Poem: Smile - Poem: Photo ID

Hello, my 22 faithful readers!

First I'll beguile you with my poem Smile below.

SMILE

Anyone smiling out there?
As I rowed home from Hatboro
where Mark made me 50 copies
of my Guest Editorial

Gregg Whiteside of WRTI
said Jack Moore was
not smiling.

What? A little rain's
gonna make you glum?
Make you wanna mount
The Ark?

I was all gussied up when I
entered the grocery store,
red earrings, a revealing blue
tank top, and a perfect smile
for when I went to the Photo ID
place.

Closed today, Veterans Day.

Drink up the falling rain
my spacious yard that doth
not flood.

I'll go on my screened in
back porch, wear my rain hat
from the Baltimore Aquarium
and sail along on Pearl of the Lake
munching pistachios and reading
Terrorist by John Updike while
shucking off the world like
an umbrella collapsing.



***

When I arrived at the Photo ID place in Huntingdon Valley, I waited about 45 minutes before they called my number, which I believe was A 706.

With all those numbers flashing on and off I couldn't remember my number, so I kept looking up at the panel of three numbers.

GETTING MY PICTURE TAKEN AT THE PHOTO ID PLACE

Some people say, It's only a picture. A photo ID.
I walked in like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard
Red earrings swinging like a sweet cuppa tea

Took my seat in the back of the room, rather like a
concert, and saw the most marvelous people.

France Nuyen stopped in, we'll always remember her in South Pacific.
And Ruth Bader Ginsburg  with her lace collar like Rembrandt's Buergers

Perhaps you think I was enjoying myself. Using my imagination like
a POW or Mary Queen o Scots up in the Tower, praying to her God

Then my number flashed on one of three screens
In my shorts and tank top, I fled to the front, as if I
were a refugee making the final cut

Formalities were mentioned -are you a citizen, do you speak
English, are you an organ donor?

Blonde Leslie took my photo. Very nice. Friendly.
Every four years we take these, she said.

My hopes ran high for a picture suitable for framing.

Overexposed. Had I come in the afternoon when the sun
was shining over the fitness center, things would be
different.

My photo looks like Icarus flying too near the sun
and fell into the Icarian Sea.

O hubris. You made such a fool of me.

Some people say it's only a picture.
A photo ID. 

***

http://ruthzdeming.blogspot.com/2017/10/poem-smile-poem-photo-id.html


LANCE  cHAREN!

Reading - Poems: Preparing to Go to Mom's House for a Sunday Visit - The Library Book Shelf by the Back Window

Lynn brings all these goodies. I ate generous portions of bagels and cream cheese, cut in quarters. Mom has a voracious appetite, I kid you not.




I was super angry she canceled her appt at Costco so she won't be getting hearing aides just yet.

Made sure I sat near her and yelled so she could hear me.

FB poem about her

PREPARING TO GO TO
MOM'S HOUSE FOR A
SUNDAY VISIT

Thanks to my sister Lynn
we often visit Mom on
Sundays.

I've loaded the car
with things to show
the family

Thunder Paws, the book
I bought by Bill Hess,
pantaloon jeans I
bought and can't stand

Ritz Crackers too sweet
and tempting, they beckon
from upstairs

What's that rollicking sound?
The washer downstairs. Dyou
separate the white from the
darks?

My clothes are never quite
clean, but I walk in a perpetual swirl
of gray.

Don't laff. I'm a responsible
adult, with no one to tell
me what to do.

The best!  

***

Just got home from the Upper Moreland Library. Tomro is Dan's 41st b'day. Thank god he loves his life, job, wife, kids.

I always get him books for his b'day.

