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November 30, 2008
At last! My new blog is called
cowbelle. This here blog is
finished. Fini. Never again. Nevermore.
It's great to be alive, n'est-ce pas?
November 26, 2008
Pleasure deferred all day long while I worked on my grant. Oh, the things I
could not do. I could not open my mail but tossed it on the table. I could not
coo over my still-blooming cyclamens waiting on the windowsill. I could not
check to see if
Sarah or
Ethan blogged. I could not crack open Lady in
the Lake by Raymond Chandler to read his raw and gritty prose with a touch of
Edward Hopper-like poetry within.
The meat of a grant is called The Proposal. Most are 4 pages, maybe 5. I could
not get it right. It was well-wrin but utterly choppy. I could not stand it. My
deadline was to mail it by 5 pm tonite. No heroics. No extra last-minute
postage. Just mail it in to get there on Monday.
Came time to print it out - it was 3 pm - I was running early - and flopping
myself on the floor, which is how I give it the final touch - I could not
believe how poorly wrin it was. No way would I mail this baby in. Better to fret
all thru Thanksgiving tomro than turn in a piece of crap like I'd written. Man,
was I tired. Wanted to nap in the worst way. That kind of tiredness tho that you
can bully your way thru till you come out awake on the other end.
So I sat back down and concentrated. Rewrote the entire five pages in the next
hour. I was now all muscle and brain. And tired eyes. Then I drove it over to
the Huntingdon Valley post office. I was so exhausted I don't even remember the
drive, the beauty of the drive and the autumn scenery and the place where the
horses stroll behind the fence on Terwood Road. Why, I forgot to even look at
the horses.
I promised to reward myself bigtime after I mailed it in. My plan is to spend an
hour on YouTube to revisit music I daren't listen to while writing the grant.
Music is too beautiful and too distracting, like the Alhambra glimpsed for just
one second before the veil descended. "If music be the food of life, play on,"
sings countertenor
Alfred Deller. Here I go!
NOVEMBER 25, 2008
My blood pressure was out of control so Scott drove me to the Abington Hospital
ER where they admitted me to the third floor Highland Building. I stayed
overnight till my 'team' consulted together in the morning and came up with a
plan.
Meds in the morning, meds in the evening.
I had a corner suite so I had 2 windows to look out of.
There is only just so much you can do in Room 21 of the third floor Highland
Building.
You can think.
You can drink water.
You can fill out the lunch menu as slowly as you possibly can to make the time
go by.
You can ask questions to your team of three residents. They were very good.
You can answer the phone when it rings.
You can go on your laptop and re-read your most recent poem which is NOT called,
What you can't see pulsing under your tan aging freckled skin can kill you OR
I'm glad I don't have any oustanding bills in case they accidentally kill me at
the hospital.
The unit I was on is called Med/Surg Telemetry which had less beds than the ER
which has 90 beds. I thought of hospitals in the Third World countries &
figgered if I were there maybe they'd give me some red berries to chew for my
condition and some yummy alligator stew or monkey brains or perhaps nothing at
all.
Since I began taking all these meds, my left eye is twitching intermittently.
It's one of those twitches only the twitcher can see. Then again it could be
from lack of SIYB (sleeping in your own bed).
I have the unique ability to sleep sitting up while typing. The worst
fall-asleep I ever did was when only one person showed up at my Hatboro Writers
Group. A man named Oscar. He was writing a book about Iraq. Awful. Just awful.
We were sitting in the comfy chairs in the window. He was reading it to me and I
began snoring. Man, listening to his novel was better than any lullabye. Ever
read an amateur's work where there isn't ONE GOOD SENTENCE. That was ole Oscar
for you.
Suddenly I'm in the middle of my nap and I'm greeted by total silence. The music
had stopped. I popped open my eyes & there was Oscar staring at me.
Oh, there are other falling asleep stories. Things don't happen in a vacuum. If
you've done it once, it's part of a lifelong pattern.
Hey, this is one of those grey days. I spell grey the English way cause it's so
much more depressing to spell it that way. A sort of spelling onomoapeia.
OK, ruthie, now youre rambling. Yeah, I'm waiting till the bell goes off. NO,
for chrrisakes, NOT THAT BELL. You know, the final gong.
The oatmeal bell just went off. I make it with half milk, half water for more
protein. I had corn flakes in the hospital. It was FINE!!!! Really delicious.
Ever single additive and food coloring was just delicious. I'm a label reader.
All's I could see of real un-sick life was thru my 2 windows. One view gave onto
a roof. Out the other I could see Highland Avenue - just barely - I could make
out one of those huge houses and some passersby. They were all bundled up. Hats
n scarves. I saw a dog go by and remembered..... dogs!
Have you read
Stephen lately? I wrote an even more
nonsensical comment than usual.
Peggela sent me a note about my hospitalization. I wrote back, Bad news travels
fast. And that yes, peggela, i'm slowing down. I'm only typing 80 wpm instead of
110. No, actually, I was gonna go swimming at the gym this a.m. but decided to
slow down.
So maybe I'll just DRIVE to the gym and then turn around.
Before I left for the hospital, I mailed the following poem to
Chris Bursk w/a SASE to critique.
I PICK YOUR TRASH, JOHN LEONARD, NOW THAT YOU’RE GONE
at first they put out
the commode
seat up
to let it sink in
it sat on the grass
while kids passed by
what would they know of
rosebushes out front
or the hospice nurse
green dodge
parked under the carport
or about you, john leonard,
a man of ninety-five
in house slippers and morphine
visiting your garden out back
a week ago on garbage night
the invisible hand
lined up some broken rakes
and tumbledown shelves
I let them lie
seeking perfection
after your hip went last spring
you took me hobbling
through your backyard
Where did you learn to garden like that?
lilyponds with real frogs
birdhouses nailed to the pines
tarps to keep the benches dry
yesterday they put out a
rototiller
I took it at dusk
felt the length of the wood
for splinters or other irregularities
felt the rusty blades with my thumb
tamped it on the sidewalk
out fell the autumn leaves
from the previous fall
not this one
for you were no longer
protector of your lawn
I rolled it
on the sidewalk
this way and that
hefted it over my head
victorious at last
and stabbed it bloodless
in the soft of my hand.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Nam myoho renge kyo
"The key to unlocking your highest potential," according to a sect of Buddhism,
founded by a 13th century Japanese monk, is by chanting the above prayer once in
the morning and once in the evening. His three-part teachings of Buddhist
practice (modernized since then) are: Faith, Practice and Study.
It's a lot like the Jews. And the Catholics. And the Christians. And the
Muslims. And the Janes. And the Hindus. And the Sufis. And the Jehovah
Witnesses. And the Swedenborgians. Have I left anyone out?
Oh, the birds and the squirrels, our constant companions who keep us honest.
nam myoho renge kyo nam myoho renge kyo
And so it was that Kitty picked me up on Sunday and I went to Deb's house in
nearby Abington to chant. Deb has an altar right there in her living room. She
hit a melodious bell and the chanting began. One woman was doing it so fast I
thought her jaw would fall off.
People were very welcoming. I sat down on this beige sectional sofa. My dream! A
sectional. Comfy enough to read on and nap on. Before I could control myself, I
blurted out these words: "Omigod, this is sooooo comfortable! Would you sell it
to me for a good price?"
Then I realized, here I am, supposed to be spiritual. "Ach!" I said. "My
veniality is showing."
Scuse me for a few minutes. I'm making this delicious soup. I actually made it
yesterday & Scott & I finished it up in half a day. So I'm making it again!
Am making a lima bean fish chowder for dinner. I put on my green Starbucks apron
so I can hold my cordless phone in the pocket & chat while I cook the zoup: Most
of the ingredients were on sale - with your bonus card - at the supermarket.
- Dried lima beans soak overnight, then cooked for 90 minutes before adding
- Fresh corn on cob (remove after 15 minutes to chop off the kernels)
- Two whole onions
- Carrots, 2 handfuls
- Four chopped up taters with skin of course
- 3 whole garlic cloves (smash em w/spoon later on)
- 2 fragrant bay leaves, a gift from Sarah from
Penzeys
at Grand Central Station
- Season w/cinnamon or your fave seasonings. Just read that the avg. American
needs no more than a tsp. of salt per day!
Simmer on lo heat until very thick. Get up from nearby computer frequently to
(1) exercise your legs & neck and (2) make sure soup doesn't stick to bottom of
pan.
Good thing I wrote this. Twas sticking.
When soup is finished, add your choice of fish. Yesterday I added tiny scallops
plus their liquid. The soup was sweet and delicious.
Today I'm adding Haddock, on special at the new Willow Grove Giant where Debbie
the Fish Mongerer helped me with the ingredients.
Who would I phone to make my soup-making experience complete? Ah, childhood
friend Nancy. She lived on Rye Road. I lived on Glenmore. 44122 our zipcode.
Nancy now lives in Columbus, OH. She & I are both artists. Her dad had manic
depression. She has something but we don't know what it is. Probly Bipolar 2,
the one with the hypomanias & depressions. Oftentimes later in life, the
depressions mostly manifest emselves.
Today is Nancy's first day on Lamictal. 25 mg. She feels drugged, not uncommon.
I suggested perhaps she needed 12.5 instead. She'll discuss it with her new
psychiatrist. Like many of us, Nancy felt a change in doctors would be better
for her. Esp. since the rates of her beloved shrink are going up to $170 an hour
next year.
Nam myoho renge kyo
Nancy is between jobs & I told her once she gets a schedule going, she'll feel
lots better. She just joined a DBSA group which is extremely large, like ours.
I urged her, as I do everyone, to hang around all sorts of different people. We
all have flaws and strengths.
On Sunday, our library had THE BEST MOVIE they've ever shown. The Band's Visit,
an Israeli film, followed by a lively discussion. I only said about 12 things,
some of them under my breath, like Thanks for coming Mauriccio (our teacher),
the Robert Osbourne of the Upper Moreland Library. People like me! They remember
my name. Hang out with winners & you'll become one yourself.
Okay, gotta stir my zoup Could it be I only invite Scott over so he'll wash the
dirty dishes?
Nam myoho renge kyo
During the Sharing Part of the Buddhist Meeting, I was sitting lotus-style on
the couch, wearing my fave grey sweater, a hander downer from my sister (I
didn't know it but it was filled with soup stains on the front. I mean, really
really bad. I always forget to look in the meer).
Here's what I said. Actually I'm elaborating.....
In July, I got a herniated disc and had excruciatingly painful sciatica. I was
homebound for 2 weeks & the pain never abated. The only time it went away was
when I talked on the phone helping people. I mean, I was just not aware of any
pain when I helped people. I'm a therapist.
And I did speak to God about it. I said, Dear God, why did this happen to me. I
exercise, I swim, I'm a good person. Why did you do this to me?
Well, I don't really know. But it was one of the worst periods of my life. I
didn't know when it would abate. I took painkillers but none of them worked.
I felt like Job in the Bible. The pain was so intense it was as if God was
showing me his power. Just a wee bit, of course. And I guess he felt I could
take it cuz it didn't abate until about three months. Sure, I had treatment for
it - chiropractic, physical therapist, a shot in the lower back. But nothing
helped except time. Childbirth was bad but it produced a nice couple of babies.
What did this produce? Spiritual benefits. The order of my life went rotten. I
had no hope. Anhedonia spun a web over my home and body. In retrospect it was a
spiritual experience of the worst sort - I was dead. I was living in hell.
The experience was a teacher. I learned so many things I can't begin to express
them all.
Let's welcome Steely Dan singing
Bottisatva.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Am under the influence of a book I'm reading The Art of Dramatic Writing by Lajos
Egri (Hungarian).
Ever heard of it, Iris? Thanks to Bob S from
our Hatboro Writers Group for bringing in great reading material b/c he doesn't
want it to sit home on his shelf.
Our group is quite like New Directions. We're there to critique one another's
writing (mostly poetry) and also to socialize and care about one another. Toward
the end of the group I said I'd just read the fascinating life of JD Salinger,
still alive & living near Dartmouth College where marauding bands of students
walk by trying to catch a glimpse of Jerome David now 89 (b. 1919), married for
the third time (he usually marries women who write him letters - Joyce Maynard
seems to have made a living off him,) father of two, and at one point a
Buddhist. Who knew? Read the internet.
After I mentioned Salinger, Bob S said to me: Is this b/c I gave you Catcher in
the Rye?
Oh! I said. So that's where that book came from. I leant it to my boyfriend who
just finished it so we goggled the info.
Scott's asleep downstairs so I came up for an early breakfast (rye toast with
peanut butter and a sliced Bartlett pear and a glass of milk). Kitty will pick
me up in 3 hours to go to her Buddhist meeting in nearby Abington. How do I
dress for the Buddhists? The same way I dress for my writers group. Well, I could
wear this very comfortable white long-sleeve shirt I bought at a garage sale
with the mustard stain that won't come out. Shoot, I forgot to wear my bib.
Will the room please come to order. Wasn't that a great film on TCM last nite -
Paths of Glory. Loved the way Kirk Douglas strode across the floor in silhouette with
his boots on. This Kubrick film was multi-layered and dealt with the various
personalities of the military during WWI.
The movie is personality-driven rather than plot-driven. As in real life, people
drive the plot the way the mule drives the plow. This book I was tellin you
about The Art of Dramatic Writing says writers must have a PREMISE in order to
create a decent play or short story or novel. This is also true about our lives.
We all have a premise. We may not know what it is but after we've lived a while
it often becomes clear - but not always.
People always think my premise is helping people. That's merely a subtext. I
help people cuz I'm a nice person and can't help it. I have a strong quality
called EMPATHY undoubtedly b/c that quality was lacking in my childhood: my
family & school environment.
Everyone reading this is gonna say: Yeah, same is true with me!
If
you're lucky, like I am, you acquire that very quality you most need while
you're living your life. For that I must thank my unconscious. I was not aware I
needed it. Wait a minute. Unconscious. Is that tantamount to God? Can't answer
that.
I think the whole premise of my life is to be a writer. I think Bob S who
brought in the Egri book has the same premise. He brings in excellent books for
us to read. At first, yesterday, I didn't see anything to bring home with me.
The books were dwindling and Bob told me I'd really like the Egri book so I
reluctantly took it, never in a million thinking it would smack me in the gut.
In this, I wonder, is there an Invisible Force, a path, that guides us? To that
I'd say a resounding YES SIRREE.
Before the Writers Group, Scott forced me to work on my novel. What? I said. I'm
not in the mood. You told me, he said, to force you to write. Oh, I said. I
forgot. Then he told me the clinker. John Steinbeck forced himself to write. He
locked himself in his room and wrote.
That did it! After he left, I set up my laptop on my downstairs bed with all my
tools: pen and paper and handkerchief. - and clumb on the bed. Sat in lotus
position. You will not move, I said. Then I jumped off the bed to unplug the
phone. When I clicked onto Chapter Six, Blue Bungalow, I began reading.
Oh, no, I thought. The guy moves from his cheap motel into a house in only two
paragraphs? I want to read more. Oh, no, this is gonna take me forever to fill
this in. It only took an hour. I printed out the 13-page chapter and left Scott
a voicemail. Come over whenever you want & read the first five pages. I'll leave
it on the kitchen table.
When I got to the Writers Group I was only 15 minutes late. I'd written a poem
20 minutes prior. Hannoch shortened it. That's his specialty extracting the -
shall we say premise - of the poem & exposing it to the light. Born in Israel,
he's a retired teacher of Jewish Studies and is a fulltime poet. We met in a
poetry class given by pediatrician Kelley White. She's an editor of a local
poetry journal that rejected my writing. After about a dozen rejections from
different journals, I decided to husband my energy and concentrate on writing
without being published.
We discuss all these matters in our group. A newcomer, Mary N, publishes her
professional writings all over the place. I believe they're mostly on wholistic
health. She correctly says that these writings, while important, mean nothing.
She's a writer and must publish her heart & soul's writings - her creative
writing - which is why she's come to our group. She'll email us the first
chapter of her memoir and give her feedback.
Nurse Barbara asked Mary, Are you part native American?
Yes, Mary said, eyes gleaming. One quarter Winona. Mary is one of those
spiritual people you wish you were. (Thankgod I'm going to my Buddhist chant
this a.m. so I can pass for spiritual). Mary ran across the street to get a poem
she left in her car - from shyness - but then couldn't find it. This is how the
true writer operates. Sort of like really shy which really means you want a
loudspeaker to read it cross town but decorum dictates otherwise.
After the group, Nurse Barb and I walked to Theresa's Trading Post
www.myspace.com/theresaastradingpost. To help along the economy, I ordered an
incense burner. Where's my sneezing hanky.
Lemme tell you something. Was burning it thother day. As the ashes dropped
randomly onto the piece of paper, they made an extraordinarily b'ful pattern. __
___ _____ ___ except on a slant. What can I do with this? What can I do with
this? I said carrying it around. Then I sketched it and said, I'll put it in my
artwork.
We all have the artiste inside us. We've just gotta decide Is it CRITICAL, is it
IMPERATIVE to use it? Is it a quality I can't live without?
TO HIS MEMORY
I.
For just a moment
I thought Wesley had returned.
I left all truth behind.
I could not help it.
I needed to escape.
Escape from this world where
Black clouds over China
Portend a quicker death of cities
Than ever we thought.
Oh Wesley.
So I let myself go.
I stared at the little white dog
So like Wesley
My old companion who sat at
The window and watched me
Pull in the drive.
His ashes sit atop the dining room shelf
They do not bark or wag
Companion of my
Three times removed old age.
You see, I took a leap.
I'd had too much of the world.
I could not bear the disappointments.
So when she walked the white dog
Across the street, dead autumn leaves
Parting at their approach
I waited at the front door
For her to bring Wesley home.
II
Wesley was never mine.
He was theirs.
The Kiernans across the street.
I appropriate things.
I make them mine:
The garbage truck
The postman
The far-off locomotive
The entire sky
For Wesley.
Wednesday, Nov. 11, 2008
Did you see that amazing Frontline story last nite on Lee Atwater, the young
mastermind of the Prez Election of 1988? A brilliant if amoral campaign manager,
he brutally trashed Dukakis to promote George HW Bush.
The mild-mannered Mike Dukakis was shown today. I guess he's calmed down &
accepted his inability to have fought back to Atwater's outrageous & totally
dishonest charges against him. From having a double-digit lead against Bush, he
lost like a boxer KO'd in round one.
The complex character of Atwater ended in his surprising death at age 40 from a
brain tumor. After diagnosis he converted to Catholicism. Although he underwent
a personality change, it's doubtful he would've done so if he weren't dying.
Read more.
Get thee ready to enter the Afterlife now!
I'll be ready in 2 minutes. Just let me scrub my oatmeal pan.
Fortunately I didn't delete an email with the otherworldly title of CS #400672
Ms. Deming,
Thank you for contacting us and please accept our apologies for the
inconvenience you were caused. After checking the Daily Report for 11/2 I
found that Rt.38 was indeed operating but detoured to Arch St. due to a
"Helicopter Lift".
I have forwarded your comments to Management at the Customer Service
Division for review.
Sincerely,
Bart McQuoid
SEPTA Customer Service
My reply:
Thanks so much for your response, Bart. Interesting about the
Helicopter Lift. Too bad they couldn't have let down a ladder &
airlifted me to the Art Museum.
BART is also the name for the excellent Bay Area Rapid Transit system in
San Francisco.
http://www.bart.gov/
Tuesday, Nov. 10, 2008
Mail delivery on Veteran's Day? I just put this into my search engine & got
the answer. My thank-you notes for donations for our Fall Fundraiser will go out
tomro. Went to my printer Ray of Accu-Print and ordered new stationery. "You
don't wanna order new envelopes," he said. "They're really expensive."
I sprang. I learned that when you have the money, use it now! His prices have
jumped like a high-bouncing tennis ball that goes over the fence.
People find us thru our website. Got a phone call from "Bryce" and his daughter
"Brycella." She has borderline personality disorder. He asked my help in
finding a treatment facility for her. I probly did an hour's worth of research
for them including referring them to
Edie Mannion and
Fran Hazam.
I also referred them to a residential facility in Plainfield, Vermont called
Spruce
Mountain Inn, home of my alma mater, Goddard College. When I called
them up, they said their headquarters is in the former house of Goddard's
founder and long-time president.
You mean Tim Pitkin, I asked.
Yes, said Jeff.
Dyou mind if I reminisce, O Reader?
Tim and Helen Pitkin never locked their doors. I used to go over and practice
piano. One of my classes was piano with Ray McIntyre. We could practice piano at
the college in itty-bitty rooms on Yamahas. I couldn't stand it. Too tiny. No
windows.
For my piano project, I composed a Bach-like fugue. I'm singing it right now as
I type. Da-da-da-DUH, da-da-da-DAH. As a kid, I wrote loads of piano music - Hey
Ho, The Witch is Dead (my most famous number) and Was Born. These I wrote in the
room we called The Library which had a neat sliding door so I couldn't hear the
bedlam in the rest of the house (six kids plus a grandmother who yelled at us &
beat me with her sewing yardstick. No wonder I got manic depression.
Oh, it's always fun to guess which NY Times articles will make it to the Most
Emailed List. Here's one about psychotic brains (mine, formerly) and autistic
brains (my brother's). It's dreadfully
difficult to understand, what dyou think,
Audrey?
Audrey is the personal assistant of Tami, founder of a
Borderline Personality Disorder website. I
referred Bryce and Brycella to them . I'd called them yesterday & they actually
called me back the very next day. Their office is in Houston. (Dyou know that
Houston Street in Soho, NY, is pronounced HOWston?) For an hour's phone
consultation they charge a very reasonable $125 for the first session, $100 if
you need another.
Save your money, readers! Put everything you have in CDs. No, not my son/law's
CDs - Ethan of
www.thebadplus.com - but bank CDs. When I saw
my printer this morning, he has a special place where he puts his irregulars,
pads of paper that he didn't get quite right. I held up a pad of blue paper. Ray
was over printing some stationery. His machine made a rhythmic deafening sound.
"To me," I said, "blue is a gloomy color. I love this hot pink."
I came out with a nice bundle of seconds. I asked if anyone else comes in to
take the paper. No, he said. I said I can't imagine buying things when I can
get em for free. Ray said he was a tightwad. I hadn't heard that expression in a
long time.
So, I'm driving on Davisville Road to get to the printer's office. What is it
about Davisville Road? There seems to be an unwritten rule that Davisville is
the equivalent of I-95 of the suburbs. People go flying by as if they're in a
wind thermal, you know, that hawks soar on. You know how fast I go on Davisville
Road? I go the speed limit. What? 40 mph isn't fast enuf for you? These people
have absolutely no concept that going 50 mph - right up to the traffic light &
staying on someone's tail - is dangerous to the squirrels.
Sure enuf, there was one squished one today. I see it in the distance, avert my
eyes, and think of my son Dan's two cats.
I'm so glad I blogged. I didn't wanna disappoint my fan.
Saturday, Nov. 8, 2008
My Goddard College chum Iris wrote on
her blog that the day after Obama's victory,
her town in CT was joyful about his victory. I replied that no one in my town of
Willow Grove PA is joyful. People in the public eye, whether Mailman Bob or
Grocer Tim or even my Mom are very skeptical. I personally think he'll do a
great job. I carefully watched his first press conference - There is only one
president at a time - those will probly be famous oft-quoted lines - and I
enjoyed his wide happy grin.
God only knows what he'll look like at the end of 4 years.
This morning I introduced Scott to my favorite diner - Daddypops in Hatboro. We
only waited 10 minutes for a counter seat. Born-to-be a waitress Mary, who calls
you Hun, was there as was owner Ken Smith. His first wife Karen died young of a
brain tumor. He's subsequently remarried. He's a big good-looking guy with a
mustache who chews gum at a furious pace. I introduced him to Scott & the 2 of
them shook hands. "I can tell you work with your hands," said Ken.
Really, I said.
Then I shook Scott's hand, never having done that before. "Yeah, it's really
callused," I said.
Then I shook Ken's. Hmmm, I said.
It's soft, said Ken.
Yeah, I said. I didn't wanna say that. He laffed & chewed his gum furiously.
Since I hadn't been there for a year I asked about some people I knew who
frequented the joint. Yes, "The White Walker" still comes in. He mows lawns &
shovels snow. He lost most of his teeth.
I congratulated him on his sustained good business which he said was due to his
low prices & good food. Our meal cost $12 and we had the works. Scott got a huge
glass of tomato juice. Our plates overflowed with delicious hash browns with
huge hunks of taters.
Instead of coffee, I drink hot water which I warm in my hands. I used Scott's
lemon after he squeezed it into his tomato juice.
The waitress was dumbfounded by all the water I drink. I wasn't too thirsty so I
only drank 4 glasses plus the hot water.
Daddypops is decorated with antiques such an old stove which they use to hold
their cash register, an old water pump which is outside & used as a babbling
fountain.
Inside against a wall is an old cigarette vending machine. I went up to say
hello. In the center was a large pack of Lucky Strikes, a double size. Not the
same colors as when my dad smoked them & died from them. Instead they were a
faded GREEN! Off to the left were the regular Lucky Strikes, green with a red
center. Most interesting was a pack a FATIMA cigarettes, fine Turkish tobacco,
an obsolete product from Liggett & Myers, with the symbol for the MUSLIM FLAG, a
crescent moon and star.
Seven minutes with Ken Smith, wow! He comes out & chats with his customers &
took very good c/o his wheelchaired mom who passed 2 years ago at 91.
I told Ken that if my book is ever published I'll bring it in. Chapter one is
all about Daddypops.
I asked
Stephen if he had any ideas of what Scott & I
might do today. I'd actually laced up my hiking boots for the first time since
Sciatica Agony but it was too rainy to be outdoors. I suggested we drive to a
museum in Doylestown but Scott said he was still recovering from our trip
downtown to the Art Museum.
I'm getting up my nerve to call a former member of ND who I can't remember at
all who's living out of her car, then checking into Horsham Clinic & needs to
temporarily give up her cat.
If only I were a nice person.....
Friday, Nov. 7, 2008
Looks like I've made my
last appearance on TV's Comcast CN8 since
it's going off the air. I'll have to settle for Oprah. Read the comment
about its demise plus the comments
below the article...
"We're Comcastic!"
Since raising their rates & ostensibly their excellence, friends & me using
their services have seen it worsen! Our support group had THREE crises yesterday
in which I needed to send out emails to the affected parties.
