: Reading a Newspaper and Thank you Thank You

The park has something for everyone.

Used to take Sarah and Dan here while I played volleyball and tennis. Sarah just called to say bon voyage. She's flying to the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris and will stay with a boxing friend!

I congratulated her again on the sale of her book(s).

 You could smell the water when you walked by. Pssshh! Don't you love fountains?

 Six months before my 'nervous breakdown," I lost motor coordination. Couldn't play tennis and lost my volleyball serve.

Studio Too - a faux Beatles band - were quite good!

Ages ago, Ann Harris and her late husband Dr. Kevin with the magical hands that healed his tiny charges, whisked me downtown where we saw an amazing Beatles show. I believe they were called Rain.

(I am patting myself on the back for remembering that name)

From my Babette series. Big women!

THANK YOU THANK YOU

When I'm nervous I suck on
an Altoids, that 'curiously
strong mint'

I just phoned the township
utility yard, leaving a
message that said
Pick up the carefully
tied branches at
204 Cowbell

Moments earlier I'd
heard the unmistakable
brake-and-go
brake-and-go
melody of the green truck
as it sauntered down our
street

Stepped outside in my
bare feet, and thanked
the guys clinging for
dear life onto the
back of the truck
wearing matching
Key Lime Pie matching
vests

Look! They've just
come round again!
Missing the carefully
tied bundles.

Another curiously strong
Altoid please!

***

They DID return and picked up the sticks. Scott worked out in the heat for hours and hours with his new chainsaw. His back yard now looks like pasture land for cows.

READING A NEWSPAPER

Last night before delving into the
latest John Sandford thriller
I spread the newspaper across
the sheets, a gentle breeze
rustling the pages, and
began to read.

The world began to come to life.
It was as if I knew these people!
Sure, I get the digital version
of the Times, but nothing seems
real.

In letters to the editor,
I read the misguided words of
a man who believes climate
change is a hoax, that becomes
clearer every day.

Most of the writers, I noticed,
were men. I'll make up for that
later this week.

A husband and wife took off in
their motorcycles searching for
an 86-year-old with Alzheimer's.

And found him! He had a broken hand
and needed lots of water.

I reached for my own glass of water
on the bedside table.

Not much of a sports fan, I reveled
at the "action verbs" the sports-
writers used. "Rallied," for one.
And sports capture the entire world:
soccer, tennis, golf, auto racing.

We wish racer John Andretti
godspeed as he returns to the garage
after battling cancer, which might
have been prevented, says the story,
by having a simple test.

I had put the paper away and then
remembered: The Obits. A young man called
"Our Bubbies" had lost his battle
with addiction.

And a man, only 66, a banker with
nicely combed white hair - yes,
the paper is in full color now - has
lost his battle with whatever. It's
best to tell us how the person died.

My first newspaper story, but not the last,
appeared in The Public Spirit in Hatboro.
The editor, whose name I forget, died of
leukemia at age 48.

Fearful, I thought I'd never write again.

If I had my druthers, I'd still be sitting
at the Intelligencer/Record on Easton Road,
promoted to a real reporter, instead of
begging writing stories to the managing editor,
and would be off, this Saturday morning,
profiling new mothers and the challenges
they have with the next generation
of grown-ups.

***

A Little Piece of Heaven Here at Home - published July 7-8 2017

Did you know that in these politically turbulent times, you can enjoy yourself and leave politics behind? Here’s a fun list of things to do.

The Myers family had a tree cut down. It had been hit by lightning and was a menace with low-hanging branches. No sooner had the tree company arrived than so did the children. How fascinated they were — Bella, Tucker, and Zeke to name a few — as they parked their bikes and stared upward to see how the job was done.

Adults, too, can recapture the sense of wonder of children.

Speaking of trees, the Philadelphia Museum of Art is featuring an exhibit, “Wild,” by National Geographic photographer Michael “Nick” Nichols. The centerpiece is a giant image of a redwood tree dominating the Great Stair Hall. The exhibit will be there throughout the summer.

Nichols fashioned the enormous image by stitching together multiple shots, originally shown in the magazine. But at the museum they were made into banners 60 feet high, higher than a five-story building. What a sight for everyone, especially the grandchildren.

View the museum’s website at PhilaMuseum.org to see when guests can go for free.

Retire your smart phone for a couple of days. It wasn’t so long ago that technology hadn’t developed these amazing devices. Rely on your five senses to guide you as we did as children.

Is there anything more soothing than listening to the sound of the rain pattering on the roof at night? “Be in the moment,” as the sages say, and let your mind wander free.

Who remembers sitting on the front porch chatting with neighbors? Perhaps a white wicker table held a bowl of cherries and an endless pitcher of lemonade.

What have you always wanted to do but never found the time? Burdick’s News Stand in Hatboro offers dozens of newspapers and cigars. It has a real soda fountain. Sit on a stool at the counter and order ice cream or a milk shake. If you’re lucky, Carl, one of the owners, will tell you when the latest car shows are coming to town.

Scott Sherman of Willow Grove finally tried a hoagie from Silvio’s in Hatboro. A native Philadelphian who claimed he knew the best places for hoagies and pizza, he was “wowed” by the “nice hard roll and the tasty tuna fish with American cheese” and the trimmings.

Sherman, a veteran bird watcher, sits on his front porch with a view of his four squirrel-proof bird feeders. What would the birds do without him? Cardinals, blue jays, tiny chickadees, and the elusive gold finch add joy to his life.

Freda and Bernie Samuels of Warrington love nothing more than reading the daily newspapers. Two at last count. Although papers are found online, there is nothing, they say, like holding the paper in your hand, underlining things to do and tearing out sections to send to your friends.

Freda, in her early 90s, has health problems, but she just resumed the sequel to her memoir she wrote when she was a younger 89.

Who writes letters anymore? Or postcards. “Thinking of you” is something I often write to members of New Directions, the support group I founded 33 years ago for people and families affected by mental illness.

How good they feel that someone — me! — has thought about them after all these years.

Although some people regard the state of our beloved America as a national tragedy, David Kime had a real tragedy strike home. Kime, a visual artist whose works have been featured in various magazines, and who writes a magazine of his own, fell into a deep depression when his Fairless Hills apartment suite burned down.

His works of art, his masks made of papier-mache, his hundreds of poems, and his photographs of his deceased parents all burned to a crisp, as if they had never existed.

After mourning his losses, Kime rose like a phoenix and began writing again. “After the Fire Poems” is a collection of new poetry he will read at the New Directions’ Fifth Arts Festival, to be held Aug. 13 from 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. at the Willow Grove Giant supermarket at 350 York Road. Is that David typing up his poetry now?

Join us. Bring your own work, or sit and listen. Carnegie Hall it’s not, but it’s a little piece of heaven here at home.

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Ruth Z. Deming, a therapist in private practice, is founder/director of New Directions Support Group in Abington, now in its 33rd year. Visit NewDirectionsSupport.org.