From the library, I paid THREE DOLLARS for the following books:

GREAT DETECTIVES by David Willis McCullough

Entire short novels are published like The Chill by Ross McDonald



CHUTZPAH by Alan M Dershowitz - A Bold Call for a New Attitude by and toward American Jews



ALL TOO HUMAN: A Political Education by George Stephanopoulos



DARWIN'S ATHLETES:  How Sport has damaged Black America and preserved the Myth of Race  by John Hoberman





  Professor Hoberman

Dr. John Milton Hoberman is a Professor of Germanic languages within the Department of Germanic Studies at the University of Texas at Austin. He is the author of numerous books and articles on sports, specifically on their cultural impact, their relationship with race, and the issue of doping.
He is a European cultural and intellectual historian, who has interests in Sportwissenschaft and the history of racial ideas. He has published nearly one hundred sports articles and books in American newspapers and magazines and in Der Spiegel.

Then I got mhy own books out. Rem and I had been emailing about how much we both love John Updike, so I borrowed Licks of Love and Terrorist. I sat on a rolling step-stool and read the end of terrorist.

I told new Dorothy that I had never seen such good books in the last stack of the library, where I sat and read. Updike also wrote Gertrude and Claudius, but I thought it would be too difficult with the olde languages.

So now I've gotta write a poem. Hold on, gotta get something to eat.

***
Our fresh cherry tomatoes and Feta cheese Ellen gave me.

***

THE LIBRARY BOOK SHELF BY THE BACK WINDOW

The light streamed in but I was oblivious
caught as I was in a world of R's and T's, U's and V's

Updike. I'd read Pigeon Feathers while babysitting
at the Schonbergs in Cleveland.

His Rabbit Books I bought at a garage sale
and couldn't get off the first page

Stuck in a small town in Pennsylvania,
Rabbit's playing basketball with neighborhood

Kids who refuse to trust him. I trust you,
Rabbit, and remember the worn, yellow

Paperback pages, perfectly. What's this
Updike? You've written a book called

"Terrorist?" Adjusting my eyeglasses
I sit on the small stepstool, and read

The last pages. Really? I think.
Really? And set it aside in my

burgeoning pile. "Lucky Licks"-
a book I never heard of.

Affairs in suburbia. Who does
he think he is?  Cheever?

"Sex without love," I read.
And toss it into my pile.

Driving home, I imagine
lying on a blanket in my

Backyard, the sun slanting
against the fence

And reading, just reading,
till dark. After a snack

Of apple and cheese,
I go up to bed

And read all thru the night
some jazz playing on the radio

Until morning comes. 

Yoga and Mindfulness - Energizing - Princess Drosophila published - Poem: Yoga Program at the Giant

 Jamie Nichols was our wonderful guide. Catch her at Nourishing Storm in Hatboro PA. 

Katy, below, had a rest from stresses at home like dealing with an adorable rambunctious nearly 3-year-old.

Below.... who would wear a belt to do yoga?  Rich and Scott! Scott wears a belt to work as it's good for lifting heavy loads.

We also had Christina there, a social work intern. I'd forgotten all about taking photos, it's been so long since I lost my beloved purple Nikon.

I was quite challenged. It was difficult to stand on my feet, probly b/c of my protruding disk.

Ada mentioned that in the beginning she found the floor hard but after a while she didn't notice it at all!

In fact, she felt like she was floating.

Jamie commented that Ada had gone to a higher level!


 

 As a gift, we gave Jamie some autumn-colored mums and little pumpkins. Jamie had a name for them: Jack-be-littles.

Autumn is her favorite time of year.

Here's my Facebook poem of the day:

WHO WOULDNT WANNA EAT OUTSIDE

The weather is fine, as I dip
into my aromatic egg and cheese
The squirrels are playing
checkers on the sycamore
and the woodpecker is playing
a solo game of Catch the
Tasty Buggers on Nancy's tree

Is that Michael Pretorius on the radio
inside?

A whole host of wonderfuls await
us on this tasty Saturday morning.

***
Speaking of food, Scott is on vacation and one of our traditions is going out to eat.
We had a spectacular meal at Carabbas on Maryland Road in Willow Grove.