Comcast failed me. I had to scrabble to find people's phone numbers, forcing me
to get more organized.
We've started our Fall Fundraiser. The first one to respond was one of my
political mentors
Stephen. I told him on the phone I'm honored to
have him & his wife Arleen support our "important work," as he said.
Oh, if only you knew what goes on behind the scenes. One of our guys was found
by the police ready to jump off a bridge this morning. His brother will drive
him to the Abington Hospital Crisis Center. Our members have had very poor
service there. I told the brother to be forceful in having him admitted.
All the Crisis Workers I dealt with should be fired. About 10 years ago, I drove
a psychotic man to Abington's ER & told the workers this man is psychotic &
suicidal. Don't let him out of your sight. I stayed in the waiting room,
TRUSTING them.
Turns out he eluded them, walked 6 hours home, & slit his throat. He lived.
Bipolar disorder is not to be trifled with.
Gotta run. Must share our Top Doc list with some members we had last nite.
Ya know how I got ready for today's very busy day? Set my timer for half hour to
read in bed. Eenie-meenie...the winner is
Charlatan by either Brock Pope or Pope Brock.
Tis about a flim-flam man who captured the imagination of the country,
particularly Morris Fishbein who was out to destroy him. And did.
This is one heckuva read. I renewed it online from my Upper Moreland Library.
I'll do a bipolar program for them sometime in 09 even tho I no longer have
bipoolar. It's GREAT not getting psychotic anymore.
Bloggeress
Sharon & I have never met. Yet I feel like I
know her & her companion Elaine. When I asked the question "Where were you when
Obama won," she wrote: "on the couch in front of the tv with a plate of
food and a nice bottle of wine anticipating a long night. It was 7.55pm Calif
time. The polls were just about to close. ... I took a few bites of food,
clicked between news stations....then CNN announced Obama had won!! ...Had't
even taken my first sip of wine! So the first sip was a jubilant toast shared
with each other, the country, and the world!!!!
Amen!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Where were YOU when you heard about the election results?
Scott was working in
The Car-House at
SEPTA.
The TV was blasting thru the loudspeakers.
I'd gone to bed at 10 pm, exhausted from working 14.5 hours at the polls, & when
I woke up at 2 am, checked the NY Times & was greeted by
O B A M A
Racial Barrier Falls in Heavy Voter Turnout
Listened to his 19-minute Victory Speech. That man is unflappable.
McCain's speech was also terrific. This was the McCain that his followers knew
so well, mostly absent on the campaign trail with his harsh, angry & Obama-scornful
rhetoric.
How happy I am that I'll no longer see those McCain-Palin
signs.
Called PA State Rep. Tom Murt - a Republican - who spoke at our group. Left a
message for Tom & his wife Maria that I voted for him even tho I voted straight
Democrat.
His office is a veritable social service agency. I doubted his Dem opponent
could be a tenth as capable as Tom & his fab staff, located in the heart of
downtown Hatboro. Easy access to his constituents, myself included, who take
advantage of his free notary services, as well as an absentee ballot I got from
them.
His aide said Tom won by a 60 percent majority.
Today my LA Fitness account is re-activated. I froze it in July after my
Sciatica
Tsuris.
Part of the genius of the Jewish people is that our millennia of suffering
brought about the Yiddish language. Tsuris is a much deeper and sadder word than
simply "trouble." Say the word yourself - tsoooris - the sibbilant sounds and
drawn out OOO are in themselves a drawn-out tsuris.
Our long national tsuris is finally over. Obama has triumphed, a tireless
champion who may have been guided by the hand of God. Who really knows answers
to the unthinkable mysteries of our times.
My favorite part of his Victory Speech was when he mentiioned disenfranchised
Americans such as the disabled in the same breath as every other type of
American. Can you imagine McCain hinting equality for every American or talking
about all the imprisoned African-Americans as did Obama?
I personally am not awaiting impossible instant change. I agree we're gonna
climb a "steep cliff" where Obama's poetic language will change into action
words. Look, he's already appointed his staff. The time will pass quickly until
Inauguration Day of our 44th president. Will sales of puppies increase thruout
the country? Not in my home they won't.
Meow! Meow!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Why do people become addicts? Because the activity feels so good in our body
or brains. I'm addicted to several online websites such as my daughter's - read
her funny
post here - and I'm also addicted to
reading The Times online.
However, I refuse to read the Times tonite. You see, although the polls close
nationwide in a couple of hours, I have my own philosophy about how to learn who
is the winner. Halfway will not do it for me, hence not checking the Times nor
watching TV. To tell the truth, I really have no philosophy at all. I'm creating
one as we speak.
I'm a paid pollworker. Had an awful nite's sleep cuz I was worried about getting
up early - 5:45 for gawdssake - and had 2 alarms set in case one failed,
assuming of course I didn't pass away in the nite. Scott of course would've
found me stiff in the morning wearing his warm thermal underwear. I keep my
house at 66 degrees which feels great when you snuggle under the covers.
B/c I'm reading a terrific book by a Persian female writer now in exile in
California, the book seeped into my dreams. The book Touba has many frightening
scenes of this century's persecution of women in Iran. Their mistreatment is a
true horror story. In my dream which seemed very long, I am traveling with
daughter Sarah in a land called Fez in the Middle East. We are having the very
same horrible adventures as in the book Touba.
When I woke up to the jangle of my alarm clocks, I said, Thank God it was only a
dream.
Got to the polls on time. We had a team led by a fantastically organized woman
named Judy. We all laffed together and worked together. I saw several local
super-stars (my definition, as you'll note, may be very different from yours).
When a man named Tom finished voting, I said to him, I think you were my
mailman at Village Green Apartments. He looked at me. "That was years ago. I've
been retired for 8 years. Were you in H-6?" Indeed I was.
Another favorite was Damian LaRosa, the builder. There's a long story about him
I'll tell you about when I see you tete a tete.
Tom Murt, a popular Republican and his wife Maria voted there. He was reelected
handily for State Representative. There were also a couple of priests and
pastors who voted there. I was telling Lorraine who was sitting next to me about
who I thought was cute or amazing. So many amazing people walked or hobbled in.
One young guy was gripping 2 canes and walking with great difficulty. There was
also a 93-year-old woman who voted. I actually took her place at the polls cuz
she had a leg operation and couldn't sit down for long periods of time.
So I'm blabbing away to Lorraine and Harriet, when someone in a deep voice said,
"Miss, stop talking & get to work." I looked over & there was my Scottie in his
sexy Ford jacket from when he worked as an auto mechanic.
In the first 90 minutes, we processed 250 voters nonstop. We didn't have a
moment to breathe. The majority of voters were registered Republicans. At day's
end the tally was:
613 Obama
584 McCain
As goes
Fulmor Heights, PA, so goes the nation?
Oh, I nearly forgot! I was looking for one special person I knew lived in
Fulmor Heights.
A man in his 70s checked in. He looked familiar but I wasn't quite sure. I
thought a moment while he bent over to sign his name and then I said, Did you
used to work at the deli across the street from the Intelligencer/Record (where
I worked as a copyeditor) on Easton Road and do you have lots of birdhouses in
your yard?
Well, he said, the deli closed down (it was his post-retirement job) and the
birdhouses got to be too much.
I'd found him: Hank! One of the nicest people ever.
We pollworkers finished a little after nine p.m. How efficient they were! How
kind! I'll miss you all, I said zipping up my Cape May sweatshirt. Lorraine & I
walked out to our cars. We'd parked far away in pre-appointed places so the
voters could have first stab at nearby parking places. This was all orchestrated
by Judy. As you can see, I love efficiency.
Predictions were that Obama could take it by midnight. Since I haven't figgered
out my election philosophy, I've decided I'm gonna go to bed now & when I wake
up I'll check the New York Times.
The nation awaits!
Monday, November 3, 2008
(The day before)
We stood at the bus-stop downtown yesterday waiting for the 38 to take us to
the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Eight buses came by, none of which was the 38.
An enormous herd of motorcycles passed by. Seemed like a mile long.
Scott, I said, how come they don't have to stop at the red light?
Cuz they're controlling the light, he said pointing.
At each intersection, 2 of their bikes blocked the cars so the whole herd could
pass thru.
Wow, I said, in admiration. Impatient drivers were actually honking at them,
futilely. They could barely be heard above the R O A R.
The energy of the Easy Riders and the cold winds whipping around the corner
infused me with passion.
Scott, we've been standing on this ass-whipping corner for 20 minutes. Where's
the art museum. Let's walk.
Can you do it, he said, referring to my bum leg.
Absolutely, I said. Figure out how to get there.
It took half an hour including navigating round the dangerous intersections
along the Cultural District of Philadelphia. Man, those cars go fast!
After we climbed the famous stairway, thankfully it has landings, and gave our
Sunday donation (free on Sundays) I pulled out my handprinted list of exhibits
we wished to see, copied off their website.
Never have I enjoyed myself so much! Huge colored photographs documented the
quilts of
Gee's Bend, Arkansas, quilts made from
descendants of a a quilt-making slave woman. Following the room with the huge
photographs, we entered room upon room of quilts. The impact was staggering. The
sheer beauty of them, the bold colors, the shapes that connected deep within our
bosom since all humans recognize patterns - the baby looks in your eye, clings
onto your pinkie after birth and always follows you with their eyes.
Several quilts bore undeniable geometric patterns associated with Africa.
What can I do with these quilts, I thought. How can I incorporate them into my
very being, my own soul, and my own artwork.
Scott said to me, Your sister
Amy makes quilts just as b'ful as these. Esp.
her religious-ikon quilts. She's fascinated with Catholic saints & embeds them
into her quilts.
Why is it that Jews like me & Ame LOVE Catholic saints? I wrote a terrific poem
about Bernadette of Lourdes. I'd post it here but I have no idea where it lies
on my desktop.
And then we entered the gallery of self-taught artist
James Castle, a man who could not hear, but
could draw and make things out of found objects like cereal boxes or calendar
pages and whose human-size photograph of a man in farm clothes decried his
immense artistic talents. His talents reminded me of one of my favorite
visionary artists
Vollis Simpson of North Carolina (b. 1919). I'm
gonna call the American Visionary Museum in Baltymore to see if he's still
alive. His whirlygig stands atop the museum.
I've gotta get a lot done before noon when my client gets here. She's doing
great!
Please pass Peggela's cheesecake. Oh god, there's a stinkbug on my left speaker.
I'm too lazy to flush it. As an antidote to my cheesecake gluttony I'm baking
some sweet potatoes.
Thanks to the Abington Free Library for finding the contact info for Mayor
Nutter of Philly. Was transferred to his Action Offfice - great name! - to
implore them to put more 38 buses on the route to the art museum. During our
half-hour walk there - and back - we saw NOT A ONE.
They said they'd get in touch with SEPTA. Have not been able to find a contact
person. Am trying to reach chairman Pasquale ("Pat") T Deon, Sr.
Just sent SEPTA the following note:
My boyfriend and I wished to travel from our homes in Willow Grove, using
Regional Rail -the R2 - to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. We confirmed our
travel info with Albert from SEPTA's phone customer service.
After arriving at Suburban Station, we waited at the shelter bus-stop across the
street from the Comcast Bldg.
At least a dozen buses came by. There was no 38 bus. Again, we checked with a
bus driver to make sure we were waiting at the correct place.
Finally, after 20 minutes, we decided to hike to the art museum. It took half an
hour. At no time did we see the 38 bus.
When we left the art museum we hiked back to Suburban Station, never laying eyes
on the 38 bus.
This is the SECOND TIME this occurred!
We love using public transportation and think this deserves your immediate
attention. Philly is trying to be a cultural center but with service like this,
out-of-towners will be as frustrated as I am!
I also called Mayor Nutter's office b/c I think this is super-important!
Sincerely,
Ruth Z Deming, MGPGP
Master's degree in filing complaints aka suggestions
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Superb Times story about molecular biologist Kenneth Prasher, a man who
knows the importance of work.... any work. This brilliant chemist was
instrumental in the recent naming of the three 2008 Nobel Prizewinners in
Chemistry who paid tribute to his contribution when accepting the $1.8 million
prize.
Prasher,
as you'll read, is just making ends meet in
Huntsville, ALA, where he is employed as a van driver for Bill Penney Toyota. He
suffers from depression and states the necessity of doing work.
I work from home except when I go out to homes for Interventions. I act like I
know what I'm doing (the fab AA slogan of Fake It, You'll Make It).
My first intervention was in nearby Bryn Athyn, PA, world HQ of The
Swedenborgians. This was in the beginning of my
career as an expert in manic depression. Don't get me started on my detestation
of the weirdo name Bipolar Disorder. In those early days my anxiety was off the
charts - unquenchable till I went on Klonopin - & even tho I quivered like
delicious creamy vanilla pudding - hmmm, I have 2 packs in the cupboard now - I
went out to the house of one of their ministers & did my best to help his family
with his manic wife & mother of their 4 children.
About 14 people sat around the dining room table. The I'm-in-denial
manic-depressive wife sat silently off to the side. I told them Nothing you can
do can help her acknowledge her illness.
Whenever I visit the church & its gardens for a spiritual dose of beauty and
peace, I meet the same people today that were there at the intervention. The
minister & his wife are both dead. He went first, a lovely lovely man named
Larry. She was involuntarily hospitalized in
Norristown
the same year she died. She never learned. Her dtr moved from CA to take c/o mom
during her dying days. She was a very difficult woman who, if only on
medication, would've been a leader of her community.
My computer is located near a window so I can experience nature. The snowflakes
are slanting down, thousands of them, hurtling like tea saucers to the wet
waiting ground.
I am wearing warm furry pink socks I bought in Cape May.
Last week my friend Carolyn took me on a scenic drive in Bucks County, ending up
in Frenchtown, NJ, where we ate at a
small
cafe.
Nice woman, terrible driver. I rarely backseat drive but with her it's necessary
to save your neck. She went off the road once - she goes too fast - & wanted me
to look in the rearview to see if she'd lost a hubcap.
Nightmare driver.
Today she called me & said she'd totaled her car.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Just called Helen & Larry, hosts of last nite's bonfire, and said to the
message machine, How come I feel like drinking hot chocolate now! The bonfire
was a raging success primarily cuz we triumphed over situations out of our
control. Look, we knew that whatever date we scheduled for would probly vie as
the worst weather of the month (torrential winds and downpours) but as Helen
said, At least we don't have bees. Then there was the problem that the lights
in the covered pavilion failed to automatically turn on. We called Southampton's
finest and about an hour later a fellow in shorts and a flashlite came over &
turned them on.
Primarily we were worried about our special guest - no, not an eminent
psychiatirist (this word is impossible to spell
correctly, tho in a spelling bee I would get it right) - but my eminent former
mother/law Margie Vivian Smith Deming, 88, escorted by her youngest son, David.
They actually slogged thru the wet grass, arm n arm, and I gave a glowing intro,
followed by cheering & applause. We love having fun! Margie has a great
personality and is a great storyteller. Bob & Lynn Cuddy said she reminds them
of the newly deceased Fruit Cake lady which I looked up
just for you.
Now Margie freely confesses in her broad Texan accent she married a man who
became an alcoholic. He was the first alcoholic I ever did meet. I was a naive
24-year-old & we never did have any alcoholics thus far in our family. I had a
romantic's view of same until I met the brilliant alcoholic demented Joseph
Horace Deming who lined the kitchen wall to wall with Falstaff Beer and began
tippling with his morning coffee. I collect family history so Margie's story was
priceless. After his oil company kicked him out of VZ, they gave him a second
chance. Sent him to his wife's hometown of Crockett, TX, where Margie taught
school during the day and her husband was sposed to be doing consulting work for
the oil company and taking care of the youngest son David, 5, while the 2 older
boys were in school.
Instead, this wily man would drive himself and young David to the bar in the
next county since Crockett was a dry Baptist town. The bartender would set up
Mr. Deming with his Falstaff and mix David a pretend beer of Sprite and Cokey-Cola.
They'd stay in the bar till it was time to meet Margie at home. Dave remembers
with fondness his dad stumbling out to the car, driving all over those wide TX
highways, with young David giving the steering wheel a gentle turn or two to
keep from going off the road.
When Margie found out, "I put him out of the house."
She told this seated in a comfy canvas chair thoughtfully provided by the
Kirschners with a place for drinks in the arm of the chair. We kept Margie
(Granny to you young'uns) supplied with apple cider and then with hot chocolate.
At the end we auctioned off all the food to the loudest bidder. Marion got the
apple cider in which I accidentally mixed the remains of the hot chocolate - not
much not much- it was still so dark it was hard to see. Faces looked really
different in the windy nite air. We had a great turnout! 25 or so. At the last
minute Peggela called to say she needed to go to the ER - yikes! - cuz her face
swelled up from a poison oak allergic reaction. Although we missed her famous
cheesecake (I left her a phone message reminding her I'm not allergic to
cheesecake), Ada brought 2 varieties of her famous brownies. I stuck with her
peanut butter brownies since I thot her double chocolate brownies w/choc chips
might induce a diabetic coma.
Got home by 10 when Scott came over so we could watch the Phillies together.
Since this is his weekend to catch up on his sleep, and b/c I fall asleep as
soon as I hit the bed, which is where we do our TV watching, we both slept thru
the rained-out part until the weather was good enuf to play ball. The Phils did
an amazing come-from behind, or was it the Rays that did. Anyway the Phils
pulled it off. Then I watched the incredible remake of Invasion of the Body
Snatchers - can you picture the person screaming at the end to betray someone.
Brilliant. I will not betray the plot by telling you.
Politics as usual. Thanks to Patsy of the
Main Line NAMI for thinkin of Yours Truly with
this
clever video.
And if you like clever and smart, Sue Katz is a
must-read. Stephen
is also but I've gotta put on my thinkin cap when I
read him.
Vat else? Oh, we must stand up for our own needs. Scott usually likes to bop by
after work at 8:30 in the morning. I finally found the courage to tell him,
Mornings are my most productive time. Instead of stopping over after you get off
the train, please come over at some point in the afternoon. That should satisfy
both of us. Relationships need constant adjusting.
Here's what I do when I work on my novel as I did this morning. Distraction is a
constant temptation. So I unplug my phone and bring my drinks next to the
computer. Plenty of ice water and this morning..... sage tea. The spices I
least like are growing riotously in the jardin. Sage is not a favorite but it
is prolific and beautiful. I decided to turn it into tea this morning. I picked
several stalks & boiled it down in water. An unsightly foam appeared in the
water reminding me of chicken soup foam. I scooped it out with a slotted spoon.
Then I poured out the tea into my favorite see-through glass cup/w handle. The
g'dam cup broke in two.
Then I sagely poured it into a thick yellow cup and began sipping. The tea was
horrible. It tasted like lamb meat.
See, I'd brought home a doggie bag of a lamb dish from when Scott & I took his
parents out to a restaurant at the Jenkintown train station. After I ate the
remains, I rinsed out my bowl & cuz I like to conserve water, I poured it out,
she said sotto voce, over the sage plant.
oy veh! Do not do that again, Ruthie!
I'll now proof this blog & select the perfect healthy snack to accompany me.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Great post,
Sarah Lynn!
When she was born 34 yrs ago in Brenham, TX, her Aunt May from Crockett, TX,
made her a beautiful yellow patchwork quilt. In southern Texas, it doesn't get
real cold and the quilt traveled from our life in TX until Sarah was 2 and then
we came up to Huntingdon Valley, PA, to live with my folks sans her dad
(oh, how I missed my Random House Unabridged Dictionary, bought from Green
Stamps from shopping at the
HEB).
The quilt followed us to our new home at Village Green Apartments (referred to
in my novel as Village Green by the Creek) where her baby brother, Darling Dan,
joined us. The stork dropped him off on the windowsill in his blue furry rompers
& Sarah & I invited him to live with us and the Yellow Quilt.
The quilt now dwells with me in my lovely home with its aroma of - ready? -
invented chickpea soup. Like, how dyou make chickpea soup? Go online & choose
from 2,000 recipes?
Mayan (that's how locals pronounce 'mine') has:
- Reconstituted dried chickpeas (the ONLY way to make it)
- Soup veggies (celery, carrot, onion, taters)
- Cinnamon
- 2 tablespoons rich spaghetti sauce
Naturally we boil it down to stew consistency for maximum flavor and less
drippage onto one's blouse or Scott's ubiquitous sweatshirt. Will somebody buy
that man a real shirt for godssakes! I say sitting typing in my warm sea-foam
green PJs.
Adding a supreme flavor power I grated swiss cheese on top, a meal in one. My
healthy beverage was Milk with molasses. Mmmm. An acquired taste.
The quilt now hangs on the wall in my bedroom keeping me warm by covering some
windows. It survives its creator Aunt May and all of her siblings save one - my
former mother-in-law Margie Smith Deming. The Smiths were farm people in East
TX.
We'd go down to visit Aunt May, Bonnie, Evelyn, Van (who'd find jewelry in the
middle of the road) and their father David Millard Smith, an old man who paid no
attention to me, a Jewish Yankee from up north. I think they were in denial I
was Jewish cuz I didn't have my horns on.
These people had the farm ethic - work from dawn to way past dark. Man, were
they hardworkers. And they knew how to save money, of necessity.
Me, I never go shopping for anything othan food or good restaurant food. Today
at our marvelous outing at Linvilla Orchards, we stopped in the town of Media,
PA, at a giftshop. I saw a pair of earrings. I said to myself, Mygod, I've
forgotten all about buying earrings. These ones sure are pretty.
Could not decide whether to buy them, then decided to spring. I gave her a 20 &
got nearly 13 dollars back. Check me out at the bonfire. The earrings are clear
as crystal and reflect the light of the fire.
And we may have a special guest if she's up to hiking on the grass to our
Pavilion. My 88-year-old former mother-in-law, the very same Margie Smith
Deming. She was the only one of the Smiths to go to college. She married a
brilliant man who at age 28 while working in VZ as a geologist for the Richfield
Oil Company began drinking and could not stop. This brilliant man had alcoholic
dementia when he died while living with his third wife Nedra.
But Margie has endured & so have his three sons by Margie, and two daughters
from first wife Betty.
Alcohol? I never much cared for it other than when I was at college & enjoyed a
good vomit.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Colin Powell endorses Obama. Click on this 7 minute interview with Powell on
this morning's
Meet the Press. Click here for
article. What an articulate serious man
he is. I like his style. He could be a father of his own country. His wife
suffers from clinical depression. Listen to what he says about the Muslim
soldier at Arlington Cemetery. Fab!!!
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Guess who's sleeping upstairs in my bed?
Sarah Lynn Deming, my darling
daughter. I peeked in on her very quietly, remembering as I did so,
the joy of raising her. She came to town to visit her alma mater Abington
Friends School on Author's Day. She's published three novels with a real writing
riff this year. If this were a NY Times column, I could double-click on the word
"riff" to see if I used it correctly.
I left her a note on the kitchen table like we used to do saying I'll be home by
9:30. Ran over to Giant to pick up a spearmint plant to keep on my windowsill so
I can make delicious mint tea year-round. Robin from the Community Room gave it
to me.
The small kindnesses people do for one another improve our humanity.
I had a tiny bit of last nite's dinner left over which I fed Sarah. I ground it
up in the blender like I used to do when I made my own baby food. Not really. I
made this phenomenal fish from the Mekong Delta, a variety of catfish called
Basa. It was succulent and chewy. I slathered sauce over it before I sauteed it.
The sauce utilized some individual Hellmann's mayo packets & golden mustard
packets I saved from Ben n Irv's Deli when I ordered awesome Fried Sweet
Potatoes.
So, I smeared that on the fish with my hands. I keep a wet rag in the sink to
wipe my hands on, Julia Child I am not. Over that, I pressed fresh garlic given
to me by Chrissie, a farmer's wife who visits across the street. (Our Bob in our
group will plant garlic in his humongous garden after the first frost). Pungent!
Over that I sprinkled lots of flavorful ginger and I topped it all with slices
from a clementine.
Scott was very impressed & so was Sarah. It's necessary that I keep a boyfriend
around so I can cook for him. Cooking for one is a drag for me. I'm actually
planning on having one of our Lunch Bunch programs at my home when I get up my
nerve. For me, cooking for a crowd is very challenging!
Now, let's see. Here's some notes from our last mtg, Stephen Treat guest
speaker. He shared loads of interesting personal anecdotes about his troubled
family (alcoholism) while growing up. He said that today he eschews alcohol
entirely. So, he's up there at the podium speaking. I'm sitting at a table with
8 people and suddenly - yes, you guessed it - a young woman starts fiddling with
her cell phone. I was mortified! This is true. I can't stand rudeness, esp. to a
guest speaker. BURP! Oh, excuse me, it just slipped out.
Anyway, I mumbled to her, Turn it off! She looked away from me unhappily. Then I
wrote her a note & slid it toward her... Sorry, I thought you were going to make
lots of noise.
"Don't let your emotions dictate your actions," preached Stephen. I'll tell you,
the other day I was really offended & pissed off & I actually did NOTHING about
it. Which was the correct thing to do. By retaliating in kind I would've
perpetuated my own anger & brought more memory traces of the insult into my
brain. When something bad happens, just goddam process it - either with yourself
or another neutral person - and then distract yourself from thinking about it.
Right, you-know-who? (They're all thinking it's them - and it is!) This world
was made for you & me.
Six of us went to IHOP afterward. There were no people there. Usually it's
mobbed. "Is the economy hurting you?" I asked our usual server Amanda. "You
bet," she said. Sandy also came over. We were all studying the menu & I was
thinking if only they lowered the prices a teeny bit, they'd get more people in.
"I have an idea," I said to the both of them while sipping my delicious cold
water with lemon thru a straw. Not a flex straw, just a regular one.
Why not put a sign OUTSIDE & say, All items 10 percent off. Or something like
that. Why don't you tell that to the manager?
I am the manager, laffed Sandy. "and we do have a special." Most of the group
members took her up on the special, all the pancakes you can eat, I believe. I
just had a hot fudge sundae.
I also just had my first injection for sciatica. What an interesting experience.
The day after the 10-minute procedure (we were in the freezing cold operating
room about half an hour while they prepped me & hooked me up to a fluoroscope so
Jeremy Jaffe, MD, and drummer, could see where to insert the needle in my spine.
I wished I could see but I was lying on my tummy. They put a blood pressure cuff
on my arm which kept pumping up, and also a clip on my finger to monitor my
pulse in case I died of fright.
It was all done extremely smoothly and professionally. I haven't one complaint
or suggestion. Oh, perhaps 10 percent off, Inflation Special.
Next morning they called and their name popped up on the Caller ID. "Hi, this is
Ruth, I said, and I'm still alive." This, Dear Readers, is how I face my
mortality.
Vat else? So I'm coming home this morning from the Willow Grove Giant and this
fantastic music comes on. "Omigod," I said. This must be the Magic Flute by
Mozart. I want them to play this at my funeral.
After I picked up my daughter at Abington Friends, we drove over to her
brother's house in Abington. I was talking to myself. "Hmmm, is this the same
Susquehanna Road that Dan lives off of? I'll figure it out in a minute," I said
to Sarah, trying to assure her her mom knew what she was doing.
"Mom," said, Sarah, "whenever
Ethan
(her husband) comes in & he drives with you and Dan, he says, No wonder, Sarah,
you have no sense of direction."
Turns out it WAS the same Susquehanna Road. Ain't that a beauitful name?
Sometime we're so used to things, we fail to appreciate what's right before our
eyes.
When Sarah walked in my house she exclaimed, "Mom.... it's so neat! It looks
great."
"Thank you," I said. "I didn't even clean it up!" When she saw my Obama T-shirt
lying on the steps, she said, "Mom I'm so proud of you. A T-shirt and a sign on
your lawn."
We make each other feel so darn good. She even read Chapter 5 of my novel &
said, "Mom this is really good." Whew! This is how family life should be. We've
had our rough times, believe me. But these are the best times of all. Please
pass the mint tea.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Here's some surprising news about the McCain Family - the Other McCain
Family that is. Turn up your
speakers.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
YAY Phillies! Not since 1993.
YAY Obama (almost)! Not since 1996.
We do indeed live in exciting times! It's a great time to be alive. After my
online novel-writing class in which I had to defend my position on my new
healthcare policy, name-calling due to my association with Ayres, a terrorist,
when I was 8 years old, and was baited by the anchor man to attack my opponent's
running mate - oops! - I got confused with the presidential debate in which I
only watched the Closing Arguments - actually I got walloped in class because in
my novel I didn't give enough detail of the disintegrating relationship between
the the main characters. It's hard writing sad love scenes. But if anyone can do
it, it's me. All I need do is reach back into my own history.
While breakfasting on delicious rye toast slathered with peanut butter &
drinking a cold delicious glass of milk, I called my friend "Donna" and told her
about our guest speaker tonight - Stephen Treat. What's the topic, she asked.
"How to Live with a Loved One who has Bipolar" I told her. Donna has been on
bipolar meds forever & does quite well. Her shrink is
Claudia whom she loves. Said Donna, I may come
if the topic were Living with an Artist who has Depression. Well, says I, why
don't you come & we'll talk about THAT. Her bipolar has never gotten in the way
of her life. Her therapist works in the next cubicle to Stephen Treat.
Like many people later in life, Donna's bipolar only manifests as depression.
She highly resents that the nomenclature of bipolar or manic depression does not
describe her current status. As in, once a bipolar, always a bipolar. I myself
am not taking sides. That's cuz I have no opinion about this. Let's see. Several
years ago my chest hurt. I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with pleurisy.
I'm coughing now to see if my chest hurts. Does that mean I'm still pleurotic?
I love waking up in the morning even though it's not to a delicious hot cup of
coffee served in a glass mug. I do go on and on about coffee in my novel. It
may sound funny but I love lying in bed, feeling the comfortable matterss under
my back, with no one beside me but my books, no one to pamper but myself. I love
the feel of my white down comforter and when it gets cold, my tiger blanket I
throw on top. I am deliciously warm under there. When we were in Cape May I
found a perfect pair of PJs - sea-foam green & furry - I'll wear it to the
meeting tonite, not - and also found my pink furry slippers - at last! - can't
wait to show them to Sarah when she comes home for the weekend. They are a riot!
One of the funnest things lying in bed is a new trick I discovered. I lie there
& crack my toes. The sound is barely audible, like icicles dangling from the
eaves.
While falling asleep last nite, I said a prayer to the Almighty God, and then I
thought about Simon who passed on Feb. 4. Where are you, Simon, I asked, and
then a big swooping figure appeared in my imagination over my bedroom like a
Goya drawing (people say drawLing) here in
Philly
Obama trounced McCain last nite. I went to Huffy Post for their clever views on
the debate. They highlighted certain visual features of McCain - the deer in the
headlights pose, for example - the man's facial expressions, if anything, are
inappropriate to the dialog. Scott & I were eyeing one another in amazement and
laffter. I feel sorry for the man.
Huffy had used the phrase Anger Management about McCain. Question is,
Why is he an angry man? And Obama so unruffled in these troubled times when
we're looking for calm leadership as an antidote to the hysteria of Wall Street.
What I dislike most about McCain is his contempt for his opponent.
We must ask ourselves, Dear Reader, are we contemptuous? We must constantly
examine ourselves. As my friend Judy Socrates Kroll says, An unexamined life is
not worth living. As a stay-home mom, Judy said, I'm not interested in being a
businesswoman. I take piano lessons & learned to play Beethoven's Fur Elise.
Learning that song, she said, was worth all the salary I used to make as a
teacher.
Called Marion last nite to thank her for the great job hosting our Lunch Bunch.
She refilled my glass of fresh cider four times. No wonder I didn't need to eat
a full dinner last nite, only 3 corn on the cobs (halves), still sweet, since
being imported from North Carolina. I always chat with the produce man & ask
qvestions, as well as the fish man who apprised me the fresh salmon came from
Chile. How can you not be curious about what you put in your stomach?
At one o'clock I have my pain injection. That's why I'm writing this. My biggest
worry about it is What to read in the waiting room. Boredom is my greatest
enemy.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I come to this blog with absolutely nothing to say but 5 minutes to say it.
When I typed up the date it reminded me of all the time zones I've lived in.
Here are some of the places I've lived in my long life.
Grand Rapids, Michigan - San Francisco - Redwood City - Shaker Heights -
Plainfield VT - Ossining NY (I foiled a mugging by screaming at the top of my
lungs) - Castor & Cottman Philadelphia (I learned about corner grocery stores
with marinated olives & fresh rye bread with seeds) - Willow Grove PA (I learned
about maintaining a house & a garden bed to be seen from every window - and the
delight of good neighbors & how to be one).
When I climbed into Judy's Sparkle-o-Mobile yesterday to see Hillary Clinton in
Horsham, PA, I said "Judy, it's not really Hillary I've come to see, but YOU!"
My sweet potatoes are baking in the oven for when Dan & Nicole come over for his
belated b'day dinner. Where were YOU when you were 32? I guess I was in Abington
Hospital recovering from the birth of the little man with the blue eyes who grew
inside me. After the natural childbirth - ouch! - I asked the doctor if I could
eat.
I leaned over the bed and pulled out my bag of homemade whole wheat bread. I'll
be serving the same kinda bread tonite plus a leg of salmon, freshly caught by
an unknown hand. Thank you, whomever you are.
Just had this incredible fantasy. Permish granted to use it for your next novel.
From hanging around Scott for so long & even starting to smell like him, I
thought what if I begin to go bald(er) than him & sprout a huge(er) black
mustache like him! My pectorals will also ripple as will my triceps. Inches will
fall from my waist. I'll be... fill in the blank.
Now I've gotta drive away from home & cogitate on whether I've made a fool of
myself (again). At this point it life, it doesn't matter. I've left my mark.
Reminder: Never leave home without your Obama sticker. It fosters conversation,
one of the major raison d'etres of our lives.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Don't leave home without clicking on Sue Katz's HYSTERICAL Betty White
video.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
I always enjoy reading
Stephen
first thing in the morning.
Am gearing up for my first trip to Lake Galena since herniating my disc. I have
so much missed the great blue heron, the bike riders, the parents with baby
strollers, the picnickers, and the tranquility of boating. What shall we rent
today? A paddleboat, a kayak, a rowboat?
And who shall be there, down at the water's edge.
Probably not BB, as she was known in her days of fleeting fame. Read about her -
and another powerful woman Donna Brazile - on Sue's always
engaging blog.
Did I tell you I'm working on my novel with renewed zeal? Tick-tick-tick goes my
timer whenever I write.
Visited neighbor Mary yesterday & commented on her digital 12-hour timer that
clips onto her belt. She insisted I take the extra one she keeps just in case in
her closet.
Her late husband,
EE Grebner, was instrumental in research for
Tay-Sachs
disease. She told me an amazing story that an
Amish married couple had 3 normal children & 2 with this most hideous of
diseases. They did not know they were carriers. After the first Tay child died,
they had amniocentesis to learn if their second child had it. The doctor caring
for them gave them the WRONG answer so they went on to bear a second Tay child.
I told Peggela last nite that I love shooting the breeze with my neighbors. I
also learned that the man across the street bought a new Dodge Challenger. I
asked him what's so special about it. He likes race cars, I know. His last one
was a Trans-Am, is that right, Scott? The Dodge Challenger, Bob told me,
was popular in the 1970s and then retired.
Now it's back - and looks almost precisely the way it did 40 years ago! Let's
you & I now tiptoe over to the google department & see if we can find a pretty
picture for you. Neighbor Bob's is a
dazzling orange.
Good luck to
Goddard pal Iris on her online
coaching debut! Remember, you're all invited.
Friday, October 10. 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
We had a fab meeting at the mall this morning. I started my morning as
always reading in bed. A poet-friend of mine published his first book which I'm
reading & will review on Amazon if it's listed. I nearly finished the book but
DISCIPLINED myself to get to the mall on time. It's 8 minutes away. I cut 3
slices of wholewheat bread I made last nite, buttered them, popped em in a bag
with clementines from South Africa & headed on over. The new guy Chris was
already seated. I purposely circumvented a table with handsome elderly gents so
I wouldn't stop to flirt with them. I am a respectable flirt.
So we did our usual on-the-job problem-solving. Remember when we had our
feng-shui gal as guest speaker. People are still talking about her. Two of the
Mallsters need to de-clutter their homes so we all chipped in giving tips. Laura
has to straighten up her house for her daughter's first communion. Tips include:
Put on music
Do one little section at a time
Put stuff in a box if you can't decide what to do with it
Have a time limit
Set the timer
Maria is learning to relax since retiring from her teaching job. She's never
relaxed in her entire life, having worked even as a kid. She is getting to like
it. I can only relax when I go on short trips with Scott such as our great time
at Cape May. We saw the sun rise on the beach at 7 a.m, the little golden arrow
of the tip piercing through the calm horizon. We stood in the chill breeze on
the beach with the wind waving thru our hair and inhaling the bracing salt air.
It reminded me that I wanna re-read Thomas Mann's Death in Venice. It was
required reading at Temple U but today I'm sure I'd better understand it.
Required reading at Goddard College was Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by
James Joyce. I only pretended to read it. I am asking God to forgive me right
now since today is Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. In Jewish tradition, God
inscribers your name in the Book of Life for one more year or else, he inscribes
you into The Book of Sciatica, as he did to me for 2008. I believe I learned a
lot by having sciatica. The main thing I learned is that I'd rather work & live
than go to a doctor, which is why it's taking so long to heal. This, btw, is
unconscionably stupid!!!
My Goddard friend Iris Arenson Fuller is now a career coach & offers this
special invitation
to YOU, Dear Reader. Click here. I'm not sure
I'll be able to partake since it's Scott's last vacation weekend & we may drive
to Gettysburg. We rented a car yesterday & drove to Easton PA to visit the
Crayola Factory with its upstairs Delaware Canal Museum. I drove the car there
thru winding narrow roads & was basically scared shitless but kept on driving.
Added to that, the car was one of those new cars built on an angle so that it
has a teeny tiny back window & major blind spots in the back. I had to learn to
use the side-view mirror like a truck driver. Scott himself has driven
tractor-trailers as well as made a trial run as a SEPTA engineer. He found it
too boring so he chose to be a mechanic.
Mallster Linda gave me a present. I opened it up. "Did I ask you to order
these?" I said when I saw a beautiful pair of black pants. "No," she said, "you
admired them the last time I wore them, so I washed them & they're yours!" I
wore them home, packed myself a lunch & then drove down to Bensalem, PA. I
visited the home of my deceased boyfriend Simon which has been sold to a family
with children. I knew this b/c Simon's vehicle was not in drive. No matter if we
know the person is dead, we still hope we'll see them sunning themselves in the
driveway, glass of ice-tea on the side.
Then I
drove over to visit my therapist friend Judy
Diaz who I haven't seen in 3 years. I couldn't remember where she lived so I saw
2 cops in a pizza joint. I walked in & pretended to shoot up the place, -
actually one cop was on the phone & the other one saw me look at him & motioned
me over. I had a piece of paper ready & I asked Do you know where Arundel Avenue
is?
It's past my bedtime now so I'm getting a little punchy. Anyway he pulled out a
map. I wrote down the directions and parked outside her townhouse. I knew
without a doubt where she would be. So I walked around back. Luckily I was
wearing my new black pants from Linda rathan shorts b/c I had to walk thru all
this foliage to get to Judy's deck. I had to climb up a thorny hill to get to
her. With rocks on the bottom. I had to be careful not to fall & injure my
sciatica body. "Is that you Ruthie?" she called.
We'd had a falling out 3 years ago so I was glad to hear her cheerful voice. I
told her Simon had died. She'd had us over to dinner. She's a great cook. Her
best friend, Judy, is the oldest woman ever to have a kidney transplant. No, she
was not on lithium. Born with a congenitive problem - and YOU think you have
problems. We talked about when we were therapists at Bristol-Bensalem. I asked
how to get there. She told me. I drove over to Sunset Road, pulled in & as she
had predicted the old elementary school that housed our center which read
"Abandon All Hope All Ye Who Enter Here" had been demolished and in its place
were large single houses. Half of em had For Sale Signs.
We are all thankful in this Jewish New Year that we are healthy & have our own
homes & the ability to make simple meals such as tonite's macaroni & cheese &
that we have the ability to think and to reason and fall asleep with a good book
that will swim before our eyes until slumber comes.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Great editorial by Frank Herbert on
Sarah Palin.
When Karen got her job per below, she was required to take a drug test. She
was worried her bipolar meds would show up in the drug test. When she got to
Quest Diagnostics, she told the phlebotomist she was on antidepressants.
They're looking for narcotics, said the needle-sticker. They don't care about
antidepressants.
Friday, Octogon 3, 2008
Our phone calls finally paid off! Thanks everyone for phoning your federal
lawmakers. Today the Mental Health & Addictions Equity Act (also known as the
Parity Bill) passed the House of Representatives. The Senate passed the measure
earlier this year. Now it awaits signing by el presidente. It took 20
l-o-n-g years to enact this vital legislation. Read
more here.
We had a terrific ND meeting last nite where we did some important same-day
problem-solving. Thanks also to Karen for sharing how she finally found a job
thru
OVR. She got a free hearing aid from them
plus an all-important job coach. I gave her some home-made whole wheat bread as
a token of my deep affection.
Got my MRI results today, one day after the test. Mary & I were chatting about
our teeth-rattling experiences inside the machine. Mary put it well when she
said it was the arrhythmia of the machine that was so daunting for our brains to
handle. She, like me, did all we could to forestall panic. I told her images
flowed past my tightly shut eyes. I felt I was giving birth, having sex, being
born, going thru the tunnel to the other side, that I was
Christa McAuliffe on the space shuttle waiting
to burn up.
The good thing was that I could escape. Mission Control Room beyond the window
finally released me after only 25 minutes that seemed like an eternity. Of
course I imagined that I was in Dante's Inferno, a punishment for being born.
I'm trying to find where I put the diagnosis. I wrote it on an envelope - oh!
Here it is. You'll have to figger it out for yourself. herniated, nerve
compression, disc protrusion, mild stenosis. Do NOT tell me what these things
mean. Does this mean I'm in denial?
This is why I didn't go to the Abington High School Stadium to meet Obama.
However, I did meet an eye-witness. I was in the Hatboro post office lobby and
bumped into a woman wearing an Obama T-shirt. I was wearing my full-face Obama
shirt. Pam, a volunteer like me from the Jenkintown PA office, shook the man's
hand as did her young son. Obama was wearing a suit with a blue shirt. He was
very friendly and signed 3 of Pam's books.
I bought some of the most b'ful stamps I've ever seen.
You probly wouldn't be interested in these
Automobile Stamps, said Officer Bill, pulling
out newly minted 50s Fins & Chrome Stamps.
Omigod, I said, they're gorgeous. I'll take two sheets.
I went next door to the stationery store, bought a brown envelope and mailed the
sheets. No,
Stephen, I did not mail them to you tho your
blogs are fab. And ditto to
Sue Katz. Read my Booker-award winning comments
(you wish, girl!) on her blog about the Biden-Palin debate last nite.
Instead, I mailed them to my next door neighbor-boyfriend who will be surprised
to get them next week after we get home from
Cape May. Remind me to bring my swimsuit for the - yes! - indoor
pool.
Octopus 2, 2008
At 8 am this morning I was lying under my covers reading.
At 10:30, I was lying inside a large plastic tube with earplugs in my ears.
When the noise first began, I was shocked at how loud it was. Boom! Clang! I was
at Abington Hospital getting my first MRI. I'd erroneously thought that since my
lumbar spine was being studied my head would pop out of the machine. Wrong! Six
inches above my head - and all around - was the machine. When Suzanne & Amelia
first locked me in, they gave me a squeeze bulb in case I needed comfort. I also
chose to listen to headphones with talk radio. As soon as the clanging began, I
heard the familiar voice of Marty Moss-Coane interviewing someone. Great, I
thought. I'll learn while I'm being magnetized. Wrong! The interview was
astonishingly boring so I squeezed the bulb.
What's the matter, they said from another room. My room door was thick so the
magnetization couldn't escape. Yes, Star Trek revisited.
I asked them to remove the headphones. Better to deal with my own thoughts than
not be able to change the station.
It was a fearsome experience being in there. An unsafe womb. How would the baby
fare when she was born? Might she have been predisposed to manic depression? The
booms made my heart pound. Would I be able to stand it until the end? It's
interesting what we do to keep sane.
My best defense was humming. The first tune I hummed, God knows why, was Come
All Ye Faithful. Then I stopped, to see how I was doing without musical
accompaniment. Not good. I began humming louder. I imagined being home at my
computer & hearing a jackhammer outdoors. Easy. I'd go into the kitchen, have a
glass of water, maybe eat a clementine, look at the backyard trees, turn up the
stereo and return to work.
Boom clang clang.
All in the service of getting a picture of what my anatomy looks like so the
pain man can know where to stick the needle.
30 days hath September, 2008
Can't remember why I'm procrastinating but hello again! Oh! Harry & Steve
are here installing a gas fireplace in my wreck room & they've turned off the
gas. That would be good news if I were Sylvia Plath but since I'm Ruth Deming
I'm letting my bread rise with no prospect of baking it until the boys are
through. When they removed my old gas fireplace it left a deep pit in the floor.
Steve suggested I fill it with cement. It'll be easy, he said.
Yeah, I said coyly, but it'll look like shit.
I'm walking around in my Starbucks apron so I won't get flour on my clothes. I
forgot all about my ability to bake delicious bread so I'm trying to get gigs to
teach it. I'm lining up my ducks to keep money flowing in since I lost several
million in the stock market. People should line up on Wall Street with placards
reading: Give me back my money.... They belong in jail for stealing our
money.... We need bailing out more than you do
Scott & I went to visit Simon's grave at the Newtown Cemetery. When I cleaned up
my kitchen recently I saw a key chain Simon left behind from a K & S picnic we
both attended. I'm sure they paid a mint for the walking logo, rathan static
logo
http://www.kns.com/. His sons did a nice job on the tombstone: black
granite inscribed with his name, Oct. 28, 1939 to Feb. 4, 2008. He lived with me
for 5.5 years & used to answer the door in his underwear. That man did not care
what anyone thought of him. He needed a wife to guide him. I refused to be his
wife or to guide him.
Last nite when I was falling asleep I thought I've had a good life I wouldn't
mind dying right now.
Then I thought if I had a grandchild I would envision her face & wouldn't want
to die. Something about babies many - but not all of us - just love. Everywhere
I go I see babies & position myself just-so so I can look at them & talk to
them. Dyou think there's something wrong with me? We always find solace by
finding one other person just like us. Ada!
Because I'm a spiritualist I think of everything I do as having an effect in
moving the universe forward. Perhaps by connecting with a baby's eyes I am
imparting some sort of energy into that baby. I believe that every move we make
is important in the grand scheme of things. Except.....
Shopping at Wal*Mart. I was there looking for pink furry slippers for these cold
mornings. Every single time I shop at Walmart, I say NEVER AGAIN. And then the
fog of forgetfulness hits me. This Walmart was a combo of every type store in
one. I parked in the handicap zone & put my temp. red placard on my meer. I
limped out of the car. I don't know if I limp b/c I'm sposed to or if it's a
real limp. I go in and the hikes around that store are just enormous. I
should've brought a backpack & a kerosene stove.
When I found the pink furry slippers they were attached to big plastic
instruments so you can't steal them. I'd even brought my exacto-knife so I could
try to cut the slippers lose but they wouldn't budge. I traipsed around the shoe
shelves like a chinese woman in bound feet & couldn't successfully judge if they
were comfy or not. I put them back and swore never to return. As I'm leaving the
store they have bananas on sale for 39 a pound. Now you certainly can't beat
that. Oh, they're signs read UNBEATABLE! I eyed the bananas & then I looked for
the checkout & thought I'd never make it with my bad leg.
Now, listen to this! I'm limping thru the lot looking for my car. I'd parked
thinking it'd be easy to find since it was in the Blue Zone. So was everyone
else's. When you have a gimp leg like me, you can't help notice all the other
people who can't walk. Anyway I was beginning to panic that I'd never find my
car when I saw it up there. It's tiny so it's hidden among all the SUVs and
vans. You know if we didn't have the gas crisis I bet people would buy
tractor-trailers for themselves. Big vehicles are status symbols. My status
symbols are my ability to talk to strangers & extract personal information
which, according to my abovementioned philosophy, has an unknown effect known
only to the Almighty.
Parked in front of me was the single most interesting vehicle I've ever seen.
Truly. It was a lovely white van that was bashed in in front and had no window
in the back seat. I mean, no window, just a blank empty space. Not even a
fancy-ass tarp. Well, you see, if you shop at Walmart, all your troubles go
away. Except if you're me & then they only just begin.
But for the average person who adores Wallmart & just loves to shop & rack up 20
percent credit card debt, Walmart is the new Disneyworld. When you go into that
store, you do not know there is a world out there. Walmart is a planet all its
own. Just heap up your carts folks with THINGS.
Am I right,
Mr. Weinstein?
Sunday, Sept. 28, 2008
I'm sure Dear Reader it did not go unnoticed that our government managed to
solve the money crisis in less than a week while other major issues such as
Iraq, acknowledging Taliban in Afghanistan, the wretched state of our economy,
of our educational system for the poor, disgraceful treatment of homecoming
veterans, have never been properly addressed or fixed.
Clearly our lawmakers can compromise quite effectively when deadlines collide
with economic ruin. Gee, our high-paid legislators even worked on a weekend like
many average people do.
When I awoke in the middle of the night, I said to myself, How can I live in
a world without Paul Newman? It's getting easier. When I read the news in the
Times about the 83-year-old born in the same town as me - Cleveland - my first
thought was Oh no! He won't be able to vote for Obama. The eternal optimist in
me said Maybe he filled out an absentee ballot & already voted.
Obama acquitted himself beautifully in the debate. Actually I was more worried
about
McLame. Should that former war hero be elected
president I at least wanted him to be able to speak a complete sentence & get
his facts right. I don't care if the guy gets to the top of the stairs & can't
remember what he went up for, that's him & Cindy's problem (Post-It notes
attached to his wrist?) but we don't want our world leader furthering our
shameful demise as head of the free world. And that unspeakable embarrassment of
a running mate of his who gives a bad name to every intelligent woman named
Sarah. Her interview with Katie Couric showing her to be a
shamelessly
babbling idiot turned off even some
Republicans.
If you compare the debate to a boxing match, Obama won in nearly every round. I
liked the way he called McCain on every single mistruth he spouted about his
opponent. I also liked O's respect for his opponent. He beat him but he did not
bloody him. We'll leave that for Nov. 4 when I hope the man is knocked out cold.
Perhaps he'll comfort himself as he did in his last presidentail loss, by
gambling. Talk about not living in reality!
Your Lil Ruthie has been very busy. I went to my mentor's house yesterday so we
could swap chapters of our books in progress. She made me a fabulous omelet with
chunks of goat cheese served on slices of fresh tomato. Scott asked me how she
got along with her husband. Terrible, I said. They bickered constantly. The sum
total of their relationship is poor communication. She's a ballbuster. I tried
to stick up for the husband but she wouldn't let up. "He doesn't know what he's
talking about." "All right, all right, I give up," he said throwing up his
hands. "I'm always wrong, she's always right."
Her book wasn't half bad.
On Friday, I put on my name badge that read Ruth Deming (Patrick) and marched
into a
KinderCare room, bright with windows, where my
4-yr-old neighbor Patrick spends most of the day until his parents pick him up.
We sat at tiny tables where the Special Friends helped the little tykes work on
their Family Books. When Patrick drew his family, he began with baby brother
Ian. Next to Ian he drew himself. "Here's Mommy," he said drawing a stick
figure. And then, quite animated, he said, "This is my Daddy. He's bad. He gives
us time-outs." He drew an enormous couple of legs that extended nearly the whole
page and the requisite head and arms. "He's huuuuuge," he said.
Clearly we know who wears the pants in the family. Just ask Little Patrick.
I'm gonna post an email I sent to one of our group members, in reply to her
importunate woe-is-me email:
Thanks for sending the poem. It sounds GREAT! Keep on writing.
Lots of people don't believe in God. There's nothing wrong with not believing.
Attending church is good if you enjoy the people & the service. If you do not,
then why attend?
Make a list of all THE MANY PLACES you enjoy going such as Serenity Coffeeshop,
Coffee Salon, Keswick Coffeeshop. There are a lot of fun places to attend.
In your twenties, you developed possibly the most severe of all mental illnesses
- schizophrenia. You cope with this very well. You are extremely intelligent.
Your illness doesn't affect your intelligence or your brilliant poetry.