I said to Scott, maybe I'll go in and get a quick M R I!

He said Why don't you buy a new Lexus while you're at it. Thompson Autos moved up here to our neck of the woods.

Laura was our server. She's also going to vet school at Manor College - tough work - and will soon become a vet nurse. She's got a lab retriever pup.

   We both had salads. He had the trout dish. Everything is grilled which makes it super-delicious.

I ordered butternut squash ravioli. Since it had no protein, Laura added some incredibly tender chicken filets.

For dessert I had the apple cortina. Someone must've invented this dish of a crispy pie crust with soft apples, hazelnut pieces, caramel syrup and vanilla ice cream.

I pushed it away after I was full. Scott said he knew I couldn't eat the whole thing.

As soon as we came home we walked around the block. The long way. I was huffing and puffing.

***

This is the first time I've used my new Nikon silver camera.

It's a royal pain in the butt.

Remove the card from camera, insert it into the laptop.

You can barely see these slots they're so darn small!

***

My poem Princess Drosophila was published on In Between Hangovers. View it here.



***

When I first went to Goddard College in Plainfield, VT, I would get drunk and feel horrible. It was the thing to do. We do learn as life goes merrily along. Apricot Brandy. Hmm, are the liquor stores still open?

Here are some unpublished photos especially for you, Dear Reader. Anybody on here?

 Buying the camera at Larmon Photo in Jenkintown. Cheaper than the previous camera which is still lost. Unlike the terrible story of the journalist who goes on the submarine to interview the guy. What does he do? Stabs her to death.

On Netflix I'm watching Gerald's Game. Wonder who stars in this film? I've watched half an hour so far. Can't read the cast as it will give too much of the plot away.

To organize my desk I brought downstairs a three-tier inbox. It does help. 

Oh! Before the yoga program today I relaxed on my red couch by listening to Terry Gross interview their TV critic David Bianculli. 

    He's written a new book called The Platinum Age of Television. He profiles many of the early TV heroes in the book, including Louis C K. Can't wait to read it!

YOGA PROGRAM AT THE GIANT

Asanas.

Christina, Rich, Ada, The Chod (Scott)
Katy, and Ree-ROW, stood in a circle, touching
palms.

Lean to the right, said Jamie.
We held each other up to form a
line of trees.

Arms up, she said, to create leaves
and branches.

Sure enough, the room on the second
floor of the Giant Supermarket
sprouted tall maples, the leaves
glimmering in the light, yet
starting to fall in this,
early autumn.

We missed the ones unable to
be there. My mom, with a newfound
interest in meditation, which she
considers the ability to focus.

Don and Joan from down the street.
He puts vinegar in the cracks on
the sidewalk to keep weeds from
growing there.

Don, don't look now, but your
trick don't work.

My mountain of weeds in my front yard
towers like Mount Rushmore in South Dakota.

Look real close and you'll see Eva Marie Saint
saved by Cary Grant. She's still alive, though,
he's settled in the crack of eternity.

Go outside now and look at the stars.
A barely visible whiteness across the street
bodes the rising of the moon, in her floor-
length bridal gown. 

Addiction-Free, A Life of Meaning Awaits - from the Intelligencer

My Guest Editorial appeared in the Intelligencer on Friday, October 6, 2017.

Sorry about the spacing below, all squeezed together. That's good ole Blogpost for ya. 

ADDICTION-FREE, A LIFE OF MEANING FOLLOWS

by Ruth Z.Deming

For his then-girlfriend's 30th birthday, Stephen Stills wrote Judy Collins a song: “Suite Judy Blue Eyes.” It’s getting to the point where I’m no fun anymore / I am sorry / Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud / I am lonely.

Was Stills, now 72, speaking about his cocaine addiction?

Both Stills and Collins, now 78, are on a world tour, and appeared in August at the sold-out Keswick Theater in Glenside, where mixed drinks are served.