However, it does affect things like your common sense and also your ability to
get a good job. Learn why your resume was not acceptable. Show it to someone who
knows about these things. You also have nothing to use by sending it back to the
person who told you they didn't like it. Tell them, "Although I was hurt by your
feedback, I'd like to learn to write a good resume. I have a serious mental
illness called "schizophrenia" and need all the help I can get. I love to work
and make money and would really appreciate your help."
Also, don't get hung up about Christians. There are hypocrites of all religions.
The only good Christian was Christ.
I'm sure you're out & about today enjoying life. You always do, "Sandra.". You
never stop trying!
love,. ruthie
Thursday, Sept. 25, 2008
Stephen, thanks for
your blog yesterday. I'm so flabbergasted by
what's going on in the Money World I couldn't even comment. It just gets worser
& worser. When Scott & I heard that McShame had canceled Friday nite's debate,
we looked at each other & said What a coward. We opined that at the next debate
he'll have laryngitis. We also noted he never goes anywhere by himself.
The cool blond bombshell of a wife is always in tow.
Enough already!
I said to my blogger
daughter who is finishing up her third novel,
"You haven't blogged in a while, Sweetie. Besides it's a waste of time."
Thereupon, I wasted time yesterday checking her blog & lo she'd made 3 entries
since our talk. Nice lil small entries unlike mine. I'm like a fine bottle of
wine. Once you uncork me you've got to drink the whole thing. So here I go.
We did fabulous work at our Mall Talk this morning, 14 in attendance. "Sharon"
has a job interview this afternoon at 3 and we psyched her up for the interview.
We helped 3 female
artists in our group schedule their first
painting meeting. Helen told Franny to call her doctor since her new
antidepressant didn't seem to be working. I held the "starter pack" in my hand -
Prestiq, a new version of Effexor. A square pink pill you pop out of the pretty
packet. Man, I used to love those psychiatric meds when I used to take them.
Our golfer Bebe isn't doing so hot so yesterday when we went to the Aviation
Museum on Street Road (GO! you'll love it, I'm gonna take Scott) I paired her up
with Ike who just went on Parnate, a MAO inhibitor. She'll tell her doctor about
it. I know her doctor well since I sent him a Goodbye You Jerk letter. He'll
say, But Bebe, it'll induce mania. Yeah, you jerk, but if I'm on a mood
stabilizer I'll be protected.
After that I forced myself to go shopping at Whole Foods where I got the
full-fat cottage cheese I like - the only one without preservatives. Friendship.
I ate it with a delicious banana while I was returning phone calls. Feast or
famine. Does Rosh Hashonah - the Jewish New Year - bring out the bipolar in
everyone? I got a call from a southern state from a woman who has a bipolar
brother. What? Me help? Sure, if I can. I have my great phone greeters who man
our phones 7 days a week.
I'm driving home down York Road & see our old church where we used to meet for
years & years. Construction trucks, ladders, hard hats, power tools line the
street and steps. Handsome muscled construction men with steel-toe boots and
mustaches some of em & an air of manhood swirling from their handsome
personages. Oh! I forgot that me own sweet boyfriend is one of em. Grrrr!
Anyway, I said to one of em, may I just step inside & have a teeny tiny peek at
what you're doing? Absolutely not said one of the big men who lifted me up with
his pinkie & flung me onto the soft velvet grass. Then when he wasn't looking, I
just marched right in, up the stairs & saw that the place was indeed under
construction, just like this whole world is, and you and me too, and Wall Street
too. Oooh, I hope they hold those bastards accountable.
After my self-guided tour, I visited the office where they remembered me. Jean
said the construction is three-quarters finished, probably by Christmas (achh!
I'll be 63 years old then & still have my girlish figure as long as you don't
look too closely). We are indeed invited back! The office was filled with all
sorts of delicious food and iced tea. They offered me some. No thanks, I said,
I'll just observe how delicious it looks, as Pastor Scott helped himself to
coffee crumb cake with chocolate chips.
Vat else? Oy, this is really long. Str-e-t-ch!
The Feng Shui gal who spoke at our last meeting had a profound effect on many of
us. Several Mallsters are still cleaning out their closets. One person threw all
their clutter in a hiding place. Help help! it's screaming let me out. And I
called Impact Thrift in Hatboro & had them remove chairs and a humongous
microwave my son Dan left here when he moved out. I'm dining with them tonite &
I daren't tell him about the microwave even though he doesn't want it. He feels
sad when I throw things out, the little Sweetie Pie.
Which reminds me a friend of mine called who works for Children & Youth. She
asked me to visit one of her clients at AMH to cheer her on & say that there's
hope for people with bipolar disorder. That we can indeed cope with the
challenges of raising our children. Should I go? I'll call Shelly and see.
My leg is much better. This was the first day I could run after the mailman. Not
run but fast-walk up the hill. "This is your lucky day," I called when I saw his
moving blue form. "We get to meet again." He mumbled something nasty & then I
said, I've got a questions for you Bob. The old man up the street. Mr. Leonard I
think is his name.....
He died three weeks ago, said Bob. I thought so, I said. A couple of commodes
were sitting out on the curb for trash day.
Did he die at home? I asked.
I think so, said Bob. He had hospice.
We start off alive. Then we come to full maturation, we reproduce, then one of
our partners dies (his wife died years ago, her blue vases still glow in the
front window) and then we pass away. Mr. Leonard! Give me a sign if you can
hear me! I still have your red wagon in my front yard planted with flowers. Do
you know that I have NEVER gotten a sign from a dead person? Hey, lemme go look
out the window & watch for a sign. In the meantime entertain yourself with
something cool from YouTube. My current favorite is
Everywhere You Turn.
Saturday afternoon, Sept. 20, 2008
Finally I got my very own Barack Obama T-shirt. Can't wait until you see it.
They're selling them right now at the Jenkintown PA HQ of the Obama campaign.
We arrived an hour early as requested to The Holt Residence in Abington to meet
Dr. Jill Biden. She would arrive an hour later. Did you know that my worst enemy
is boredom? That's why I talk to everyone I meet from the squirrels who live on
the hill to the deer that stare out into the headlights, to Joe, the Secret
Service man hovering around the Holt home, to Greg Holt who had cheerios &
bananas for breakfast, to Margaret Bing my son's former guidance counselor (Tell
Dan I say hello - she arranged to have me give my first talk on manic depression
before the special ed students), to Timmy, a former heroin addict who attends
meetings every single day tho he's clean n sober 15 years.
When I told him I was a leader of some local folks with manic depression & that
I had it myself, that man's eyes lit up. He's a musician with b'rful tattoos on
his arms. I did not tell him that one of the characters in my novel has Vatican
arms filled with tattoos.
I said to Timmy perhaps my manic depression fled b/c of the hand of God.
Of course, said he. Can there be any other reason. Why dyou think I no longer
use heroin?
I spoke to Joe the Secret Service dude who had his fluffy canine sniff out
parked cars & the soundman's trailer which hauls the Obama props & sound
equipment (Tim works for them). How many Secret Service guys dyou have? I asked.
I was frantically thinking up questions to ask him & could only think of a few.
We have many, he said. I pointed to the other soundman done up in a beard &
T-shirt with empty earring holes in his lobes. He could've been one of em, I
said... but probly not.
The sun was blazing down on the 75 or so folks in the Holt's side yard of their
corner property. I asked him why he was picked. Something to do with his Dem
political history. When he worked in human resources one of his employees, a
22-year-old girl, was hospitalized for manic depression. He visited her in the
hospital - the then Pennsylvania Institute, the finest around. She was suicidal
and terrified.
You'll come back and work for us, he said, just as soon as the doctor tells you
you're able. We stood near the hill to his home. I gave him a brochure just in
case. No, you never know how people find us.
A big American flag hung in his backyard, set up by the production company. It
hid the entrance of the players. Finally I heard em say, We have the great honor
and there she was: Dr Jill Jacobs Biden.
We can't figger out if she's Jewish or not. Most people I asked said No. Vat?
You didn't think I'd ask? Remember, I'm Jewish so we don't believe in an
afterlife where all questions will b e answered except under extenuating
circumstances. I asked the head of a regional Obama delegation, Ian, from my
birth state of North Carolina & he said he dint know.
What an asinine qvestion, but remember I just wanted to hear these movers n
shakers talk & see how they think on the spot.
Jill Biden spoke 7 minutes. I peered thru the crowd at her long blond hair lit
with sunlight. We were urged to canvas the neighborhood for Barack & were
supplied with thick packets to do so. I held mine close like a new puppy dog.
I searched the crowd for someone to go out with me. An unenthusiastic woman with
limp hair rejected me. So did a tall man with a cap. You knew by looking at him
he'd make a great partner. We were told to go out in teams of 2.
I insisted that the woman give me a name tag to stick on my shirt so I wouldn't
look like a serial murderer. I'd noticed a tall smart-looking Jewish man walking
across the grass. Alone. I told myself that after I spoke to Jill, I would find
him & ask him to canvas with me.
I pushed myself up thru the throng of admirers where she stood behind some sort
of fence. I shook her hand - realizing 2 hours later that their hands ache at
the end of the day - and said to her:
Dr Jill, I have manic depression & I represent people in the leading support
group in the Philadelphia area for people with manic depression aned I
congratulate you on your concern for people with mental health issues.
She had in fact mentioned in her brief talk that she supported mental health
issues.
Then I backed away & went to find my partner.
We knocked on 44 doors in less than 2 hours. He had remarkable reasoning powers.
His wife works at Morris Arboretum. The train exhibit is still up & I must go.
I'll tell Ada & maybe we can make an outing of it.
There were 2 women who were Undecided, but leaning toward McCain. Joe led the
discussion on Why to vote for Barack. I chimed in like Harold Melvin & The
Bluenotes. We succeeded in getting the women to do research before casting their
ballots. This made me feel terrific!
Back at the office where I turned in the paperwork for Joel & me, I rewarded
myself with a macintosh apple, a bagel and lox-flavored cream cheese, a handful
of blubberies, smelling some soft chocolate cookies from Genuardis, & drinking a
cold bottle of water.
I talked to a dozen volunteers before limping to my car as slow as a
caterpillar. My pain has been downgraded by Dr Ruth from "terrible" to "awful."
BUT I can now walk. Talking & blogging were never a problem.
Saturday morning, Sept. 20, 2008
I sent out this E this morning titled JILL BIDEN ROCKS & got an
amazing no. of positive responses:
Hi everyone,
I did some quick Internet research on Jill Biden, wife of the vice presidential
hopeful. She's appearing today at noon in the Crestmont section of Abington
Township, PA. I'll be there.
Jill Jacobs-Biden, PhD, was raised in - of all places! - right here in Willow
Grove, PA!
She graduated from Upper Moreland High School in 1969. My son graduated from the
same high school in 1993.
A consummately educated woman, she was a teacher in the adolescent program at
the Rockford Center psychiatric hospital in the 1980s. So she has an affinity
for people with mental health issues.
Her main initiatives today are Breast Health and Education.
Info courtesy of
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jill_Biden
Happy autumn,
Ruth of
www.newdirectionssupport.org
Thursday, Sept. 19, 2008
Nothing like coming home from a ND meeting - where blogster
Stephen & his wife made a cameo appearance -
& turning on my stereo and playing
Bruce while popping peanuts into my mouth. Oh,
I was so bad at the meeting tonight. Our bipolar group was so grim I made some
tasteless jokes for levity. This is a world few people understand until they get
there. At my table several people lost their jobs and could not function without
their usual routine. Oh, we're all so much alike. Employed, we're held in the
tight embrace of our work. Let go, we fall through the roof. Boom!
Two of these newly unemployed learned to trick themselves into waking up in the
morning & staying awake instead of climbing back into bed.
The Feng Shui Gal speaker had us all thinking. The placement of objects in the
house she said has lots to do with your energy level in addition to your
physical health. Mirrors play significant roles. Think of mirrors as water, she
said. If you have too much you get wired. Your mind won't shut off. Windows
serve the same purpose. So here I'm sitting in my dining room office, a window
facing me, and 2 mirrors flanking the walls. The problem is, once I sit down, I
can't get up. I could sit here all day typing I have so much energy. Until
midnight, that is, and then I fall asleep at the computer.
Just write it, I said to myself this morning. Just set the timer and you'll
remember how to do it. Of course I procrastinated. I drove over to Kremp's to
get the Feng Shui Gal her purple mums. While Drew was getting them I said, "Are
you guys gonna do the inauguration again this year?"
Yep, said tall and handsome blue-jeaned Drew. My dad was down there a month
making arrangements.
Wow, I said.
But what if Obama wins, I said.
Oh, we'll still do it. It's all volunteer, the flowers and the staff. My dad
coordinates hundreds of florists all over the country and in Europe.
Wow, I said thanking him for the gorgeous mums. I kept them on my front porch
all day so Mailman Bob could see them and I could too when I went outside, which
I didn't all day, cause I was busy after I stopped procrastinating, which
included eating my delicious cold chick pea salad with sliced cukes, red pepper,
cold cooked brussels sprouts and a lovely vinaigrette garlic dressing.
So I went to work on it again. It helps that I read before I go to bed so I
always have a good flow of words inside. I'm reading Sanctuary by Faulkner, a
character-driven book where people give in to their baser selves. I only told
about a dozen people that I've returned to writing my novel. My daughter teaches
at the place I'm taking a course. Had I told her she could've saved me fifty
percent. When I was on the chat last night I remembered my son saying When he
took an online class he used to surf the net during his classes. I was so tense
during the first chat I couldn't do nothing but stare at the computer screen. I
had my water nearby which I'd drink with a straw so I could still watch the
screen and I had a million hankies nearby so I could blow my nose and a million
different pens on the bed where I work my computer downstairs.
But last night's chat I was real relaxed. The talk was a little too abstract for
me so I started doing some light reading and then would glance at the screen to
see if they were talking particulars. I mean to blow their minds when I post my
first chapter up there. But I wanna tell you writing the thing is hard. True,
the words do flow from the character's mouth. But I've gotta get the action
moving in a certain direction and that's where the hard part comes. Maneuvering
the dialogue and the action like ornaments on a mantel piece. I work three hours
at a time, fooling myself that I'll only work an hour, setting the timer, and
then when it dings, I set it again and write down the numeral two. And once I
start typing, I'm on another planet and I can barely feel my sciatica which is
like a migraine headache in my leg. Oh, here it comes now. Oo-weee!
Hey Roberto! Did you get any tips for your new condo? Let's have a housewarming
party. Can't wait to see where you put your piano. We do expect a solo!
Wednesday, Sept. 18, 2008
Hi, my name is Ruth Deming and I'm calling from OBAMA FOR PRESIDENT in
Jenkintown. May we count on YOUR VOTE on Election Day?
Absolutely not. CLICK.
Hi, my name is Ruth Deming and I'm calling from OBAMA FOR PRESIDENT in
Jenkintown. May we count on YOUR VOTE on Election Day?
And so it went last night from 7 pm until 9. I had a list and a phone and a
voice and a desire.
When I finished I called Scott and left him a message (he said this morning that
a 610 phone number showed up on Caller ID) and I also called my mom who is
undecided. Huntingdon Valley, where she lives, has a rep among phone callers as
harboring THE nastiest Phone Answerers. CLICK. My mom is certainly not nasty.
She has some legitimate questions to ask about the next leader of our country.
I took a helpful 45-minute training session. I surreptitiously munched on a
piece of Asher's Almond Bark I bought at the pharmacy to sustain me. CR-RACK!
Several people at the Obama office offered to help my mom answer her concerns.
At age 86, she is most concerned about the fall of Wall Street and wants to know
why.
There ARE actually people who understand this.
Blogger Stephen, who is very smart and debonair
as well, probably understands right, Stephano? I said to my sister
Donna Cartagena who was over the other day, If
you listen to it on the news enough or read about it, it might just sink in. I
also said to her, Take anything you want from my house, I'm trying to downsize.
Can I have your refrigerator, she asked.
Absolutely not, I said, diluting my orange juice with crushed ice and cold
water.
I gave her some clanging chimes I hide from the wind in the laundry room. I
can't stand the sound. CLANG CLANG CLANG.
After volunteering last nite, I had the longest sleep I've ever had since I was
three months old. No longer in diapers or breastfeeding, I went to bed at 11 pm
and woke up at 8:30. Since I'm no good at math or stocks you can figger out how
much sleep that is. I was on my new downstairs Princess & The Pea Mattress,
wrapped up in 2 body-hugging duchinas, as we Cleveland Jews say, and all I
lacked was a delicious cup of coffee to sip in bed this morning. As you may
know, I gave up caffeine last year & only cheat occasionally with decaf or as
Cleveland Jews call it, decaf.
Actually there is no Internet website I can show you for duchina. It means
down-filled comforter. Plastic - or polyester - wasn't in broad use in my day,
right MaMA?
I'm reading a fascinating book I have to return to Bob at tomro nite's ND
meeting: Sex Sleep Eat Drink Dream by Jennifer Ackerman. From the front jacket:
We learn the best time of day to drink a cocktail, take a nap, run a race, give
a presentation, and take medication, along with...why you succumb to a cold and
your spouse doesn't..."
For me, that translates into What time of day is best for ME as we all have our
own particular rhythms. I am a morning person. That's why I scheduled my Bipolar
Seminar in Doylestown at 11 in the morning. I do my best thinking at that time.
I want to tell you what I'll do with the nice chunka change I'll get when it
arrives. I put EVERYTHING into CDs at my bank.
My favorites are of course The Bad Plus and I wouldn't mind listening to the new
Guns n Roses CD.
Hey, I dig it! How bout you, Roberto? I miss you! I'll save you a place at
my table tomorrow nite. How does Amy like college?
Tuesday, Sept. 16, 2008
The insert on my energy bill read: "the overall price for natural gas
service supplied by PECO will decrease by a total of 9.062 cents per Ccf of
natural gas...." We do love saving money, don't we! Out I went into the big wide
world to help the economy. With the money I saved I drove over to
Sleepy's & purchased my second Princess and the Pea mattress, which
is so high off the ground, Scott has to lift me onto it.
When he came over this morning, he found me sitting up in the new bed reading
the Times. "Weeeelll," he said as he opened the door.
I've now got 2
Princess & the Pea mattresses. I refuse to fall
asleep while watching TV. I make a habit of reading at least 5 books, the pages
of which begin swimming before my eyes & then I konk out. Just finished a Donald
E Westlake - Money for Nothing. I give it a fat C+. With my bad leg it's just
too difficult to go to the library & find a great Donald Westlake book, so I
slogged thru this one. I AM, however, reading a fab book for my library book
discussion group this month - Growing up in Mississippi by Anne Moody - which is
relevant to the first Obama-McCain debate later this month in Oxford, MS, home
of Ole Miss where the forces of law were called out when James Meredith wanted
to enroll as the first black. If you want a surprising interview, read about
75-year-old
Meredith today.
I sent out a huge email asking people to join me in volunteering for Obama-Biden.
Occasionally, when I wake up in the middle of the nite & drink orange juice I'll
get indigestion. Last night I felt it & said to myself, A gorilla sitting on my
chest. Ooh, I hope I don't die before I volunteer for O'Biden. I haven't, as you
can see. Or maybe I have. We don't actually know these things. God likes to play
tricks on us.
Lemme look for signs of his existence now. or, actually, a sign. We do love
signs, don't we. When I was a fullfledged manic-depressive I had many mystical
experiences. No more. Ain't that interesting? Although now that I got my beloved
icemaker fixed on my Refrigerator-with-a-Water-Dispenser-on the Outside I can
hear it making gurgling noises when I'm outa the room. I cocked my head in
wonder, only to realize it's Making Ice. Oy vey, those people whose houses went
under in Texas! Did you see the photos with only the telephone poles sticking
up?
We had a hearty breakfast of delicious scrambled eggs, tasteless grits, and
Jewish rye bread with caraway seeds. Now I'll drive over to The Fairway in
Jenkintown to volunteer. Young Nate was real friendly on the phone. So
appreciative. The one thing, tho, I insist on, is that if I'm on phone duty (shy
little me) it has a Caller ID other than the despicable Call Unknown. Don't you
just hate that cowardice? Otherwise, I'll just lick boots & envelopes.
Sunday, Sept. 14, 2008
Of all the qualities there are in life - love, mercy, generosity, faith -
the most important to me is the ability to be a critical thinker. I just learned
this term from
Blogster Stephen who sent me
this excellent link about the importance of
independent critical thinking. Altho its topic is psychiatry it sheds light on a
whole host of social issues in these United States.
The section on corporate America is especially interesting. A bipolar girlfriend
of mine who is a wellknown art columnist in Philadelphia went to work for
Prudential Insurance in her early twenties. A fierce individualist and an
artist, too, she lasted less than a week at Prudential before she experienced
true psychosis. She could not fit into the unthinking conformist attitudes of an
insurance company & it drove her crazy.
She had a series of psychiatrists who, like the article said, did not value her
individuality or her creativity (one of her prominent psychiatrists refused to
go downstairs into the lobby of the medical college where she was having an art
show). She was always trying to please that man. It made me sick. I
actually went to him when I was doctor-shopping & he so offended me I never went
back.
Coward that I was, I never told him the real reason I left, not willing to burn
my Alaska bridges.
Thanks also to
blogster Sharon for sending me this
cute link from Saturday Night Live reminding me
of the necessity of my volunteering for Obama. Deeds are more important than
words, right Ms. Palin?
What key points did you take away from our Career Workshop yesterday. Here are
mine:
- Talk to everyone you meet in a gathering. I met so many interesting people.
- Knock yourself out - not up - contacting everyone you can think of
(newspapers, emails, flyers) so you'll be satisfied with the turnout you get.
Had everyone responded, we would've had over 1,000 people in the room instead of
about 25.
I put a flyer in the vestibule of Bonnet Lane Restaurant and a woman actually
showed up. She didn't realize it was sponsored by our support group & it turns
out the woman has depression & hasn't worked in 5 years.
- After the Career seminar I told people we would meet for a lite snack
downstairs in the coffeeshop. We pushed together 2 tables - Ada joined us too -
so we extended our time together while snacking. Scuse me while I stir my
delicious veggie soup. Scott will be over in a sec & will do the honors of ....
"Sweetie, would you mind grating the cheese?" "I will be delighted O love
of my later life, a poor replacement for my beloved lab retriever, but you take
what you can get"
- I said to the Bonnet Lane gal, you come to our meeting & we'll encourage you
to volunteer at Abington Hospital, a ladder to getting a real job. Her volunteer
form has been sitting on her dining room table for FIVE YEARS! "What dyou do all
day?" I asked. You do not wanna hear. This intelligent attractive woman is a
waste of a human being. She's on welfare & grows fatter by the day. She'll never
read this b/c she's too lazy.
- Always bring extra gifts for the speakers & others. I got fabulous truffles at
Kremp's
for John & Chris and also for Ada. I said to Drew Kremp It's always fun picking
out chocolates when you're not gonna eat them yourself. I settled for a
chocolate covered pretzel.
- John & Chris invited a friend of theirs - a Human Resources Veep from
Columbia-Presby Hospital in NYC to answer
questions. How dyou spell Verisimilitude? Great questions & answers.
We discussed the all-important filling in the gaps between employment. ALWAYS
TELL THE TRUTH.
Never say you were fired. Laid off is okay. Downsized is Okay.
Never say you had a mental illness, illness will suffice. Do not volunteer more
information than necessary. What? I shouldn't say I was floridly psychotic and
taken by the cops....
- When a potential employee asks you What are your strengths, you can say, I'm
proud to tell you I ran 3 successful programs at5 - in other words, tell them
concrete things you have done - accomplishments.
- All things being equal, your employer cares most about how you will fit into
the new corporate culture. It's helpful to tell little stories that indicate who
you are & what you've achieved.
- Use excellent body language leaning into the interviewer while not exactly
sitting on their lap or kissing their feet like they were Jesus. Of course it
could always BE Jesus come back to earth so, in that case, you may have to
change your game plan. HE was certainly a critical thinker wasn't he?
Well, I think it';s time forme to sign off & - see, this is how I type when I
don't correct myself - and see what Scotty is up to downstairs. Hope he doesn't
beat me again!
Saturday, Sept. 13, 2008
Anyplace but Galveston. Thirty-seven years ago my husband and I drove from
our home in Houston to Galveston. I wanted to see as much as I could of the
place I now called home. Although the city of Houston was astonishingly
beautiful it was plunked in the midst of flat barren terrain that bore no beauty
I could get my arms around. Perhaps Galveston would be different. Yes I was
seeking beauty as I always do. The sky was beautiful in Texas as were the
raindrops. But the terrain was barren unless you were a lizard or an armadillo
or a bit of mesquite rolling across the road. Galveston by the ocean was the
darn most ugliest thing I ever did see.
http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2008/09/12/us/0912-IKE_index.html
I'd like to tell you more about Texas having opened up that diamond mine of
memories or should I say coal mine, how we drove cross the border to the dusty
dirt roads of a Mexican border town. How we loved Mexican food but I said to
Mike, Get me out of here I can't stand the poverty, the kids coming up to our
little green Datsun station wagon asking for money, their sweet little faces
growing up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Oh, Iraq, we mourn the day. My living room was full of bags of first-rate used
clothing from Peggela. I kept a few then loaded the bags into my car, such
beautiful clothes, if only I knew someone worthy to give them to. Then I drove
to Hatboro to the office of
State Rep. Tom Murt to drop off my request for a handicap placard so
I wouldn't have to hobble across the whole parking lot. Tom came in with his
wife Maria. I asked him how he ever has time to see his wife, he's always so
busy. "We pencil it in," said one of his aides. They'd had lunch together at On
a Roll. I suggested they try the sushi place that Peg and I ate at.
He's a very popular man in town. He reiterated as he walked me to my car that he
"doesn't like the nonsense of politics" but likes doing things for people. Such
as getting us money. I told him I was working on a grant that is due on Monday.
I can only work under pressure, I said. He said he's the opposite. I opened up
the back seat of my car where three bags of clothes sat in bags all ready to
go. Rep. Murt would send these clothes to the best possible place - Iraq. The
place he served several years ago and where part of his heart remains.
Are you campaigning? I asked him. He's up for re-election. Not really, he said,
though people have put up signs.
I'd love a sign, I said. I'll put it next to my Obama sign. He said he'd get me
one.
I drove home. Whenever I shift positions, say, from standing to sitting or lying
down, my back kills me. Driving is the worst. I'm gonna see a pain management
doctor. I absolutely refuse to take pills but I'll accept a needle. Heroin? Or
as the black people call it HAIR-on. I used to be black in another life.
When I got home I called Scott. "I'm busy all day writing a grant," I said. I've
gotta get it in the mail by today at 5pm at the Huntingdon Valley post office.
For dinner I'll make a thick tomato vegetable soup that'll be ready by 7." I
hung up, took phone off hook, and began writing. Did I check my emails? Did I
see if anyone phoned me? No. I exercised the discipline that I displayed when I
wrote my 19-page bipolar handout for last week's seminar. Was it easy to be
disciplined? Hell no. But for me, my life depends on it. That's why I get
important things done. Because it's as if my life depends on it. But a different
sort of life. Work equals life to me.
So I'm running around getting everything ready to mail out. Everything is going
well. Now it's 3:30 and I type up my cover letter. The words flow out. I print
out the letter to read it and add to it. "Writing by editing." I add a few more
ideas to make it sound better. Ah! One more printout on my gorgeous ivory
stationery and I'm done. What's this? My printer is jammed. No problem, Ruthie,
just do it again... and again... and again. It's like a car stalling. You think
it's going to move but it won't. It will not push the paper through.
Yes, the printer has died on me. It's in times like this that I believe in God.
The ultimate trickster. The force of irony that makes a joke out of Galveston or
thwarter of the best laid plans. It's pouring outside here. I put on my sandals
and run next door where Bill Adams has just pulled in. Yes, he says, so I
forward him my cover letter and he prints it out.
I leave home at 4:20. The post office closes at 5. It's pouring and I think of
all the oil on the road that the speedsters can slide over right down a gully.
Or into my car. I turn on the radio. My leg is killing me when I alight from my
car, walk around the gathering puddles & go downstairs to the post office. Why
there's no one here, I say to the clerk Frank. He looks at me like he's never
heard anyone speak English before. And what happened to your clock, I say
pointing, you know, that clock with the red digitalized numbers. He stares
uncomprehending at me. Maybe he's having one of those tiny seizures where you
can't speak. Finally he pulls himself together. "These are things that are not
in our control," he says. I try to be careful when I slide my envelope forward.
I resist saying I'll bet you're relieved the anthrax scare is over.
Then to reward myself for getting the grant in on time I buy a sheet of Frank
Sinatras and a sheet of AllStar Baseball Games, both of which I'll send to
friends. What greater gift hath man?
Afterward, I drive over to the nearby Bethayres Market where I bought all my
veggies that morning for the soup I will now commence to make. They charged me
the wrong price for peanut butter so I was bringing back my receipt. And
planning to say hello to the man who works there whose fraternal twin brother
lives in a home and has schizophrenia. The man who works there asked me, Who
was Ruth married to. Boaz, I said.
Wednesday, Sept. 10, 2008
So much to talk about, so little time.
Scott just came over.
Hello Grumpy, I said.
I'm tired, he said (the man with the perpetual sleep disorder from working at
nite).
He was standing by the door. I went over, put my hands on his shoulders, & shook
him. What? You're going to the supermarket & you dint even ask me if I want
anything?
Well, dyou want anything?
Nope.
I'm cooking my garbanzos now (please thay gar-ban-tho) like the Spanish do. Just
bought the dried legumes which taste NOTHING like the salty ones in the can.
They are succulent, rich-flavored & filled with protein. They can be made into
flour which, believe me, if I were still living with my husband in TX - howdy
Mike! - I'd grind em up in my food processor which I'd have him buy me for my
63rd birthday.
Vat else? Am sending out all this publicity to get a decent turnout for our
Career Workshop on Saturday. Y'all come now. My ex is a senior city planner so
unless he wants to switch jobs he can just stay put down dere.
Peggela picked me up yesterday & we lunched at a new Japanese sushi place in -
of all places! - Hatboro, the makers of hats in the Revolutionary War. The site
is the same place as the former Daily Grind Coffeeshop where we held our
Coffeeshop Gigs by default. The owner Kevin had a miserable personality & would
play opera music while our people were performing.
Kevin, I'd say thru the microphone, would you mind turning down The Barber of
Seville. What I should've said was, Or else you'll be in the same situation as
the barber Sweeney Todd & you'll be in the barber's chair. Ker-plunk!
Tonite, after Scott & I are well-fed - he usually takes a good nap before work -
I'll drive him to the train so he can conserve energy & at 9 pm sharp, I'll chat
online with fellow novelists from my new class at MediaBistro in NYC. I
called them half-dozen times for help - hi there Shauna! - and she's fabulous,
explaining to an illiterate like moi how to get my assignments online.
The people in the last group were mostly awful writers but this time their
outlines are quite good as is their
publishing history. Did you know it really
helps to be with other smart people? It challenges you to think on a higher
level.
When I was a teenager, I played tennis with Marilyn Mervar. I played with her
once & only once. We walked over to
Byron Junior High & began volleying. She was
terrible & I upstaged her in terribleness. At the end of the game, I took my
wooden racket & smashed it to smithereens on the curb.
Claudia, thanks for checking in on my blog. In
answer to your question about my back, I am waddling a little bit faster today.
At the suggestion of my
daughter, I'm burning incense right now. It's one of those great
pleasures that I forget about like the joy of waking up on a blustery morn,
today, & wrapping myself in a warm furry blanket.
The talk of our street is Why is the mailman so late? I got the scoop just now
from substitute Mac. The Willow Grove post office is doing a switch n shuffle
offering early retirement to its longterm employees, people who were hired under
civil service before the PO became privatized. Regular Mailman Bob whose
favorite band is the country bluegrass Reckless Kelly has only a year to go.
If offered early retirement, that man'll be outa there like Sarah Palin using
the government jet to attend my bat mitzvah.
Our lagging economy has now spread to the post office. I gave Mac one of our
Career Workshop fliers to give to a fellow mailman. I also distributed them to
the Library, the Chamber of Commerce, & Bonnet Lane Restaurant where the coffee
is piping hot & the cream goes in with a splash.
I only drink water but I can certainly eavesdrop.
Sunday, Sept. 7, 2008
Great turnout at my Conquering Bipolar & Depression class yesterday
sponsored by the Doylestown Hospital Wellness Center. I knew it would be like a
ND meeting except there were 90 people there!
A cross-section of bipolar people and their families were represented. We had a
female corrections officer who wanted to learn more about her inmates, we had
parents of kids with bipolar, families of 5 who came marching in, an entire
family whose loved one is in denial (the worst case scenario) - I always ask the
audience for suggestions so we can problem-solve right there with the VERY
PEOPLE who have the answers!
One mom was concerned b/c her now-clean heroin-addicted daughter is gonna move
out on her own. She has a great job & is doing well. Of course she's worried.
Another woman in the audience went thru the same thing & said Moving out was the
best thing that ever happened to her.
I also suggested she attend her daughter's AA meeting & voice her concerns.
We wore nametags & gave out zillions of handouts. I'd asked members of my group
previously to order literature from NIMH since each person can only order a
limited amount of free material. I came up with a new saying on my 19-page
handout - Research everything!
I will never forget standing in that room and seeing every single face in the
auditorium & hearing their stories. I told them, We'll finish at 12:30, but
afterward we'll meet upstairs in the lobby. I knew there would be lots of
questions. About 14 of us met afterward.
I stood near the door when people filed out & each one thanked me. I could not
wait to sit down. My legs were killing me from standing the whole time. Sure, I
could've sat but I needed the energy of standing & moving back & forth.
Scott came with. It was pouring when we left so I had him drive. I have
rain-blindness. "I wanted to come in & watch you," he said, "but there were no
seats left."
You shoulda seen the line out the door waiting for them to get in. Ruth Deming
the new rock star?
Friday, Sept. 5, 2008
We did lots of great work at our meeting last nite. Sent
Bob Cuddy a thank-you for his wonderful talk.
Our Peggela had remembered talking to him last year and being very impressed by
his principles to live by & suggested he be our guest speaker.
We always remember people who have the potential to truly help us!
One of the many things I love about Bob is his tremendous honesty. He also put 2
and 2 together & figured out for himself he had bipolar, this in an era when it
was largely unknown here in America. When he read the book Moodswings by
Ron Fieve,
MD, the man who brought lithium to America, he pursued a doctor to
put him on lithium.
It was like a fog lifted from my brain, he said. He also mentioned how important
it is to choose positive words, both when we talk to ourselves and talk to
others. Negative words beget negativity. Hang around a negative person & you'll
be swallowed whole.
Sixty more days to the election. I'll be working at the polls side by side with
2 women who are prejudiced against blacks. They insist on seeing their IDs when
they come in, unlike how they treat white people. I can't bear prejudice.
Wish I could leave the country for 60 days & then read about it in the papers.
Political overload. When I came home from the meeting last nite, Scott was
watching the convention. I began watching McC's acceptance speech & was so
sickened by all the war talk, I asked Scott to lower the volume so I could read
The Iron Heel, a Jack London book we're both reading online.
The most abiding relationship I have in the world is with the written word. What
we did as children may deeply influence who we are as adults. I came from a big
family where, at the dinner table, no one could finish a sentence. It drove me
to my books, my constant companions.
When I woke up I imagined driving to my Warrington class tomorrow in the pouring
rain. On go the wipers - ka-loop - ka-loop - ka-loop! I'll limp into the
building & locate the auditorium downstairs & shake hands with the folks taking
the class as they enter.
Last nite I googled the word herniated disc. It's probly what I have. The pain
either goes away in the first week (not for me) or in 6 months to a year. I do
have faith, not in God, but in my body, created by God's evolution, to heal
itself.
I stopped following doctor's orders & began treating it myself, mostly by
walking & sitting out in the sunshine soaking up vitamin D. Here's my stock
answer when people ask about it: It's still bad, thanks for asking, but my
activity level is back to normal.
Thursday, Sept. 4, 2008
The Republicans were behaving like Democrats last nite. You couldn't tell em
apart! You'd even think they were for the common folks, against favors for big
corporations - even the oil companies (drill, baby drill) - and that hallelujah
the new Republican outsiders of McCain & Palin are gonna take DC by storm &
change the status quo.
And people believe them!
As a pro-mother, I did like the way Palin's 5 kids accompany her on her rounds.
The kids all pitch in taking care of one another. TR, the only Nobel
prize-winning president, had kids running around the White House in the early
1900s.
Thing is, and I checked with Scott about this, few things Palin said matched up
with her record as governor, leastwise what I read about in the Times.
Truth is, people will believe anything!
I presided over the carrying away of my most sentimental couch this very
morning. When me & my 8 kids - Willow, Track, Trig, Bristol, Piper, Bridge, and
the twins Truck n Caribou - lived in the apartments we had a b'ful
brand-spanking new hide-a-bed I found in the trash.
I slept on it in the living room. Not IN it. ON it. A confirmed Couchsleeper, I
pride myself upon finding comfy couches to nap on.
When I heard the garbage truck grinding down the road, I went over to the window
to watch a lemon-green vested gentleman lift it into the grinder.
Fare thee well O Faithfulest of life companions.
Speaking of the supine position, Scott & I drove to the nearby Masons Mill Park,
spread our beach blanket on a slope under a tree, and watched the procession of
park goers. Young lovers smooched on a faraway picnic table, 2 young fishermen
unreeled their gear in the stocked lake where geese honked.
I was reminded - as I lay under the tree gazing at the fluffy clouds through the
still unfallen September leaves - of the masterful prose of James
Agee, "lying
on quilts on the grass."
Is there anything as sublime as a cool breeze? It's like an unexpected gift from
God, a refreshment from life's hard times. A songbird singing in your ear.
I stepped outside to wave a thank-you to the garbage men but alas they were
grinding their way down the street.
Nine more pages to go in As I Lay Dying, this month's book selection at the
local library's book discussion group. One of my college teachers told the class
that book authors led dull lives of necessity so they could devote solitary time
to writing.
What makes us remember nonsensical things like this that are blatantly untrue?
Faulkner's life was dizzyingly tumultuous, lived in another realm than the
tumultuous lives of his poor-as-dirt characters.
Is that all I wanted to say?
Tuesday, Sept. 2, 2008
My first thought when McCain announced his Veep choice was Great choice. The
GOPs are sure to lose the election now. My second thought was The press is
crucifying that poor woman. She'll never be able to handle it no matter if she's
a god-fearin Christian who wants to teach creationism in schools.
My question now is How long will it take before she's forced to resign.
How long did it take for Senator McGovern's VP pick in the election of 1972 to
be dropped from the ticket. Most folks today who must be on drugs or something
actually don't remember that the Senator from Missouri, Thomas Eagleton, had
shock treatments for depression which disqualified him.
He died in 2005 at age 77. Whew! Perhaps I have a few more years to complete my
novel and give birth to my third child. Sarah Palin & her daughter have inspired
me.
Don't be jealous, Dan &
Sarah Lynn. Mommy has enough love in her heart for the passel of you.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Stephen, here's my fantasy. One of em
anyway.
Scott n me will come over mid-week with lunch & you, o astute one, will help me
create a blog. As the top student in fourth grade, they did not teach us at
Mercy Elementary, my dear Weinstein, the fine
points of blogging. I wonder if Mrs. Van Dusen had asked us: In the future
darlings, there will be a word called blog. What dyou spose it'll mean?"
Ponder this y'all. Put your mind back to when we were 10. Use that mighty brain
of yours to come up with an answer, silly as it may seem. There are no right or
wrong answers.
Blog: garbage.
The erudite Ms. Oates reviewed a new sympathetic novel based on the life of
Laura Bush. She is a lovely woman. Period. The biased media rarely acknowledges
her significant achievements as First Lady. So you & I, whose main trait is
Think for yourself, are gonna peek at
her website.
I'm outside this morning watering the crops. A rainbow appears from the
squirting water. Then Scott & I cut through the netting to pick more red-ripe
tomatoes. He transplants carrots he grew from seed into the wet earth. He
carries a small-size pumpkin into the house & puts it on the windowsill where it
beams its sunshine-orange to everyone who sees it.
Don't feel bad, I say. I love you very much. We will gaze on your beauty & then
make pumpkin soup. We will inhale your rich aroma as we open you & marvel at
your tiny seeds which cling to mama's flesh.
And the wind whipped up when I walked up the stairs to the house. And I thought
of New Orleans. A hurricane of apparently epic proportions, moreso than Katrina,
gathering its strength.
Gustav just doing its job. I wondered what it would be like if the waters rushed
up my street and galloped into my house. Higher & higher & higher. Where would I
go? Can you see my computer floating down the street?
Ah, cometh an Ark.
Must reading for all you iindependent thinkers out there - c'mon there must be a
few of ya - is the Consenting Adult blog
by
Sue Katz.
Great title, Sue! My daughter Sarah's is The Spiral Staircase. The worst part of
creating my own blog is creating a catchy title. I used to be a headline writer
at the newspaper. My best headline, for a cooking column, was Beans put wind in
your sails.
Censored in the 1980s. Today it would make it.
I'll be thinking on an unconscious level of what to name my blog.
Oooh! Just thought of one. My unconscious works faster than I know.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
John: Any skeletons in the closet, doll?
Sarah: No more than your average politician. I never got electro-shock
treatments like Tom Eagleton. I ain't extorted over 100 grand like Spiro. Sure,
there's a little matter of my firing a public safety commissioner but, trust me,
Senator, you big handsome war hero you, who godwilling will live to a hundred
with all your marbles, it'll blow over.
John: I trust you (for now, he said under his breath). Now how bout the
Russkies? Military intervention seems only right to me. I love war, see. A man -
or, ahem, a woman - proves what they're made of by how much injury we can
afflict on another human being. I'd just love to get a crack at them Russkies &
show em whose boss.
Sarah: I think I'd look pretty cool in a flak jacket don't you? (you big
bald oaf, she said under her breath)
John: A woman never looked better than in the guerilla get-up. Add a little
makeup and some hoop earrings - and zowie!
+
The timer goes off. My oatmeal is cool & ready to eat. I pour on fresh
blubberies & dip in. Can you see it sitting before me in its large
sunflower-yellow bowl? Tastes like rubber cement with blubberies.
On the Waterfront was on last nite. Scott & I wanted to watch it but decided to
eat out first at The Olive Garden. The film came on at 8. We left at 6:30.
Waited for a seat for 10 minutes. After getting seated, we kept waiting &
waiting. Finally the food arrived. To save time, I asked them to please
force-feed it to me as if I were a goose being prepared for foie de gras. I
promised them a big tip.
We got home at 8:02. The irony about the film - which was about testifying about
the corrupt Longshoreman's union thru the eyes of former boxer Marlon Brando who
was asked to throw a fight - was that director Elia Kazan testified against his
Hollywood friends before the House Committee on UnAmerican Activities. Pundits
believe his well-reasoned decision to do so in 1952 resulted in his attempt to
get people to forgive him in the movie On the Waterfront. To read about this
horrible period in American history
click here. To view in larger print, press
Control button on lower right and the Plus sign in the upper right.
One of my serious faults as a girlfriend is I can't keep my mouth shut during
films when I watch with Scott, even if he's asleep. As you know, he works the
night shift & is constantly trying to catch up on his sleep.
My strategy is to talk softly & see if he responds. If he doesn't, I gradually
increase my decibels until I'm standing over him shouting.
Not really. I did ask him tho about being a union member at SEPTA and the
corruption of the longshoreman's union.
Hmmm. I wonder what CD Ethan is pulling
from the shelf. When I visited last year he gave me a John Adams
Violin Concerto full of delicious dissonance like modern life.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Perhaps like you, I could not get enough of the Democratic Convention. I
watched in my downstairs Wreck Room on the only channel I could find that had
absolutely NO commentators or narration, just plain old camerawork. I do
not need reality filtered thru the dopey talk of anchormen & their hired news
analysts. I'm tired of looking at Mark Shields' rattling
wattle, which reminds many of us of the
indignities of aging. In fact, there's no reason - but culture - that should
define wattles or wrinkles as undesirable.
Imagine a culture where these folks with these qualities would be pin-ups in a
truckers' garage. A bit implausible, I know.
Did it ever cross your mind, Dear Reader, that Barack Obama is half white? One
lil drop of black blood & you're classified black. In Hitler's Germany, same was
true of Jews. Half-Jewish & poof off to the camps with you.
If Obama were white, he'd have a 20-point lead. His acceptance speech last nite
was masterful, esp. his forceful words against McCain. Here's one of my favorite
quotes, cribbed from the Times:
“We measure the strength of our economy not by the number of billionaires we
have or the profits of the Fortune 500,” he said, “but by whether someone with a
good idea can take a risk and start a business, or whether the waitress who
lives on tips can take a day off to look after a sick kid without losing her job
— an economy that honors the dignity of work.”
I also liked his truism that McCain is out of touch. People see what they wanna
see. And are in denial about things that don't make sense - like poverty in
America.
My strong work ethic has always saved me & gotten me thru hard times, such as my
20-year bout with manic depression, and now my excruciating bout with sciatica.
When I was a kid growing up in affluent Shaker Heights, my hard-working dad
would drive me to his office in the summertime where I worked first as a file
clerk & then in the
secretary pool.
I began working at 10. Dad would drive thru the slums, as they called them, of
Cleveland. I was shocked at the living conditions. People lived in apartments,
not houses like we did. There was little greenery, only pavement. These people
looked just like we did except their skin was darker. Dad explained the concept
of prejudice.
He said when he was a kid he lived in poor neighborhoods like these. He always
worked. He used to walk thru poor black neighborhoods & hand out small change to
little kids.
He knew the importance of money. The person who gave you money believed in you,
helped you grow your own confidence so that YOU could eventually be the
moneygiver.
In the latest Donald Westlake novel I'm reading, he has a great quote about our
American political system. Take your pick - we're either the Moochers or the
Misers.
He was quoting his good friend the murdered
Mickey Schwerner.
Hobbled out to my lamppost garden this morning. First of all, having a bad back
has shown me the error of modern architecture. Steps are too high, library doors
are too heavy. Ramps make much more sense.
Last Halloween I decorated that garden with colorful gourds. Over the months
they must have opened & had now turned into fullbown squash plants. A tiny gourd
plant has made its appearance. Help me go out & caress its comely shape and
marvel at its fortitude.
A squash plant growing on my front lawn. Lawd amercy!
I like reading several books at a time. There was a period when I was on lithium
when I couldn't read at all. Am savoring As I Lay Dying by Faulkner, my favorite
author ever. Was reading him this morning at 7 a.m. when a spectacular italized
passage came up. Pure poetry.
I felt my mood change as I read it. I didn't even understand the meaning - truly
- but for an unth of a second I became euphoric. I was overwhelmed & had to put
my placemark in the book and lie there breathing.
Friday, August 29, 2008, in the wee-wee hours
I love America madly but I believe for several decades we've been on
a downward trajectory particularly our all-important economy. We switched from
being producers of goods to consumers of goods as our insatiable beastly
appetite for THINGS increased.
No one says it better than this
Times editorial.
Fine furniture is rarely made in my birth state of North Carolina. Clothing is
no longer manufactured (what an understatement) in the cotton mills of the South
or in New England. And where are our favorite electronics products - computers ,
cellphones & IPhones made?
In countries that used to be called Third World.
When I called my credit card company thother day, Filomina answered from Bombay.
I was calling to see if I'd paid a $35 bill I was being charged for. I dasn't
want you to think I'm loose with my change. Only with my body.
How can I respond to
Stephen who wrote an I Protest email in
response to my below comment where I cried AGE-ISM when fellow Democrats picked
on McCain, who turns 72 on Friday.
Stephen correctly said McCain forgets things. You would too if you were on the
campaign trail, were sleep deprived & were following in the steps of the worst
prez in America's history. What I object to about McCain is not his age but his
mind. He's certainly a likeable avuncular old fellow but he lacks original
thought to turn around the country. Does he have any plausible ideas about our
energy crisis? About global warming? About taming the Taliban?
The country got to know Joe Biden last nite. What a remarkable man. Speaks like
a true leader. Captures the crowd like Moses standing on the rock addressing his
people.
And what a family man, gathered on the bema with his huge family. We were all
wiping our eyes. I use a hanky. I cut up my old PJs & make hankies from them to
save on toilet paper.
Op-ed word maximum is 750. I actually came in short - 738 - & shipped it over to
the Intell. I worked on that baby for 5 days straight. Why? I could not get it
right. Then I found the key. And everything fell into place.
I called the editor & asked if, in my bio, I could plug my Conquering Bipolar
Disorder class next week.
Go ahead, said Alan. If I don't like it, I'll just leave it out.
Methinks he'll keep it. 30 people are signed up already. We're moving it into
the auditorium where I had the pleasure and the privilege and the honor - oy!
the convention is getting to me - of seeing an African
Masai tribe perform. Their music is imbued with
the sounds of birds & animals. I bought their CD to support their cause: digging
wells for water.
I like getting prizes when I support people's causes. That's b/c I'm a greedy
American. Very true. Why did I just join The Nature Conservancy? B/c they're
giving away eco-bottles to drink from plus name labels with pictures of wild
animals on them.
When next you get my postcard you will find me with a scary picture of a cheetah
next to my name.
Grrrrgh!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Just sent an E to one of the progressive political orgs I belong to chiding
them for Age-ism when saying that McCain is too old to be president. Prejudice
of any kind is abhorrent. 72 is not old.
Wasn't Hillary marvelous last nite? I watched her on 3 different channels. PBS
had too many analysts, none of whom said anything remotely intelligent.
I was telling Scott this morning - he believes all politicians are in the palm
of big business & they've all sold out to the highest bidder (Ralph Nader's
claim to fame also) - Hillary said she's a proud mom, a proud senator, a proud
this n that - but never did she say I'm a proud wife.
Did any of YOU pick up on that?
Husband Bill was genuinely emotional during her speech, sniffling away his
tears. I thought he looked frail and vulnerable.
Life is too damn tough. Look at the difficult lives of all them politicians with
their burning ambition.
What's your ambition for today, Dear Reader?
Mine is to pour a nice cold glass of water - with ice! The iceman cometh
yesterday to give me a new icemaker. Give it a few hours, he said, before it
starts working.
All afternoon I could hear it revving up, discharging ice somewhere inside.
And, yes, I feel guilty as hell with all my modern obscenities - oops -
amenities. Time to call Edith to see if she can fit me in. My roots are
beginning to show.
Only in America.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Say hello to Benevento and Russo, my new
favorite band.
Pelosi is on the floor right now. I'm restraining myself from watching her
lest she hear me booing her for cowardicial behavior.
Wonder if my Goddard College chum Iris is watching. Her new blog is
dynamite, as in Alfred Nobel.
Famous Goddard graduates include playwright David Mamet, his comic-friend
Jon Katz, jazz sax player Archie Shepp, The Buddah & Christ Almighty in bold
disguise.
Yes, yes, that was me with tears running down my cheeks during Michelle Obama's
magnificent speech. "Why they're just like us," I heard myself say.
And those daughters - Malia & Sasha - they sure love their daddy.
Many yrs ago in apartheid South Africa, the most watched TV show was the Bill
Cosby Show. They were learning, as is America, that skin color is a poor excuse
for not loving your neighbor as your brother.
Scuse me while I watch this
video, sent directly to me from Michelle.
Oh! I nearly forgot. While Michelle was naming specific changes that must
occur in our great nation she mentioned our all-important war veterans. In
addition to jobs and healthcare, she said they must have mental health care.
Go Michelle!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Many of us, perhaps even YOU, suffer from the syndrome "I just got home &
want something to eat."
So why, at 9:45 pm, aren't I hungry?
I had a fabulous meal from Ben n Irv's deli where I ordered my all-time fave: a
tongue sandwich on rye with a new pickle. Then I went to Mom's where it's nearly
impossible not to eat. I had instead 3 glasses of cold water in a darling clear
cup.
I saw that cup yesterday & said My God, I've gotta drink outa this. The laws of
attraction. What if the cup wasn't attracted to me?
Stephen, I shall read your blog before I go to
bed which'll be
round midnite. Thanks, Miles, for makin a cameo
appearance on me blog. He died too young, possibly from vitriol.
Sarah & I were holding hands yesterday. You have really smooth hands, Say, I
said bringing them to my lips to kiss.
Ya know who really has smooth hands, Mom?
Ethan.
Let us now think of the quality of smoothness. Name 5 smooth things. Quick.
Chocolate pudding
Pebbles from the creek
Baby's cheek
Vanilla pudding
Strawberry pudding (yeah, I couldn't think of anymore so I repeated myself which
in fact is not allowed)
Ding ding ding! That's the buzzer kicking me off the blog for repeating myself.