Americans love their booze. And their recreational drugs, which occasionally lead to addictions. It's why Pennsylvania Gov. Tom Wolfe has declared war on heroin and opioid abuse.

The shocking statistics reveal that in Bucks County, the number of overdose deaths involving opioids -- heroin and opioid-based prescription painkillers -- rose to 185 last year, up nearly 50 percent from 2015, reported the Inquirer. They further noted that overdose deaths rose by 43 percent in Montgomery County, claiming 253 lives.

We may all know someone who has overdosed. Instead of living a meaningful life, they are now dead.

Members of New Directions Support Group, which I founded in 1986, for people and families affected by depression and bipolar disorder, have often used illegal drugs in an attempt to feel “normal.” Sobriety is a long journey filled with both victories and setbacks.

No one is immune from drug addiction, or, for that matter, depression and bipolar disorder.

“My bipolar cousin calls it ‘The Family Curse’ since bipolar disorder runs in our family,” said Doris, a mom and grandmother. "A minute of depression and I feel like I don't want to live anymore." A prolific published poet, she stays in touch with her psychiatrist to keep suicidal urges away.

Mark, 66, has his own story. “I suffered from the deadly threesome -- alcoholism, mental illness, drug addiction. The drugs don't have to be from the street," he said. "They were prescribed: 23 antidepressants and anxiety meds over 20 years, usually more than one at a time. Street or pharmacy, your brain doesn't care.

"These meds have a really poor track record when combined with alcohol. They can't work if you drink."

State Attorney General Joshua Shapiro recently discussed Pennsylvania’s participation in an investigation into the manufacturers of opioid painkillers and their role in the addiction crisis, telling Talk Radio 1210 about his approach to substance abuse.

“… Number one, [is] holding those doctors and nurses … accountable. So, we’ve doubled the number of arrests of docs in the first quarter of 2017 versus the first quarter of 2016, who are illegally prescribing or selling or giving away things like Percocet and Oxycontin and dangerous opioid painkillers.

“The second thing you’ve got to do is get at the root cause. Get at the supply chain. For so many people, that’s these opioid painkillers. I announced that Pennsylvania is one of the lead states in a massive, bipartisan, multi-state investigation into the opioid manufacturing industry.”

At the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, the Counseling and Psychological Services center tells incoming freshman it’s OK to ask for help, said Dr. Meeta Kumar.

“Twenty percent of undergrads at some point or another come to us,” she continued. That’s almost double the rate 15 years ago.

Like colleges everywhere, Penn has seen a rise in students dealing with anxiety and depression. A survey last year disclosed that 20 percent of college students had once been diagnosed with depression, up from 10 percent when the survey began in 2000, according to Penn Live.

Anxiety, in the past few years, has overtaken depression as the top mental health concern, said behavioral health expert Dr. Micky Sharma.

“The millennial generation has grown up in a very fast-paced society with high expectations,” he continued. Students’ coping skills are “not as high as we’d like them to be.”

Mark, a substance abuser in recovery, has such good coping skills today he chaired his first AA meeting.

With the smell of coffee permeating the room, he says with confidence he’s been clean and sober for 14 months.

His life, at last, is full of meaning.

Ruth Z. Deming is founder/director of New Directions Support Group of Abington and Willow Grove.. Visit www. Newdirectionssupport. org. A psychotherapist in private practice, she and friends participate in a weekly writers’ group “The Beehive.”

Rem's surgery - Poem: The Waiting Room at Abington PA Surgery Center - Bella Online Mused Review

THE END OF THE WORLD
by Archibald MacLeish

Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot
The armless ambidextrian was lighting
A match between his great and second toe,
And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting
The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum
Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough
In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb
Quite unexpectedly the top blew off:

And there, there overhead, there, there hung over
Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,
There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover,
There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,
There in the sudden blackness the black pall
Of nothing, nothing, nothing -- nothing at all.