The committee will decide when to let me back on.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
What's that sound? Cicadas calling in the morning, katydids calling in the
evening.
So saeth Dave Robertson, head of Pennypack Trust nature center. Always go to The
Source with your qvestions (said in a Jewish accent).
Am waiting for Ada to pick me up for the meeting. Spoke to our guest speaker Tom
Murt, Republican Congressman from District 152. That man is a Catholic mensch
who served in Iraq.
His gift flowers from Kremp are sitting outdoors so I'll trip on them when I go
to Ada's car. Gotta keep things in sight so we'll remember em.
Fortunately I'm wearing my favorite Red Tank Top so I can always find myself,
especially my fingers cuz I'm typing now.
After much thought, I decided to purchase those ecological water containers that
are not made from plastic. My new water bottle cost an outrageous $22 at Whole
Foods. See their terrible
website.
Always end on a happy note, even tho life doesn't always. Here's one of the best
mental health
blogs ever. Dan Hartman, MD, is on our Top Doc
List. As you'll see he throws that ridiculous concept called "transference" out
the window & uses himself as a role model to his patients. He's reading Dharma
Bums by Kerouac.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Thru Sept. 30, NAMI is conducting a survey on
YOUR EXPERIENCES utilizing public mental health
services. If you attend community mental health services such as the Creekwood
Center of Abington Hosp or Penndel or Lenape Valley they'd like your input.
Wish they'd asked me that in 1984 when I sat in the back of a police car & was
toted off to MCES. Ny mom called the cops on me for a very good reason. I'm
gonna kill you, I said, & pushed her down on the hard February ground.
When we met on 8-8-08 for her 86th b'day celebration we stood out in the drive
of her Huntingdon Valley house with the pink roses still in bloom and I put my
arm around her shoulders & said, Glad I didn't kill you, Mom.
Phone rings this morning. Humphreys Exterminator. The Insector came in this
morning, said Kathy with the orange-red-hair, glowing teeth & b'ful gums. He
looked at your insect specimens & said they're - ready for this? - Flesh Flies.
You & I, Dear Reader, thru the magic of the Internet (I refuse to do free
advertising for Goggle) will together learn about this slow-moving insect which
I preserved in the terlot until I could personally deliver the little suckers to
Humphreys in Glenside.
Do not click if you're
afraid of insects.
That should get em clicking, eh
Bartleby?
Hey don't forget to sign up for my Bipolar-Depression Class at the Doylestown
Hospital Wellness Center. Ten
bucks. Call 345-2121. Saturday, Sept 6 from 11
to 12:30.
Wish the NAMI survey'd asked about MH care in the private sector. Thankgod my
Bipolar phase is gone & I don't have to see my gradually becoming inept
psychiatrist anymore. Thanks for ruining my kidneys. Thanks for treating me like
crap in our waning days of being together before I wrote you a Finely written
letter of dismissal.
I should've been a bigshot in the world of bipolar disorder. Instead I'm a very
important LittleShot. I truly do not mind.
One of our wonderful members - wife, mom & productive member of society - fired
her shrink b/c he simply wouldn't listen to her. She is currently in a
depression with amotivation, anhedonia, & loss of appetite.
A week ago she called a new shrink who never friggin got back to her. I gave her
2 more names from our Top Doc List.
The flies are carrion eaters. Yeah, I never shoulda looked at the picture. My
first thot when the pest lady called me, Praps I'm actually dead.
Is there really any way of knowing? I may be in illusion. I may not be real.
The Universe is using me for its own perhaps. We can't know why.
It has just directed me to have lunch. In my Bipolar Handout I say, when you're
depressed, have some Easy Foods to Eat such as yogurt and canned pineapple.
My lunch is
- Stonyfield Farm Whole Milk Yogurt w/Fat on Top
- Driscoll Organic Raspberries (organic actually tastes better since there's no
foul-tasting pesticides)
- Nectarines
It's sweetened w/the most nutritious sweetener of all - blackstrap molasses with
cinnamon to cut the metallic taste of the molasses.
Just got an E from Casey Cook, the indominable leader of the Bread & Roses
Foundation for Social Justice, here in Philly. Few groups that I'm aware of help
illegal immigrants. They do thru their Juntos program. I just donated to them &
perhaps you'd like to as well. Click
here.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
The Divine Mr.
Phelps - Hatboro Writers Group - Newest Prose
Poem: In Lieu of the Drinking Gourd - Have you checked on
Stephen today? And how
bout
Sue on the Olympics?
When we lived at Village Green
Apartments, the
Upper Moreland PA Swim Club was on the very
next street. An Olympic backstroke champion trained there, one David Berkoff,
now 41, whose mom, a district justice, was his main fan, just like Debbie (cut
to close-up of her face, NBC) is the wings behind her son Michael. Berkoff, now
a lawyer who coaches young swimmers from his new home in Montana - I guess he
likes watching the August meteor showers in the ink-black skies - came out to
meet the newest members of the Club.
They never heard of him.
How quickly the
comet of one's fame dims.
At one pm on Saturday I began composing my prose-poem for the Writers Group.
I've never began so early. I had a whole hour to compose it & read it to Marcy
over the phone, listening carefully to my own rhythms, then my words, before I
typed up my copies on the back of SEPTA work orders.
Of the 6 people who showed up, four of us just love to talk. Talkers are 2
trashmen - Chris & Bob - and Nurse Barb. I spoke before Barb's class on How the
Nurse can be of help to the Bipolar Patient. Gag them, I said.
Since I'm the leader of the group I have to shut myself up. When I said I wrote
the title when I was driving over to the Coffeeshop (while crossing over the
turnpike on Davisville Road, to be exact, where once a long time ago when my
kids were in the car, I pulled over so we could watch the sunset) & I said to
meself, Lil Ruthie, start thinking of a title NOW.
Trashman Bob, wearing a silkscreened T-shirt with a '57 Chevy, said Spoken just
like a writer, Lil Ruthie. That man will grab anything, he said, including a
piece of trash when a string of lines surprises him like a wayward feather.
IN LIEU OF THE DRINKING GOURD
We remember Wm Faulkner who I read as a lonely teenager, as lonely as a single
book on the shelf, Sartoris first, which I found while babysitting at the
Hollanders on Rye Road. After the girls were asleep, I prowled their large Tudor
house with the circular stairs, caring only for their books, while marveling at
the piles of unfolded laundry in unexpected places. They were not like ordinary
people, the Hollanders. The mother, Iris, was a thinking woman with glasses and
shoulder-length hair who translated books for the blind. She didn’t know it at
the time but when I went away to college and never came back, her husband would
have a heart attack that killed him at 42. The voices of Iris and her three
girls – Rachel, Anita, and Cara – would echo in the vast high-ceilinged house
like distraught sopranos.
I suppose she must have remarried after the grief died down and his memory was
stuffed in an old cedar chest just as mine has for Sartoris the book she gave me
with its original paperback cover banded together with string. My, it was old.
Its pages were yellow and smelled like cedar chips and fading sunlight. That was
my introduction to Faulkner, the best of them all. Although there were others,
it is the oddness of the characters I like, the sweet, the awkward things they
say. Darl in As I Lay Dying said he sneaks out in the evening when everyone is
asleep. In the coolness of the night he dips the drinking gourd into the cistern
with the starlight shining right there in the bucket. Never, said he, drink
water from a metal cup.
I shall obey. I was drinking water only this morning. And remembered Faulkner. I
like mine with a slice of lime in a clear glass, a small one, like in the old
dime-store days at the counter. At home I stand in the bright windowed kitchen
with the maples just losing their fading edge of green, tilt my head backward to
receive the cold water and flavor of nothingness at the back of my throat.
Better than wine.
If only life could be as easy as drinking water, tilting back my head to receive
the bounty of a merciful God, I just might want to live forever.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
And the dark-haired lass was in a sinking kayak on Lake Galena, she didn't
know if she would live or die, but with all her strength she tossed a parting
message - in a bottle, of course - into the sea:
America has no leaders. Desperately seeking a leader. Fortunately we have Bill
Moyers who hosted
professor Andrew J Bacevich (b. 1947 in Normal,
IL), a former US Army Corporal who lost a son in Iraq last year & spoke about
his latest book The Limits of Power: The End of American Exceptionalism .
Unlike 90 percent of Americans, he can look fearlessly into the mirror & come
away saddened by the great problems of our beloved nation yet somehow remain
hopeful.
Read more.
Friday, August 15, 2008
One of our Hatboro Writers Group members is a birder. He was out the other
day, right here in The Commonwealth, & saw 38 species of our feathered friends.
Here's what he wrote about robins:
well interestingly, our robins do leave for the winter, and the ones that seem
to remain are actually a Canadian sub-species that travel here (south "enough"
for them) in the winter, whereas ours go to the Carolinas. If you ever see a
winter robin, note the more tawny wings and tail and the lighter-orange breast.
Migration distance varies per species. Sometimes 200 miles is as south as a
given species needs to go, others pull 10,000.
hmmmm, I wonder when they'll be leaving. The proud regal robin. I wrote Chris
back that when my now 34-yr-old daughter was born - long ago & far away in
Brenham, TX - I contemplated naming her Katy Robin.
Instead we went for the mellifluous Sarah Lynn with the option of calling her
one or both names at once. Her lil brother Daniel Paul also afforded
numerous variations on a name.
While working on my Bipolar Handout, I wanted to mention the names of
neurotransmitters. I found this
superb website which gives a crash course on
how to get optimum use from these chemical messengers which govern our moods &
thoughts.
Intuitively many people such as myself achieve happy moods by doing what the
author says. Esp. fascinating is what he says about being bored. One of the few
times I'm bored is writing this blog. Why?
B/c of the gap between typing & the actual printing of the words. I actually
removed a third of the homepage b/c my son, Daniel Paul - Danny Paul - DPD -
said, Look, Mom, we'll get your website on Nicole's new IPhone (is that the
right name? the new Apple product?)
He let me type in the name & shazam! there it was in glorious color.
For one second. And then it crashed.
Mom, he said, you have too much stuff on your homepage.
Scott & I have an exciting evening of movie-watching ahead of us. I ain't much
good with my gimp leg but I shore can watch a great movie from the public
library.
Which should we watch first? I think Planet of the Apes? I originally saw
it in NYC. My lil brother David & I walked across the George Washington Bridge,
gazed down at the waves below - and who should be swimming across the Hudson in
his fashionable wetsuit & cap but - yes! - Mr. Phelps himself - & then we
subwayed into The Big Apple to see this classic film.
I think it's time for another remake, what say you
Stephen. Loved your blog tonite.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Upon driving Scott to the train station I remarked So many things have
happened in one day. It's like a universe of wonderful things. Enthusiasm
is one of the most important qualities in life.
I am slowly reading thru Famous Trials on the website of
Douglas Lindner. In my email to him I asked,
What kind of a person am I that I chortle with joy over your mouthwatering
descriptions of terrible crimes.
Let's ponder that a moment. Why do most of us find this so fascinating? We must
remember our origins as carnivores. The manly brain needed to kill to
survive. But killing animals is one thing, why did we make the leap to kill
humans? Watch the great film Space Odyssey: 2001.
So I'm icing my butt for my sciatica & I get frostbite on my goddam ass. Like it
doesn't hurt enough & I make it worse. I go to my pharmacy & the pharmacist
picks out the best stuff for a badass like me.
For 8 bucks I get a bottle of Solarcaine with Aloe. For sunburn. I pay him &
take it down to Aisle 3, squeeze a nice amount into my right palm, slip my hand
inside my blue short shorts & rub it on my left buttocks.
I need relief & I need it fast. Its mentholation begins helping me. In
gratitude I treat myself to some Almond Bark from
Asher's Candy sold at the front of the store. A
woman named Chickie with the freckled arms & I discuss candy. That woman is a
candy afficionado. While talking she brings me a sample of a spectacular
hazelnut-flavored chocolate cube which I begin sucking on.
I tell her my kids & I used to frequent Stutz Candy in Hatboro. We'd buy a white
bag of Kitchen Seconds which included green mint bark. I told her my boyfriend
is the only person I know who doesn't have a sweet tooth. Bananas are his idea
of a great dessert.
I don't mind just so he's sweet on me.
It's a wacky world when you have to read your
daughter's blog to find out where she's been. This is one of the best
blogs she wrote as far as Great Links goes. Dig the Neechee quote. I actually
wrote a poem about the orbits he speaks of. We are all in invisible orbits with
people of our choice & not of our choice. For example, I made myself part
of Doug Linder's universe - per above. Will he write back?
It's the 2 ships docking at a single harbor, peering into each other's boats &
then chugging on to distant shores. Imagine all the people who come onto my boat
every single day - hello Chickie! - and then jump off.
Remember the play Our Town we were forced to read in high school & didn't quite
understand? Take out 8 minutes & listen to the
profound messages it imparts. How fleeting life
is, it tells us. How beautiful life is. We must pay attention. We must learn to
see if we haven't already.
When I was in Sciatica Agony, all the world was a blur like the gauze-wrapped
moon tonite. Get up from your chairs & gaze at the once-in-a-lifetime gauzy moon
of August 13.
Today is my wedding anniversary. When I told Scott he asked me what I got him.
This, I said, throwing my arms around him & rocking him back n forth. I actually
did get him something - the ends of my Jewish Rye Bread. I like the big pieces.
Please don't get the impression that Scott & I are actually married. Separate
domiciles is the operative word.
Had enough?
Yours truly,
Ruth Z Deming
Special to the Trend
or
Ruth Z Deming, MGPGP
Intake Specialist (1992)
Speaking of titles, I promoted Murray in our group. As head of our Family Member
Group he's also in charge of our Top Doc List. He wrote me a brilliant report of
a recent King Crimson sold-out appearance at the Keswick Theatre & I asked him
to please consider being the New Directions' Rock Critic.
And so to bed, perchance to read Smoke by Don Westlake and Treat Your Own Back
by Robin McKenzie. My physical therapist studied with New Zealander McKenzie.
When I lay on his table, he made all these correct assumptions.
How do you know all that, Larry! I'd exclaim.
Sweetheart, I've been in practice for 30 years.
His walls are lined with photos & newspaper articles about Olympic athletes he's
helped. Shall I bring in a foto of me rubbing Solarcaine on my
sore tush?
When boyfriend Charlie Flaherty broke up w/me years ago, I countered by buying
that ZZ Top album as well as this by
Elvis Costello, the bespectacled darling!
Sincerely,
Mrs. Scotty Sherman
Jeez, I hope he don't read this.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
The first national parity law - equal coverage for mental illness - was
passed in veto-proof legislation by both the House & the Senate in July. Click
here for legislative news from
Bazelon Center for Mental Health LAW.
Note the important word LAW. We now have LAWS that protect those of us with
mental illness. The United States has been a nation since 1776. What did
they do with mental patients back then? Treatment options were few.
Benjamin Rush, the founder of modern-day
psychiatriy, and also a signer of the Declaration of Independence, was born in
Byberry Township (o Lordy, what's in a name) near Philadelphia. Click here
for the infamous
Byberry Hospital. Rush advocated humane
treatment of the mentally ill & invented novel tho not always successful
treatments.
Now there was a compassionate man with a doctor's degree from University of
Edinburgh. Among his dazzling accomplishments was his founding of New Directions
Support Group - oops! - Dickenson College in Carlisle, PA. Carlisle is known to
me, not you, as the original point where the Pennsylvania Turnpike began.
I wrote a long story about the Tpke for the Doylestown-based Intelligencer when
I was on lithium & Haldol for when I went nuts.
Gotta get back to writing my Bipolar Handout for my class in September. It was
unimaginable that I could give the class with my Sciatica pain until yesterday
when my physical therapist helped me get my life back. Mantras are Ice your
butt, and do exercises such as Knee to Chest.
Scuse me while I lie on floor and s t r e t c h .
Moonday, August 11, 2008
Did you watch octogenarian philanthropist
L. Boone Pickens
on the Lehrer News Report?
I did, sitting on an icebag just as I am now, having seen my
new physical therapist Larry Paster of Glenside, PA. During my 90-minute
session with him, he & his girls taught me stretching exercises to relieve the
spasms of sciatica.
He also gave me a brochure entitled Easing Back Pain During Sex. Larry has
taught amputees & paraplegics how to have comfortable sex with their partners.
The injured partner must always be protected from pain. Slow & gentle and plenty
of lubrication, he told me. Also.... experiment!
That I didn't need to be told. My life with sciatica has been a retraining of
every single thing I do including making a simple spaghetti dinner tonite with
sauteed fresh veggies.
While preparing the food - gosh, I'm hungry now - how about some fresh cherries
- be right back - mmmm - hope they don't invent ones w/o pits like the new
weird-crunch seedless watermelon.
Stephen, dyou know what I mean about these new
watermelons? His wife is a fantastic cook.
Omigod I almost swallowed a pit. Chhhh! Okay boyz, get to work on the seedless
variety. I can't be trusted. Imagine, Scott comin over in the morning & finding
me....on the floor like Isaac Hayes.
Emboldened by my success with Larry Paster, I increased my activity level today.
Per his instrux I came home, iced my butt & lay face down to relieve my
spasms. I made 6 trips to & from the car to get my groceries in the door. Ouch!
The pain is constant. It helps to blog, see therapy clients & talk on phone.
Major distractions which keep my neurotransmitters happy.
Then I decided to take a chance. Getting outa the house was something I knew I
could do. But could I write a poem?
I told you I lost my touch, right? Whenever I write a poem I call Carolyn to
read it to her. I didn't want it to be sentimental. Worked hard on that. The
reader should feel emotional, not the writer. At reading's end, she gave a soft
reply.
Hey check our Calendar. Just booked someone for December, a week before Xmas.
America will have a new prez by then. How dyou like ole Bushie-poo acting like a
president now that his term is over? Telling Russia what for!
Stephen introduced me to his fellow blogger & sophisticate
Sue Katz of Boston. I heartily agree with her comments on the
Olympics. Too much blather on NBC. Blather & commercials.
FIRM BELLIES
and then there were geese.
they didn’t board the Ark -
Had God created them yet
to show his people what
Love is
and loyalty?
I took heed every time
they flew overhead
or skidded like skiiers
across Galena
or grazed at Pennypack
bellies firm
And soft, we thought.
What’s that on the road?
What bit of tree or
haystack has blown on the
highway?
Slow down
Brake softly
There is Darkness on the common road
Two of them
Lie in state
A prince and his consort
fallen by the road
Feathers
splash my windshield
waterfalls of down
explode in the air
an unfeathered one
stares behind her shaking steering wheel.
Sunday (already?) August 10, 2008
Was on the edge of Scott's couch watching the Olympic opening ceremonies.
The orchestrator of this new art form has a resume that reads "Give me enough
money and I'll create the best show your eyes can see, your ears can hear."
Think of the possibilities - the next US inauguration come January, English
coronations, international funerals (we put the FUN in funeral). Yes, his
cinematic genius evolved into extravagant live theatre.
Scott slept thru the whole thing, utterly bored & calling it over the top and
ridiculous. "The Olympics are about the games."
Rob from our group says I get all the tough cases. He's right. Yesterday I told
Aurora (the name she chose as a pseudonym) -
Stephen, is this misspellt? - to come over. She
was incensed b/c she applied for disability and was turned down.
Here's what her letter of rejection read:
You said you are unable to work b/c of schizophrenia. The medical evidence
shows that despite your schizophrenia, you are able to think, communicate and
act in your own interest.
You are able to understand and carry out simple instrux and can go about the
activities of daily living. We realize that your condition keeps you from doing
your job as a clerical, but it does not keep you from doing work that is less
mentally demanding. Based on your age of 44, and 16 yrs of education, you
can do other work. END
Well said. But she still should've gotten disability. How can she pay for health
insurance? Or have a lil pocket change. She currently has a small job. I
suggested she get a job driving old ladies like myself around.
When Aurora was about 8 her parents took her to Children's Hospital for an
evaluation. She was constantly talking to herself, yelling outbursts in school,
didn't play well with other children, and was simply different. But oh was she a
smart little girl. And cute!!!
She heard voices inside her head. Childhood onset.
Children's sent the family home. Nothing out of the ordinary they said.
Aurora & I drove to a Christian
coffeeshop in Glenside for their monthly poetry
reading. She read 2 fantastic poems. Afterward she said to me, "I don't know why
I write all these poems about Jesus, I don't believe in him."
"Part of you does," I said.
May I please be excused now? Gotta do some more reading about
Dr. Sam Sheppard. The author of the online
article is a law professor at University of Missouri at Kansas City. As
mentioned in a previous post, my mom (b.1922) went to school with Dr. Sam's
murdered wife.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Here's the link to my Inquirer
Letter to the Editor. As I told Patsy from NAMI
Main Line, I had to weigh the odds of writing it cuz they're very fussy about
who they accept. This is my second letter about bipolar they published. Four
were rejected.
Sign up for email legislation alerts from
NAMI.
It takes about 3 minutes or less to sign an online petition. Since no one
can see you doing it, you could be wearing your jammies, your prom dress, your
birfday suit, you could be eating chocolate-covered strawberries, you could be
chatting on the phone with your best gal, you could be watching RFK Jr on
YouTube, you could be wishing HE would
call, you could be thinking about God, which I do every day for 5 minutes total,
you could imagine what you'd say to Him or Her should you meet him on your
street disguised as Bill the Criminal carrying a six-pack across the road.
Life is so interesting, me sitting on a bag of ice to dull the pain of existence
on this the first day of the (coff coff) Beijing Olympics, pageantry by Great
Filmmaker turned
Brilliant Artistic Spokesman for the Chinese
Government.
Happy 86th birthday to Mother Greenwold. A small group of us gathered for a
spectacular brunch in her kitchen, My niece Nikki from NJ brought a spectacular
baked egg dish topped with broccoli & bacon. Sister Donna carved a watermelon
basket. Ellen made the yummy chocolate cupcakes. I brought tomatoes & cukes from
my garden.
Mom cleaned her plate. I cleaned 4 plates. Birfday parties make me hungry.
Sitting at the end of the table with the glorious sun shining in, Mom said her
memory isn't what it used to be. When I was on lithium my memory was so impaired
it was like a cloud of smog - hello Beijing! - followed me around. Now my memory
is great.
Now where was I?
Oh, Mom said she vividly remembered the day when osteopathic doctor Sam Sheppard
was murdered. Her friends Nate & Lenore came over to tell my mom & dad. Everyone
was in shock. Cleveland Ohio is a small town. Nate was best friends with
Sam. My mom used to walk to school with his murdered pregnant wife Marilyn. "We
used to walk down Taylor Road on our way to Taylor Road Elementary School."
The things that happen to people when they grow up. Who knew I'd be
sitting on a bag of ice today numbing my butt?
At the time of the murder, Mom was 32 yrs old. I was 8. We followed the trail
closely. The Sheppards had one son who slept thru the murder by the one-armed
man. Sam's defense seemed so patently absurd I never for a minute believed it.
Truth is, his son "Chip" had his father's good name restored after Sam
died at age 46.
Eating my blueberry crunch for dessert, a recipe I discovered when I was married
& living in Tejas, I turned to my mom and said, "I smell cigarette smoke.""
No one smokes in the house. It must be the neighbors, I said. Do The
Russians smoke? The Russians & their 6 cars live right next door. We opened up
the porch door & the smell was gone.
I often smell it, said Mom. I started smelling it after Daddy died.
It's Daddy, said Donna.
Dad smoked Lucky Strikes, then switched to Kent. Didn't matter. It killed him
anyway. Dead at 59.
Another smell of smoke wafted thru the kitchen as if trying to convince me.
Time to think about God and dinner.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Letter to the Editor - Philly Inquirer
Thank you for the excellent sensitive article by Bob Brookover on the
Eagles’ guard Shawn Andrews’ history of depression and low self-esteem. .
Isn’t it amazing that in this advanced age of technology, the world is still in
the dark ages about accepting mental illness as a real condition? If the public
realizes that diabetes emanates from a faltering pancreas, why can’t it make the
leap that depression results from a faltering brain? Logically, there should be
no prejudice involved.
The good news that Andrews learned, and so bravely disclosed, is that depression
is a highly treatable illness. I invite readers to attend New Directions Support
Group in Glenside (www.NewDirectionsSupport.org) the organization I founded when
I was diagnosed 25 years ago with manic depression. Our 60 members take
medication and utilize talk therapy to remain productive members of society.
Shawn Andrews will most certainly have a long and happy career ahead of him. He
has now become a role model to the 10 percent of the population suffering from
this highly treatable illness.
Ruth Z. Deming
+
Did you know that nearby
Abington, PA was named the 21st best city to
live in across the entire country? Why, I was just there today eating in one of
the more than 7700 restaurants within a 15 miles radius.
Ada & Rich will travel tomro to Minneapolis to attend a Buddhist wedding. We
will certainly miss her.
My sciatica is finally abating. I decided against chiropractic after speaking
with my
Cabinet advisors. In doing so, I am saving
$1944 (yes!) for a 6-month course of treatment.
Instead I will see Larry Paster, starting Monday, to learn exercises to
strengthen the muscles around the offending vertebrae. I learned from my
chiropractor today that if you have problems with, say, L5, that means Lower
back 5th verty.
I've been so ill with pain I haven't checked Bartleby. Hello
Bartleby,
I'm back. Do we have any poems on pain? Oh, yes, I believe there was one called
Invicta, if I remember correctly, Mrs. Harbison
from Shaker Heights High School. Our principal wrote the Literature textbook.
You would never in a million years believe what his name is. Egbert Nieman. A
kind man with glasses. The asst principal Mr. Garner wore a brown suit every day
& was the disciplinarian.
Save your mind, Dear Readers! Do an exercise right now harking back to your
school daze. I dare you. Double dare.
Will someone shut this woman up so I can get to sleep?
Sleep is the terror of the Sciatic Woman. Can't find a comfy position. Last nite
I fell asleep at 4 am after watching 3 Claude Rains films on Turner Classic.
Any ideas what I should do now?
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Thanks to the gift of our body's ability to heal itself, the Agony of
Sciatica is beginning to lift. My activity level was very high today. Also had
my first chiropractic adjustment. One-T Scot truly has magic hands. He had me
lie face down on the knee-high table, arranged my supine body & legs, & then
began touching my pulsating -with-pain left butt.
When he touched me the pain was xcruciating. But I'd already convinced myself he
knew what he was doing.