Archibald MacLeish

***
Just got back from a quick romp around the block. Oh, I forgot to do my back exercises. Damn!

Hold on.

***

Hi. I'm back.

***
Last nite as it was getting dark, I went for a trial run to Rem's apartment at Jericho Manor. He told me it was a huge complex which you can't tell from the front.

 

I managed to get about 4-5 hours sleep but I was freakin out about finding it in the early morning dark.

Was sposed to leave at 5 15, but that's when my alarm went off. I have trouble with quarters - 15 after or 15 of.

THE WAITING ROOM AT
ABINGTON PA SURGERY

My fine friend Rem
was scheduled for surgery
first thing in the morning

I picked him up in the dark
and the cold while he guided
me to the surgery center
where the surgeons
god bless em,
licked their chops at the
idea of opening up bodies
like a can of tomatoes
or fileting a steak
to fix the innards.

Like a rock band, the
docs and nurses wore
matching uniforms
a chocolate brown
and the indoor staff
wore baby blue.

Slinging backpack on,
I went outside to explore.
Green fields and fences
and trees with fallen pine cones.
A baseball field!
I ran the bases, then
began picking up trash,
a hobby of mine.

Two and a half more hours to go.
Inside I began to read my book.
The best sentence?
"We began to believe the fire
was started by an arsonist.
One of us."

Was I able to sleep?
Rem, of course, was in an
oceanic sleep maybe swimming
among the Australian coral
reef or dancing with his
beloved Valerie at Rick's
in Casablanca.

Bingo! Time for lunch.
It was all of 8 am
and I went out to the car.
Standing up in the bristling
cool sunshine, I ate cold
chicken salad that never tasted
more delicious. Then topped it
off with an apple.

Two more hours to go.
Went for another walk. The
construction workers had all
arrived. They U-turned in a
parking lot and parked
all in a row like bowling pins.

The houses were all the same.
Stone, but the trucks had their
own personalities. Tall in the
saddle, stately as princes. I
performed an experiment. Did they
all have something hanging from
their mirrors? Yes.

I have paper roses from a sushi place
in Hatboro where Sarah and I once went.

The truckers each walked with backpacks on
some in pairs, or alone, fast-paced
to the site of the new cancer wing of
Abington Hospital.

Back in the waiting room, the two little
boys named Jackson were brought in for
surgery. When they came out, they were
cradled across Daddy's shoulders as if
they were drunk.

Now it was time to eat the yogurt.
Went down easy. Napped after that
when I heard the name RUTH spoken aloud.

The chocolate surgeon arrived. He
young, he explained that after the
surgery Rem would be able to breathe
much better.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Rem had
survived, he'd made the long journey
of preparations and soon we'd drive home.

We picked up his meds at the Giant. He sat
waiting, schnozz bleeding into linen napkin I lent him
then he guided me to Jericho Manor. I parked in the back.
It was like living in the wilds of a forest, with a
babbling brook where he once saw a blue heron.

His apartment is spacious. A red microwave at the ready
to prepare foodstuffs crammed into the fridge and freezer.
Maybe a little ice cream later on? Make mine Tanner's,
black raspberry with chocolate syrup on top.

***
As usual, I had trouble ending the poem.

The famous RED AWNING





***

Here's the Table of Contents of Bella Online Lit Review.

Here's what she published of mine.

Letter to My Dead Husband
Meditation upon a Buick - poem (which had been rejected from Mad Swirl)
Invitation to a Funeral  - Ed Quinn did attend a funeral where the woman was still alive and wanted to be a part of it
A Dog's Life - Sabrina is the name of the dog - based on the dog Kalie across the street

***

Shall I read a bit of the Otis Reading bio called An Unfinished Life? Gotta return it to the Hatboro Libe the morrow.

   

Phenominally good looking! Dyou think he'd be interested in a .... forget it

Read dis from Rolling Stone. Died in a plane crash at age 26.