After the 5-minute treatment, I followed him down the hall & MY Scott, who was
in the waiting room, heard me say, "Someday, hopefully soon, I'll be able to
walk as fast as you!"
You'll walk faster said one-T Scot who wears a gold cross around his neck.
You can hear him saying to his patients Bless you - or Sue, his asst, is a
blessing.
Sure enuf, I saw my name on the screen when I walked in - under new patient.
I'm thinkin of doing the same thing here on Cowbell Road announcing the new
names of my therapy patients when they come out to see me.
Here on Cowbell Road is the name of my unpublished poetry manuscript. For
those literary agents reading this blog, please see my own PR man, boyfriend
Scott, to sign a lucrative contract.
Thanks to Ada for forwarding this Inquirer article on the Eagles' guard Shawn
Andrews, 25, who admitted that the reason he's temporarily out of commission is
due to his depression.
Finally seeking help from a psychiatrist, he is now on meds and realizes he
doesn't have a good sense of self. As an athlete he has an outstanding record of
success in his first 4 seasons in the NFL with the Eagles.
He admits however that in his growing-up years in Arkansas, he suffered the
trauma of being made fun of. In later years, he used material objects to try to
fill the emptiness of the man he was inside but did not know. The story is
sensitively written.
Click here.
Dyou think I can muster the energy to write a Letter to the Editor?
Doubtful. It's more important to ice down my inflamed ass.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Proof that I'm better:
- I barely limp
- No screaming when I change positions
- I shot the breeze with my CitiCard associate located in New Delhi India. I
called up about receiving my refund from spending X amount of dollars.
It was noon my time but 9 pm his. "Is it dark there?" I asked. "Yes ma'am," he
said. "But I'm sitting inside where we have lights." It's the monsoon
season. When he invited me to visit I said my 19-yo nephew was there & raved
about the hospitality. "We have a saying," said Ryan, a nominal Christian, hence
his name, "Treat guests like God."
- I chopped up apples to make applesauce
- I gave Bob Marshall homegrown tomatoes for driving me to his chiropractor &
now mine, Scot McCormick. They fit me in this a.m. & he did an evaluation on my
pain. Yes, I'm back in Kiro Care.
Don't tell Dr Scot but I think it's just a coinicdence that my pain began
abating the very morning that I scheduled an appt with him. Pain-sufferers don't
give a damn as long as we get better.
Question: would a psychiatrist schedule a new patient the very next day?
Am hitching a ride tonite with Ada & Rich to see
Dave Champion & his band perform at
Chris's Jazz Cafe.
Ah the feeling of gratitude to everyone who helped me out on the difficult
journey to back health. Our mind is always workin behind the scenes even in
death-bed like agony. The kiro's office was a busy one. I like to see how things
operate. Tho I'm not judgmental, I judge everything particularly human rights,
rights of privacy. A screen flashed the birfdays of his patients. I probly
won't be a patient by the time December rolls around. He'll sked me a coupla
times a week as they do & then I'll stop. He really knows his stuff and EDUCATES
his patients as well. He'll give me exercises to strengthen my back.
I will absy do those exercises b/c you better believe I do not want this
happening again.
During my home hospitalization I learned many things of the intellect:
- Ruth Reichl, former food ed of the Times, now edits the newly delightful
and unsnobby Gourmet Magazine. In one of her many videos I watched from my
hospital bed upstairs, actually a comfy Sleepy.com mattress where you feel like
you're curled up in the hand of God, she discussed the sensuality of peeling a
peach & seeing the glowing flesh underneath after you've stripped off the outer
skin. How I remember mastering that technique when I was married & lived in
Texas, remember Mike?
- Brilliant family-centered therapists from the 1960s such as Fritz Perls,
Milton Erickson, Virginia Satir, Sal Minuchin, Ivan Nagy.
These giants in the field, which I also chose to study, created a lasting legacy
that is LARGELY FORGOTTEN TODAY. In my darkest hour, which was last nite, I lay
on my hands & knees in bed & watched them on video.
B/c for some reason I'm cured from manic depression other folks who know me
think they too can go off their meds. The proof of this appallingly poor
judgment was made manifest to me during a phonecall I received on Saturday.
"Maria" is a scientist on disability for her condition. I don't know what her
diagnosis is - but she told me she was involuntarilyy committed for 2 weeks to
Bldg 50.
She refuses to take medicine b/c she doesn't believe there's anything wrong with
her. They gave her a sleeping potion while she was there. She looked in the meer
in her room & believed she was Lucifer and then a series of other Catholic
icons, but she doesn't believe there's anything wrong with her.
If
Xavier Amador of Columbia U, is correct, this
is a condition called anosognia and simply means the impossibility of
acknowledging you have a mental illness. The Unabomber suffers from it.
Our Maria suffers from it. However, John Forbes Nash, the Nobel-prizewinner &
father of Game Theory, knows he has schizophrenia & chooses to deal with it sans
meds.
Why some & not all?
Xavier will be a guest at NAMI Main Line. Send me a note if you want further
details of his appearance.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Help me out with this question. Having spent much of the past week supine,
listening to Talk Radio courtesy of NPR or flat on my belly reading the NY
Times on my laptop, it seems that PRINT journalism , for reasons I cannot name,
leaves this reader - and perhaps you too? - with a greater sense of pessimism
than the equally probing radio journalists.
I'll await your reply.
Scott & I read
Stephen together. Scott is a most animated
reader, "Ya got that right!" he'll say out loud. When Scott was a kid growing up
in Philadelphia rowhouse & attending the Olney School system during its
dreadful downhill days, Scott was acutely aware of politics on the street.
As one of the few Jews left in Olney, he literally had to fight for
self-respect. He bears visual but not mental scars of this prejudice.
As always, it's what we do with what inevitable blows life has dealt us.
When I awoke this a.m. I said Enough of this suffering. I gave my Sciatica a
week to subside, complete with Motrin every 6 hrs. I stopped my painkiller since
it doesn't help the underlying problem. Sister Donna is driving me to the doctor
tomorrow. Peggela is on standby.
My time is divided between gleaning the news, talking on the phone, and reading
online about horror stories such as the supposed Anthrax Killer and also
about the Unabomber thru a series of online articles in Time Mag and a thorough
synposis in
Wki.
Time for breakfast. Scott's making me:
Peanut butter on Fresh Rye Bread
Cut-up bananas & blubberies
Delicious cold water
"You'll be happy to know," said Scott, "the Phillies are back in first place!"
Really? I call from the computer.
Yep, they've been in first place since we seen em.
Scott just put my b'fast in front of me, his arm stretched out w/a kitchen towel
on it.
My dashing Maitre D Boyfriend!
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Look at all that's transpired since my last blog:
Bruce Ivins, the suspected Anthrx killer, did himself in with the very same
painkiller I've been prescribed for my sciatica. I don't spose he wrote out a
confession but if he wanted to, he could've just mailed himself off in a large
envelope to the FBI Department... nevermind
The NY Times has taken it upon their broad liberal shoulders to reprimand the
Chinese government - and president - for the way they run their country. Instead
of reprimand or chastise or excoriate, why not simply REPORT the news that's fit
to print.
Meantime our own Olympic runners are banned from the games for that new verb -
doping. Yeah, you can't find bigger dopes than they are. "Oh well, they say to
their parents, everybody does it..."
So what's on your to-do list for today?
If you're a Greenwold like I am you'll be visiting Mom later today since one of
her first cousins is coming to dinner. Since Mom will be 87 the day the Olympics
begin in Beijing, you can rightly expect her cousins to have lived a good long
life.
I've had time lately during these Sciatica-recovery days, to think a lot about
different influential people in my life, no one moreso than my mom. I do believe
we are born more or less as good human beings & are shaped by our early
experiences. I don't believe my mother was born missing a particular gene but
that somehow in her core self it never developed. Like a plant growing in
partial shade.
The trick is to name that quality she's missing. We know she's a wonderful
person. Give you the shirt off her back & all that stuff. What then is the
matter with her?
No matter what you do it's never good enough. You will always disappoint her.
She has God-like standards. Perhaps she is in fact a modern incarnation of Hera
the deservedly much-maligned wife of Zeus. Mom also speaks in riddles. The first
half of the sentence says Yes followed by the inevitable contradiction. Virginia
Satir has written about families like this in a book called Peoplemaking.
In this Cubicle of One where I do my work, accompanied this morning by the Dave
Matthews Band, I must tell you of the great guest speaker I bagged only
yesterday for
November.
Ah, the loneliest of jobs. In my Cubicle of One no one could rejoice with me.
Satisfaction later on that Ada wrote expressing her pleasure. This is why
meetings are so important to me. You can see people's faces. You can tell if
they're pleased or unhappy.
I was tellin someone my new theory of why I'm cured from bipolar disorder. For
10 yrs I worked as a psychotherapist in re-training other people's brains. Prior
to that I carried around messages from my crazymaking family. Now I had the
opportunity - albeit unasked for - to reverse the damage & re-create a new
healthy human being: MOI.
+
My credit card company is SO GOOD TO ME. "Get $150 in Gift Cards and Triple
ThankYou Points."
And, CitiCard, I want to GIVE YOU a Triple ThankYou Point for sending me this
wonderful deal. You wouldn't mind if I shared it with my fans would you now?
Quote: In a medical emergency, there's no place like home. Sign n Fly
coverage can help get you there faster.
In other words, Citi Card, which has lost billions of dollars during its last
quarter, has been so kind as to develop new schemes to help us out, their
beloved debtors they have by the balls, who can no more think for themselves
than can a leming NOT jump off the cliff.
I do love their logo tho. Always end your missive with something nice, Ruthie.
Something hopeful. They'll send me a check for bonus dollars - $61 - it's too
late to sign up for Beijing - maybe I'll use it to buy food. Thru the roof,
n'est-ce pas? So who eats?
That's what mothers are for. That woman sure can cook. Like my daughter Sarah's
must-read blog with photo of cute hubby. Ooh, I hope she didn't tell
him I stole one of his Donald Westlake mystery novels, the ending of which is
designed to rocket-launch you outa your chair & into deep space.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Nice photo essay in the Times on
wearing shorts at the office. Shorts are my
preferred mode of attire all year long. I'll be wearing em tonite at the meeting
when they carry me in on a stretcher a la Frido Kahlo.
You can't imagine how much I wanna attend the meeting. Have been cooped up in
the house for days, enjoying the world vicariously thru reading the Times &
listening to NPR. It does get to you. Can you imagine being forced to read every
single headline in The Times cuz you have nothing better to do?
See, I have all this work to do but The Agony of Sciatica makes it too
difficult. I have been forced to learn PATIENCE. I lie on my living room couch &
I stare at the pieces of grass & the leaves people drag in on their feet - & I
can't get the vacuum!
Oh hell, I'll do it now since I've got company - you!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Karen writes me about the homegrown joys of her job in San Francisco:
today at the market i said hello to the poet of all our land and expressed to
her how cool it all seemed and asked if she was pleased. she was, but added she
was tired from all the attention and interviews etc.
she seemed gracious and friendly. we joked that she might have a sash and tiara
and she said, 'laurel wreath...but not on the weekend'.
if interested
here is a radio interview on npr:
(ps sean penn came into the market today too but i didnt chat him up)
It's a great lil interview, only 5 minutes. I sat here at my desk on my
comfy tushion, closed my eyes, listened to the birds chirping in the window a/c
unit & then clicked Play. Kay Ryan is her name. If you listen, you'll have your
favorite parts. She does a lot of woolgathering she sez, noting its
inefficiency. For every 100 lbs only an ounce of really good language comes up.
I think that's about right, don't you?
Her poem Patience has special meaning to me now since I'm bedridden with
sciatica. I hobble from room to room. Standing is the hardest. I have 2 therapy
clients coming out to the house today & shall recline on the couch as if it were
Rosh Hashonah.
SCIATICA
Everything is shut down,
A purple curtain has been drawn
across the place I lie.
Books stacked on the floor
cannot be opened or even
acknowledged as friends.
The ring of the phone goes unanswered.
The thump of the mailbox
is merely a sound,
a call to which I cannot reply.
For I am lying on the couch,
my new home.
The covers are pulled up to my eyes,
as if peace and softness
can vanquish the misery inside.
One day the leg is mine,
bending, obeying,
the next day it's a freak,
not leg so much as
folded-up ironing board,
hot with pain,
begging to be carried
or laid down to rest,
its sizzling miles of track
crackling at unexpected moments.
Just the two of us,
Pain and I,
lying side by side
under the covers,
an indecent pair,
A tireless lover
Who won't leave my side.
*
Yes, Nipper - NPR (natl public radio) - is the best friend to the motorist,
the cook, the invalid. Lying on my heating pad - ah! - I listened to a show
called Here & Now. I've found that even if I'm not interested in a topic, NPR
always makes it interesting. I was flabbergasted that the show's host Karen
Somebody had a true hero on her show & was a hostile questioner with a sweet
voice.
She kept accusing him over & over again as if she were a prosecuting attorney. I
thot she'd let up but it was clear she'd keep him on the hotseat.
To his immense credit, he never became angry or defensive, but kept his dignity
as the Anglican Bishop he is, the Right Rev. V. Gene Robinson of New Hampshire,
an openly gay bishop, currently attending an Anglican conference in England.
Karen, the show's host, harangued him on what right does he have to be there.
How can he be so selfish. You see, the Bishop was not invited to participate
with all the other Bishops across the world.
He refused to remain unheard. Gay men & women are children of God, he said with
his confident grandfatherly voice. Would you believe the host from NPR attempted
to tell him the Bible did not like gays?
The
Bishop said he has a personal spiritual advisor
& they discuss matters such as this important one. Robinson believes he hears
the voice of God & the job of his advisor, he said, is to interpret whether this
voice he hears is in fact that of God or the Bishop's own overarching ego.
No one, he said, can really know the Will of God.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
It's 10 am & I'm sitting on the narrow cot in the ER of Abington Hospital.
Room 211 to be exact. Nurse Andrei is to my left and Scott is to my right.
Suddenly the phone rings. We look at each other. No one knows I'm here, I say.
Andrei answers it.
And whom may I say is calling?
It's your own darling mommy, sez he tho not in those words.
I'm waiting for the pain medication to work. First they gave me 2 small cupfulls
of Maalox, waited 15 minutes & then gave me Tyleonol with Codeine.
Tell my mom thanks for calling, I'll give her a call when I get home.
In the next cubicle, oh honestly I tried not to listen, is a young girl whose
foot was swollen from the unknown bite of something she got at the seashore. Her
dad spoke for her. She wore b'ful pink clogs which was all I could see.
A man in anudder cubicle described his pain as a no. 10. Men, I think, are more
stoic than women. You'd never have known he was in pain.
Neither of these cubicles engaged in any small talk. I was chirping away as
usual with everyone who came in.
After someone put a white bracelet on me & took down my health ins. info, I
thanked her when she went out.
What am I doing thanking everyone I said to Scott.
Yeah, he said, you'd thank the executioner after he put the noose around your
neck.
I nodded as I looked down at my bare naked legs under the hospital gown & my
newly cut toenails. Before leaving for the hosp just before 9, I cut my nails,
paid off my credit card bill in case they found a malignant tumor & I'd never go
home again, & cleaned up my messy living room.
The service was outstanding. When I went in, I asked how many docs dyou have?
Nurse Ratchett said We have 4. We're the largest in the area. Everything went
very quickly like a well-oiled machine. Plus the nurses were super-polite and
kind.
They diagnosed me with sciatica. I told them I couldn't take steroids b/c I'd
had manic depression & couldn't risk having anudder episode. They understood.
Being in the company of caring people went a long way in making me feel better &
giving me hope that my pain would stop. I was none too happy gulping down the
opiate, fearing a fullblown tear-your-clothes-off mania, but the presence of
these good people calmed my fears.
I decided to convalesce in Scott's blue bedroom which is the most used room in
his house. You can call it a salon or a parlor. His bed is large enuf to hold a
laptop, a remote control, the Olympic issue of SI, and 2 bodies.
I slept for 5 hours straight, a most welcome slumber seeing as how my pain
prevented me from sleeping for sev'l days. U awoke to the Phillies clinching
their latest game at Fenway Park - just testing Dear Reader, just testing - &
then I put in my menu request to Scott.
He served a late dinner on 2 placemat towels spread on the bed. When that man
met me he had a stern rule: No eating in bed. On pretty dinnerplates he served
fresh from our garden:
grape tomatoes
thinly sliced zucchinis
luscious bell peppers
bathed in a trad'l vinagrette.
Knock knock knock!
It was my friend Alex who tracked me down. We invited him in. He'd just bought
his first house since moving from India 5 years ago. He drove Scott to the train
station & he & I to Scoops in Hatboro for some Bassett's ice cream.
Only yesterday I was devoid of feelings, devoid of joy. The medicine, having
quelled my obsession with the pain, allowed my emotions to filter back in. How I
cheered the coming of the ice cream.
A big thank you to those of you who called with your concern after reading the
blog or after talking to my mom:
Stephen
Peggela - mwah!
Roberto
Sarah Lynn
And where does God enter? Because when we're suffering we ask God where art
thou? I just believe he's off in the corner wringing his hands hoping we can
uncoil ourselves to find a solution to our pain. Sometimtes he or she may even
pull the hair outa his head he feels as desperate as we do.
You know, I said to Scotty, after my pain had diminished 75 percent, you know, I
didn't wanna mention this to you, but I was really in agony. I mean I felt
really realy horrible.
I know, he said.
I only gave my pain a no. 8 when they asked me at the hospital. I've never gone
above an 8, including when I suffered my manic depressions.
But there was one instance I suffered a 10. When I gave birth to my lil darling,
Sarah Lynn.
Okay, my evening pill is now taking effect so I shall bid you a healthy goodnite.
Say hello to all your healthy limbs & your ability to walk & to enjoy the feel
of the cool breezes upon your skin.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Nothing tests a new relationship like the twin opposites of illness & vacation.
Many of my friends have traveled - either here or abroad - with their new
partners, only to discover that the spontaneous stressful demands of travel have
brot out the worst in their partners. Better now, than after you've tied the
knot. It's better to break-up fast before establishing new memories and
begrudging bonds than to date someone for the sake of being part of a couple.
Easier said than done.
Paramours usually disclose their failed histories to one another. When Scott & I
started going, I told him my relationships were either 6 months or 5 years. He
pessimly opined that we wouldn't last a month.
I told him he was very wrong - he wouldn't believe me - and that I'd already
seen him plus his family in enough testable situations to hopefully conclude
we'd have a long lasting loving relationship.
What I love best about Scott is his unassailable honesty. He is one of the few
people who will admit that the war in Iraq is all about money in the name of
oil. We were both hovered over the computer this morning reading a
Times op-ed about the idiot Republican pres'l
candidate who still believes we could've won the war in Vietnam had we nuked the
North to death.
As Scott sez, if the Iraq war is such a good idea, why aren't the children of
legislators the first in line?
But we get off track. I'm now experiencing my first illness since Scott & I are
companions. It's not unlike the good people in our group whose major illness is
an episode of their mood disorder.
Indeed the word episode should be a comfort. It is not a permanent condition tho
when you're in agony, it seems endless. I looked up Sciatica on the Internet
plus spoke to fellow patients, all of which was comforting.
The best comfort I got was from Scotty. What can I do for you, he said.
He went food-shopping for me, made me breakfast, rubbed my back, and told me to
just relax.
I had seen him minister to his late dog Spanky & how good he cared for him in
the dog's last hours. I respected Scott's questioning attitude (remember, I said
he was unassailably honest & does not kowtow to authority figures) when he
removed Spanky from harmful medicine that was interfering with the dog's life
quality.
Most folks, male or female, have a strong nurturing quality. It's an indivisible
part of our makeup. I'd allow that my sciatica is 5 percent better than
yesterday. Tho when I spoke to Sam on the phone today & changed from a lying
down to a sitting up position I screamed in pain. He didn't hear me & only later
in our 37-minute conversation did I tell him about my condition.
Jeez, I hope my Tylenol takes effect soon. Sitting at the computer is not good
but it's the only place I can blog. Can't do it on the laptop which I operate by
lying on my side.
The first day of my episode I took out all my painkillers from my top drawer.
The oldest was from 1998 - ten years ago. Lined em up on the dresser & studied
em as if that action could dissipate the pain.
Altho they might alleviate the pain, they might make me psychotic. Would I
chance it?
I'm always curious to see how I respond in dire times. Fortunately I didn't need
to speak in Berlin to outline my plan for world peace.
Stephen, did you know Bush hates the middle
class? There's nothing on earth - only on Judgment Day if there is one -
that could shake up his nonexistent self-knowledge.
Self-knowledge - or gnothi seaton, wrin on the Oaracle at Delphi - is the most
important quality in life. From thence, we go forward into the world and view
life with unassailable honesty or until we're ready to face the truth.
Ah! Jesus just appeared before me, truly, on the radio -
I Saw the Light, No More Night, it Must've Been Jesus
- no one'll ever know if it's playin only on my radio or all of yours. We can
only give our bestest guess.
Friday, July 25, 2008
If I were a horse, they would shoot me. Sciatica has made a comeback after
about 7 years. I call myself Icy Butt since my sports medicine guy tells me to
"ice it" every hour.
When you're in agony as I am, you can actually do many things - eat, talk on
phone, pay your bills, listen to NPR, spy on your neighbors - but your mood is
dead. Mood does not exist.
The pain circuit has shut down the Emotion Switchboard.
Any good mail today? Here's an ad from a Nature Mag I subscribe to:
News Flash - Gov't Gets Something Right - HUGE FOTO OF
WATCH FACE
- Super Light Titanium Timpepiece Loses Only One Second Every 20 Million Years.
It's a fullpage ad on the back of a foto of 2 darling coyote pups. Did you know
we have coyotes here in Zone 5, the tomato & squash & sciatica zone?
Didja ever print out something from a website, say, back exercises, (thank you
Mary!) & it came out in
teeny tiny print? What's that all about, Mr.
Smokin' Bill Gates?
Here's a new twist on the Old Testament: And God created man & woman. And he saw
with pleasure they were doing their work and procreating but something was
missing. They were as no different from the dog or the cow. And God sat on a
rock and thot and thot and thot.
Lemme try this, he saith to himself. And he caused a mighty bolt of
lightening to flash down from the sky & enter his 2 children - and lo! - the
whole panoply of emotions were born.
And Adam & Eve truly came to life.... because they had feelings. Yes, as Mary
said to me, tis better to have an icy butt than no butt at all.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Honest to God, Annie, I tried writing the novel at the Dunkin Donuts but the
laptop would not turn on. Demons again! Anne is my novelwriting friend from our
class. She designed her
own website & wrote articles about all these
rich people's houses.
When my kids were lil, I used to take em tricker treating in the rich part of my
mom's
neighborhood. Was that ever a treat! Many of my
poems are about houses. Today I was sitting downstairs before I went to work. I
was watching a rocket-ship movie on Turner Classic Film, eating my morning
oatmeal with fresh blubberies & lookin out the window.
This is so gorgeous, I said to myself. I have my eyes and my ears & my legs and
I helped someone last nite who felt like stabbing herself - and eating a tomato
now from my garden I am in awe that the tomato knows how to grow from a tiny
seed and how to delight the grateful human being.
It's garbage nite in nearby Abington. I pulled over & attempted to load a thin
bookcase into the backseat but it was 6 inches too long. I'd gone to the trouble
of wiping off the spiderwebs.
Then the man came out. Silver-haired with a Chrysler backed into the driveway.
Help yo'self, he said.
I think I'll take the rug, I said. Dyou know what it's made of?
I didn't want wool cuz my mom's 2 Chinese rugs were gobbled up by moths.
It's from Ikea, he said. I stuffed it into the backseat & slammed the door
shut - fast - to wedge it inside - and drove off.
Immediately I smelled it. Mildew. There is nothing on earth you can do to get
rid of that smell.
There are some firm rules for trashpickers. One is to smell it before you lift
it. I just learned that now.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
My raindance worked! Look at the glisterning droplets on the grass & leaves.
How still it is after the rain. How hot. How calm.
Just mailed off my bike article to The Trend. Thing is, in my heyday of
article-writing, I could finish em fast. Now I had to figger out how to write
all over again. The
Abington Trash story seemed to take forever.
This one was much quicker since my brain has begun learning to article-write
again.
Bloggin is the easiest since no one reads it but me & Robert.
Invited my sister Donna over for dindin last nite. One Greenwold at a time, I
said to myself as she walked in. "Hey these are the best couches you've ever
bought," she said. I value her opinion. I wrote a short poem about my sisters
that I read at open mics. First line is, "We're a queer bunch, you'd like us
though, pretty, personable, to-the-point & living in all the best
neighborhoods....."
I told her she could have only one big spoonful of potato salad cuz I'm saving
it.
Why is it so delicious, she asked.
I listed the ingredients which are below. Garlic & mayo & dijon mustard. I told
her me & Scott are not afraid of eggs or mayo. We think they're good for you.
Donna & I compared belly fat. It's a Greenwold trait I told her. We all have big
bellies. I used to tell one of my therapy clients to be proud of her belly fat.
She had 6 kids. It actually worked with Wendy. Her husband doesn't care. I wrote
2 poems about her. That was in my big poem-writing period that lasted 13 years.
Remind e to do a poetrydance to see if I can get it back.
I think poetry saved my life for those 13 yrs. I would actually think, If I
can't write poetry I'd rather be dead. Honest to godzilla, I did. Now, it's
vanished from my mind.
Except I got an idea yesterday while dumping my garbage on the compost heap. I
have half an hour to work on it before meeting a new therapy client. Wish me
luck will you
Walt?
Did you know that physician-poet Wm Carlos Wms, author of Paterson, would type
on his clackety-clack typewriter between patients?
I didn't either. Read both his poem & the analysis below on
clicking here. Twont take more than 3 minutes.
Lemme know if you're a changed person & accept our saviour Jesus Christ our
Lord.
THE SONGBIRD
Barefoot
I strew garbage on the compost
They will eat today
And many will feast
The cantaloupe has changed
A water bowl
For the fowl
And now
A bird swoops low
On the vine
Whit whit whit
Cries he
Since I was a girl
I think they love me
Whit whit whit
Half a dozen swing low
Quick-darting long-jawed
All of one color
Impossible to describe
As impossible as their sound
Or their meaning
Immense as the sky.
Monday, July 20, 2008
If your last name is Cocker you've gotta be good - thanks, Murray, for the
hysterical video - my sister & her then-hubby
were in Woodstock - I was working as a secretary in San Francisco smoking pot on
the rooftops - after my first manic psychotic episode I could get high w/o any
help from my friends - newest prose-poem Janie
Stephen, I need your opinion. Should I eat my
potato salad for breakfast? Ingredients include:
-
Fingerling taters, homegrown by a friend who
has a farm in NJ
- Zucchini, ditto above
- Eggs, hard-boiled to perfection by me boyfriend
- Fresh asparagus
- Usual appurtenances such as onion, red peppers, boll weevils, & the
all-important dressing of
Hellmann's Real Mayo
Olive oil
Cider vinegar
Mucho garlic
Homegrown celery seed leaves kept at the doorpost
We don't add salt to our food or sugar.
Nevermind, Stephen, just ate a bowlful. Plus half an avocado. I spoon it out
like pudding. That's cuz BIKERIDING makes me hungry!
While riding my bike, I think, I pray, I spy on my neighbors. Today's biking
themes were
- What is the purpose of thought? Evolution-wise I spose to plan ahead (where
are the buffalo now?) and to prepare to defend ourselves (what if the mastodon
attacks my boy?)
Then cuz we used these brain areas so much & they got so much stimulation they
started contemplating things like meaning. And the eternal unanswerable
question: WHY? Remind me to ask God when next we chat.
Dyou believe in thought-waves? Imagine right now that all our thoughts are
traveling like tiny wiggly lines thruout the air. Wow! Look at all those
tiny wiggly lines.
Is it a bad sign, Peggela, when I come home from babysitting & sit down on the
couch & start singing Where is Thumbkin, where is thumbkin, here I am,
here I am!
Maybe I'll perform that at our next Coffeeshop Gig. Peg can help me since she's
got 3 granddtrs.
Calling Robert! Robert, are you there, sir? How are you today, sir? Please
start practicing with Pam for our October Coffeeshop. We wanna blast the sleepy
lil town of Hatboro off the map.
Good news. Phone just rang. The Trend will let me write a story about BikeRiding.
When I told editor Gerry I rode this a.m. he was surprised.
Ya gotta do it before it gets hot, I said. Plus you provide your own breeze so
it's not nearly as hot as walking. I take death very seriously so I strap on my
helmet. My neighborhood, called Lil San Francisco, presents major challenges to
the calves & thighs. I also chose a white helmet so people can see me & my bike
is powder blue like the sky.
Click here for
bike safety from the always-helpful Jon Goff.
My first order of biking bizness was spying on the people down the hill.
What EVER was that roaring sound? 3 huge trucks with darling workmen in
helmets trimming trees before they fall on the roof & kill someone. I'm now such
an astute rider that I can actually lift an arm up & wave hello.
Why don't people wave to each other when driving cars? People are so stuffy.
J A N I E
When my illness first came upon me, like a big black blanket with see-thru
holes, I talked for seven straight years to anyone who would listen. Even if
they wouldn’t listen, I still talked. I remember one time I talked to Sarah’s
school counselor over the telephone. She was a fine woman with black hair,
Jewish like me, name of Dody Magaziner. And I spoke to her from the dark kitchen
where our beige phone hung on the wall. I went on and on talking about manic
depression and how they tied me up in the hospital and how they gave me an
injection and I couldn’t think and I couldn’t pee and I could barely remember my
name or who I was in love with and while we were talking I was looking out the
window at the parking lot below as the cars came in and out and watching for the
big yellow schoolbus that would bring my chiidren home and Dody Magaziner
interrupted and said, Someone’s knocking at my door, I’ve gotta go.
There were the fine psychiatrists I talked to who nodded their heads in time
with my voice and said There there there and each one served as a steppingstone
while I crossed the wide river of manic depression. I loved them all and wrote
poems about some of them but the one I never talked about much was Maude Turner.
For the record, that’s not her right name since I’m gonna tell you something
shocking about her, but the rest of them – Glijanski and Edelstein and Larry – I
made their names known to the public. But, Maude, well, let’s change her name
once again, this time to something more youthful: I like Janie.
She was not a well-dressed woman. That was the first thing I noticed about her.
She wore frumpy clothes and had a bit of fat around her jowls but that woman
sure knew how to listen. I imagined when I sat there she had a red ribbon
attached to her forehead and she swung it out to me and I attached it to mine
and we would talk and listen talk and listen until the clock said it was time to
go.
I knew nothing at all about this woman and didn’t even care. She was
unconventional. Not only her frumpy clothes but at her office in the ritzy
Benson East which towered like a chess piece over the other suburban buildings,
she kept copies of the New England Journal of Medicine on the topmost shelf and
had barley sugar candy in bowls sculpted by her patients. She had me bring in
poetry I wrote when I was 8 years old that held the secret to my diagnosis and
she congratulated me on sending my daughter to Brown – you did that
singlehandedly, she said, wagging her finger as she sat on the winged chair
across from me.
It was only right, I said to her not believing I had anything to do with it.
After we dissected the secret in my poem, The Mull-a-ger-ing, there was no
reason to keep on seeing her. I placed the last check for one hundred and ten
dollars in her hand and left, wishing I could take a magazine as a souvenir, or
look one last time at the view from the sixth floor.
Why she went to jail for not paying child support remains a mystery to me. But a
bigger mystery lies beyond that. My friends Bev and Sandi called me. They were
now seeing Janie as their therapist. Where has she gone? they besieged me. Why
doesn’t she answer her phone calls? Why is her door locked?
My darling Jane had abandoned her patients. She had made me well. The red ribbon
between us was curled up now in my topmost drawer. But she abandoned everyone
else. Beverly has finally returned to work as a county specialist in finding
help for the homeless. Sandi moved to California where she tends lemon trees in
her front yard and waits to kill herself after her mother dies.
And I go on too. More interested than ever in not talking about myself.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
In honor of Obama the Presumptive's first trip to the Mideast, I've put the
sign back on my lawn. When the Times quotes Obama - & I need your opinion on
this, Dear Reader - they put in any natural pauses as he speaks -
like uh, or well - what dyou think?
Note to Stephen S, who sits at the next cubicle in The Hatboro Coffee Salon,
read
Sarah's Open Letter to Typepad to learn
why my new blog will not be Typepad.
I use the Coffeeshop as my office since I like warm bodies next to me. I
handsomely rewarded myself after a productive day by viewing 2 movies on Turner
Classic Films.
Marlon Brando, dead at age 80, starred in Tennessee Wms's The Fugitive Kind.
Anna Magnani was the woman he loved. Joanne Woodward was the woman he spurned.
Movies don't get any better than this unlessen you're a'talkin about Tomorrow
which followed it with Robert Duvall based on a story by Faulkner. Neither you
nor eye, Dear Reader, had ever heard of this movie, till I sawl it last nite.
I also said to Rodge & Sam at the IHOP table thother nite, I said, Rodge & Sam
ya know what boyz? I can't stand talkin about myself.
Dialog at the table for 7 was about some people at the group being
self-centered.
Ya know what cured me of that, I said. When my illness first came over me, like
a big black blanket with see-thru holes that let the sunshine in, I talked for
SEVEN straight years to one good-listenin psychiatrist after anudder. I tole em
things I'd never tole anyone else and the bestest one of em was a chick by the
name of Maude Turner. Now that ain't her real name, folks, cuz Maude was
craziern a loon & she disappeared on folks later on & our Sandi dug her up. Poor
Maude had gone to jail, yessirree, so the tale goes, for refusing to pay child
support
which reminds me that after my Writers Group today I'm a-babysitting for a
couple of kids across the street - they see me, these lil guys, and they call
ROOF ROOOF - come & see my new whistle.
We were sitting outside last nite watching the sky darken & the mosquiotes come
in. (Look, I can't fix every g'dam mistake I make. There's a 30-second time
delay between my typing & it's printing it so be patient, Dear Reader, be
paitnet) - the lil boyz were getting tired, their energy was increasing & they
were getting wilder, rubbin their eyes in between - wait'll YOU have kids,
Stephen S -
Peggela, proud MomMom of 3 is down at the seashore - we miss you at meetings!
But you have a good time now & say hello to the jade-green ocean & the blue sky.
We got a blue sky here but it don't smell of salty air or roasted peanuts or
even Coppertone that you rub into your skin to make it glow
I have difficulty stoppin bloggin once I get started. Lemme look in the meer &
see how my hair looks today.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Just called my ins. agent - no I didn't collide in the snow into
anudder schoolbus as I did in 06 on the way home from buying my defective Maytag
fridge w/the water dispenser on the outside, I'm so bourgeosie, but to ask them
what I saved when I took my AARP Geriatric Driver's Course.
You can safely tell people, said Michelle, they'll save fifty to sixty dollars
on their policy. Wow! Fifty extra bucks to buy:
- More chocolate milkshakes at the Coffeeshop where I'm heading after this blog.
Gotta work on my Bipolar handout. I bring my laptop cuz I'm a hipster.
See how I'm always trying to prove how wonderful I yam? I probly have a
permanent inferiority complex but I daren't tell a soul. (Actually everyone
does.)
I learned people do read this blog, I commanded my college chum Iris to load her
poem Spigot on her agency blog. I don't care what your board of directors say,
you load that poem.
Last nite 7 of us hopped to IHOP b/c we can't stop talking. Joining us was the
wonderful songster psychiatrist Pam London Barrett who sat in on our small group
discussion & dispensed knowledge of the psychopharmacopeia.
I called her this morning as I lay in bed & she was already at work at
Norristown State Hospital. Their chaplain, Sister Gerri Whitman, was our
inspiring guest speaker last nite. In her late teens, she asked God, "Shall I
become a bride of Christ or shall I do your bidding as a wife and homemaker."
God answered her in what can only be called modern-day miracles. She was called
by God to become a nun.
What has God called YOU to do?
This is the most important question we face as chocolate lovers.
We're trying to convince Pam to open a small private practice.
When should I start, she asked me.
Now, I said.
Talking to Pam woke me up & got me started on my day. I left Scott a phone
message not to come over since I needed anudder shot of sleep. He's asleep now
since he works the graveyard shift. A very fat man at work was taken to the ER
for chest pains. He orders out pizza & Cokes at dinnertime and smokes of course.
Scott, rugged disciplinician that he is, eats pistachio nuts at snacktime. He is
nearly incorruptible.
We had our first grape tomatoes yesterday from our garden. This type of tomato
is practically failsafe, I'd say. B/c it's small, it has less chance for
problems on the vine.
So I'm sitting here sweating, right. Just came home from a 20-minute bike ride,
showered, & am waiting to feel cool. I rarely use my new A/C but I'd set it so
when I came home I'd feel cool. Just checked it & guess what? I'd set it
on HEAT insteada cool.
No harm done. No one killed or maimed.
Here's what I said to Sam & Rodge at the Ihop.
Most blogs are boring. Not YOURS, Mr. Weinstein. Quick, Ruthie, find
his URL. I can only read about 2 grafs & then I
get bored. This also includes my son/laws FABULOUS blog cuz it gets too
technical about music.
What I really enjoy talking about, I said to the boyz, is trvia.. minutaie...
For instance? they asked
Well, like this morning was garbage day. It's, like, an absolute miracle that
you can put all that crap in a bin & they haul it away never to be seen again.
Why would a naughty but nice Jewish girl like me be so fascinated by garbage.
Marian, who sat next to me at Drivers Ed, called me this morning. You don't
realize, she said, but your presence on earth has made such a difference to me &
so many people.
Naturally I was courteous to her & thanked her but ya know what I really felt?
She is correct. No matter what, I am always in a good mood. That is a gift. A
gift is given to you. I did not give myself this gift.
Who's the giver? You got it.
Chocolate. Chocolate makes all things possible.
Lemme tell you something. Before you subscribe to anything online, think twice.
Why? B/c you can send Unsubscribes till kingdom come to a few of em & they'll
never take you off their list. Is that the reason I removed my Obama sign from
my lawn?
See, I don't even know why I do things. The mystery only deepens the older we
get. When are they gonna let me outa here?
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Remember: You can enlarge the print by hitting Control on the bottom left &
then the PLUS sign at top right.
The dawning of a new day. In this hot weather I take 5-minute naps wherever
I can. Yesterday I lay on my living room couch, the sun was setting, & I looked
thru my front window with its b'ful diamond-shaped panes & all I could see was
lush verdure - a slowly moving wall of benevolent greenery and I thought What a
lucky gal am I.
Exchanged recipes this a.m. for our fresh-growing mint with Robin at the Willow
Grove Giant. She gave me a marinade to put home-grown cucumbers in:
olive oil
garlic
chopped mint leaves
I told her about my tea which I drink. Steep several sprigs of fresh mint in
boiling water till water turns dark. Then remove from heat. When cool, strain
into glasses filled with ice. I'm on my third frosty glass.
Spoke to Vince Davis this a.m., research asst to Richard Jaffe, MD, of Belmont.
We wanna have Jaffe out again, this time to talk about ECT as we've had several
inquiries about this last-resort treatment that years ago in the days of Sen.
Thomas Eagleton (I know... you've never heard of him) was in fact a first
choice.
Jaffe gives ECT at Belmont while John Worthington gives it at Abington Hospital.
How do I know all this? I'm a conduit. Remind me to look up the word. I know
it's correct but I have no idea what it means.
For my Conquering Bipolar show in September I'm writing one of my massive
handouts. On it I say 2 important things that are rarely said. How did I learn
to say them? By observing people in our group. Somehow this info goes directly
into a lil brain pocket & waits patiently, a small dormant seed, until I water
it.
From my handout: Although bipolar and depression (together they are called mood
disorders) are chronic illnesses of the brain, they are not progressive
like Parkinson’s nor are they fatal. There is every hope you can go on to live a
normal, happy and productive life. But you must be vigilant and disciplined!
Speaking of disciplined, I only drank ONE CHOCOLATE MILKSHAKE last nite at the
Coffee Salon. I sat next to Stephen, who was writing THREE articles due at 3 pm
today, & I said, What's good to eat or drink?
I am excruciatingly suggestible. In fact I think I've developed late-onset Tell
her Anything & she'll believe it, so when he he surprised me with Chocolate
Milkshake I nearly dropped my drawers & fell off my chair. It was mmm-mmm good.
I looked at the clock to see if there was time to drink anudder one, then I
looked down at my flabby blue-veined thighs that look like a road map (I
seriously love them tho) & decided against it.
If you can count to five, I learned, you forget about your cravings. This does
not hold true if you're a drug addict. My addictions are simple:
- Following up on every inquiry I get - this is my main addiction - & like a
true addict, I'm consumed by compulsion & won't stop till I get it right, hence
Richard Jaffe coming out
- Swimmin at LA Fitness to keep the blubber at a minimum
- Bloggin
- Test-driving new cars (I put $580 down on a new Toyota Corolla then changed my
mind & am awaiting receipt of my check... for 7 years now)
- Reading the online NY Times. Here's
a video on BP which I loaded on our front page.
See you tonite at the meeting. Don't tell anyone but I always park in the
handicap zone cuz it's closest to the door. I truly think this is disgraceful
but I do it anyway. I sent an email to Gene Gerhard of the same-name appliance
store in Glenside & titled it Disgraceful service, Gene! I thot if I could shame
him I could get a new icemaker. The Maytag people acknolwedged it's a flawed
icemaker. I called Colonial Nissan & asked the girl, If I'm driving a Nissan &
there's a recall, do I have to pay anything.
No, she said.
Qvestion is: do the same rules apply to refrigerators? I'll ask Ben
Bernanke. Or maybe I won't.
Iris,
dyou think I'm nuts? Note the blinking eyes on her website. We have a guy in our
group who works for Merck & they adopted 2 Chinese daughters. He sends photos de
temps en temps.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Due to technical problems, this website has been as out of order as has this
nation. Unfortunately I can't get Congress to bail me out.
Because this blog page is so long I'm gonna figger out how to get a Google blog
like all the hip folks do such as my friend
Stephen. My daughter has another type blog with
a
very hip logo.
When I type on here, my words don't show up for 30 seconds. It's excruciatingly
slow. I just deleted 3 months worth of blog entries to see if it would speed
things up. It didn't work.
Look, life's been a big learning curve for me lately. Scott & I bot new
bikes & I'm riding again for the first time in
62 minus age 18 years. We picked up the bikes this week. All I wanted to do is
ZOOM down my street without breaking my neck.
I practiced when no one was coming. I made sure I knew how the hand brakes
worked. I made sure I knew how to shift the 7 gears. I snapped tight my macho
helmet like a baby bonnet. I refused to feel afraid.
Sitting on the comfy seat with my feet touching the ground, I
simply sailed down our hilly street feeling nothing but the breeze against my
skin & the joy of speeeed.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Let's raise our glasses of
soy milk (is this really true?) in a toast to MY friend & possibly
yours, the erudite Stephen Weinstein, who at long last is running for .... But before you
click, lemme say I would vote for him in a heartbeat as long as he selects me
for the cabinet position of Award-losing Poet. In that capacity, I will comfort
& encourage other losers like myself to keep on writing. In only one week I have
lost 2 or is it 3 contests that were SO EASY to win I wouldn't dare tell a soul
I lost. In honor of which I'll print one of my losing poems further down.
May I present
Mr. Weinstein......
These are the last lingering hours of Scott's vacation. Don't remind me, he
said, when I told him tomro nite at this time he'll be waiting for the train to
take him to work. That boy had never been to NYC since he was a kid so off we
went. In one day we saw
Ellis Island & the Statue of Liberty, then took a tour
bus up & down Manhattan ending with a look at revitalized Harlem & the Apollo
Theatre where so many artists made their
debuts.
Sarah took us to her friend's restaurant in the Wmsburg section of Bklyn. Take a
look & see if you can guess what what kind of journeymen worked in the
bldg. I'll print it in the last 2 grafs of this blog.
B/c I forgot to bring my camera aboard the ferry to Ellis Island & Lady
Libertae,
I overreacted & bot 12 postcards showing various heroic positions of the statue.
On my To-Do List are 3 people, make that 4, Robert, who I'll send the 27-cent
card to. Plus one of you too, Dear Reader, but I'll keep you guessing, just like
God keeps us guessing always in all ways.
Spoke to my bother/law Rich who is a marriage counselor in Eugene, OR. He
attended a seminar given by the famous
Steven Stosny, PhD. Believe me, I've never heard of him either, so
that's at least 6 of us who've had lousy marriages & made our Houdini-like
escapes. And I'm NOT talking about YOU, Bryce, main character in my Donald
Westlake novel, who took the cowardly way out of his marriage but you'll have to
read the book to find out how.
On vacation I could not indulge my various addictions: blogging, YouTubing &
madly googling every movie on Turner Classic Films. Did you know Robert Mitchum
(d. 1997 age 79) wanted Elvis to play his son in today's movie Thunder Road?
Instead, his own son played the part after Elvis' greedy mgr demanded more money for
Elvis than the budget of the entire film. I do think Elvis could've been a fine
actor equivalent to James Dean.
See! I have an opinion about everything. You have to stand for things in your
life. We have intuition & then we have reasoning. No two of us are alike. What
am I getting at here, I have no idea. I'm waiting for something profound to come
out like the last bursts in the toothpaste tube. I use Tom's cuz it doesn't
contain lauryl sulfate. See how I know all this useless information.
Postscript from the erudite Mr. Weinstein: I am sorry to inform you that your
application for Cabinet Poetess has been denied. I am happy to inform you that
you are my nominee for Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare – a position
for which you are eminently qualified.
Scott? Is the spaghetti ready? Okay, go out now & cut some of that Greek oregano
from your garden. For protein I'm mixing in Friendship cottage cheese (no
preservatives) & crabgrass from my garden.
Who is Earl Nightingale? Born in 1921, he was the first great motivational
speaker who made his own records. He has helped people from businessmen like my
dad to plumbers. Earl was also
the radio voice of Sky King. Listen to his voice &
heed his words. That man is honest.
Here's my latest award-losing poem entry:
PRAYER
(dedicated to Robert)
Great Spirit of the night
lay your tender
moonbeams on
my sleeping head
for I wander while I sleep
Great Sprit of the night
protect me
on my midnight voyages
my steps are light and deep
I've walked the moon's cool sands
picked up
tiny wooden crosses
to clink like shells
in pockets deep
with shadow large
I lean against the
flagpole
cold
breath flying into
drizzly dreams across
the stars
Guide me safely home
let me waken in the arms
of Father Sun
another day
on this forever unknowable
hard earth.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Happy Independence
Day!
We did some really great work at last nite's mtg. In our large group, I
congratulated one of our members for checking himself into Abington Hospital to
stay safe. We also got Tony Salvatore to talk to us about Suicide Loss since one
of us died by her own hand. Tony says he "detests" the word committed suicide (I
never use it no more b/c I so respect his ideas) - commit refers to a sin.
Tony spoke without notes. The suicidal individual he said feels empty & feels he
or she is a burden. He explained why Veterans today so often kill themselves.
2 facets are required to do the deed:
- Strong desire to die
- The ability to harm yourself
One frustration of the tragedy of suicide is we never had a chance to say
goodbye.
I told Dave, Joyce's husband, that after her death, I seemed to see her slender
elfin body everywhere, just as when my own father died from cancer, I used to
see him waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator.
Tony will do anything to help prevent the suicide that killed his own married
son, eleven years ago, with whom he was very close. That's why he came out at a
moment's notice to help us deal with
Joyce's death. Her husband was also there last
night.
When most people decide they are going to die by suicide, they reach a
preternatural state of calm, perhaps like one of the stages of dying from a
natural death. It's an automatic brain process of intense relief & calm, that
they won't have to face pain & suffering anymore.
I'm extremely conscious of suicide in our group, having experienced intense
suicidality myself. Someone in our group liked when I said We folks with bipolar
have an emotional processing illness.
Why, for example, would we want to kill ourselves just b/c for example A
marriage breaks up or We lose a job. Certainly, these things are tremendous
losses, but to want to die is an unnatural response. It's almost as if we are
children inside who lack the patience & stamina required to wait it out while we
go thru all the necessary steps of both grieving & moving on to establish a new
life.
So, yes, our old life did in fact die. But we ourselves did not die. Every
single life here on earth contains little worlds inside us. Tap your skull
anywhere with your finger & you are tapping memories of one of your million
starts & stops, while the organism itself moves through the universe.
Did I ever tell you that I never know what I'll blog about. It just sort of
pours outa my fingers. And then heads straight into your minds.
I called up my daughter
Sarah.
I did one bad thing, I said, when I stayed in your apartment in NY.
What's that, Mom, she said in her musical voice.
I cleared my throat & said, I stole Hooked by
Donald Westlake. I couldn't control myself.
Oh, that's not bad, Mom. It's a great book.
Yeah, I said, that's why I stole it.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
No sooner had Scott & I gone to Cape May for 4 luxurious but not uxurious
days, than
Stephen changed his blog format. Truthfully,
Mr. Weinstein, it's a far far prettier blog than ever I've seen before. I love
the gentle ocean-blue colors plus your photo in the lower right!
Did you know, Dear Reader, that people such as Stephen inspire one another?
Please don't think me preachy, but have you inspired anyone lately? Our Peggela
has been particularly helpful to folks in our group, as has Iris. I've gotten to
know both of these fine ladies in the past year.
Couldn't figger out how to inspire myself last nite. I had the post-shore return
gaga's. My mind refused to go into work mode. I had a report due to the Kind
Family Foundation telling what we did with their grant money. No, I did not
invest it all in CountyWide Mortgage Company, pay $10 down & buy the house of
your dreams.
I typed up 4 pages of accomplishments & even I was impressed. But let me tell
you something. Our support group would be nothing without YOU! Without all our
great volunteers & folks who attend our meetings. That phone rings every single
day at our Willow Grove office. I should also mention that our Montgomery County
Office of Mental Health pays our office rent, phone & Internet expenses. Yours
truly worked very hard cultivating an excellent relationship with the County.
In 15 minutes I'll go for my swim. I bought a new swim suit for $3 at the Holy
Redeemer Thrift Shop on County Line Road. Highly recommended. Esp. for
furniture.
Vat else? Today is Joyce's funeral. Ada & Rich will pick me up. I told Dave,
Joyce's husband, that I can't wait to meet their daughter, Lindsay.
Ya know what? Sometimes I think everything is connected. Last nite we watched
Lars & The Real Girl, a gem of a film. The first time we watched, we both fell
asleep. A fellow mechanic at SEPTA gave Scott the film saying Your girlfriend
will love this. Scott must've told them I'm a therapist. It's a tender piece
about a man who works thru his loneliness & motherless childhood by purchasing a
love-doll.
For 2 straight days in a row I ate at my fave diner: Terminal Luncheonette where
the Breakfast Special is $2.90 and the waitresses are waitress-goddesses.
When I paid the bill yesterday, I asked the own Christos, What happened to Doug,
he's not the same. Chris said Doug was in the hospital & there's something wrong
with his mind & he made the universal looping sign by his temple. I sat next to
Doug & he kept repeating himself.
Sad. That's why we've gotta appreciate every moment. Live in the present. Taste
every delicious sip of Yingling Beer I had at the shore at The Lobster House.
It's my blue-eyed son's fave beer. I drink it once or twice a year for the taste
alone (yeah right, Ruthie, just like guys buy Penthouse for the articles). Do
they still publish it?
I sent a Welcome Home email to Louis (fake name) who will return home from
Abington Hospital's psych ward. That smart man admitted himself for his
spiraling depression. The doc on duty who is on our Top 10 Worst Shrink List
gave Louie Wellbutrin which caused him to go into a horrible mania. Even a child
would know not to do this.
I kept in touch with Louie's mom who is always his stalwart advocate.
In my cover letter to Kind, I wrote, 2008 has been a very good year. I ended the
note by saying The world is a better place because of the Kind Family
Foundation.
Oh, while waiting for my breakfast special (poached eggs, rye toast, grits,
grapefruit juice) I wrote a poem called Lunch with Mother. Hopefully I'll print
it soon.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Very sad news. One of us has died. Here is the obit of
Joyce Champion. When I returned home from Cape
May, I received an email from her husband, Dave. Today I called him & we spoke a
long while. Everyone loved Joyce. You hear that, Joyce? (She's smiling now
wherever she is.) Dave & I were talking that no one could tell a story
like Joyce. She positively glowed when she spun tales about her life.
We always thought we would see her again. She had a circle of devoted friends in
our group. Everyone banded together to try & help Joyce. Her depression was
profound. She & her husband tried everything to help her but time finally ran
out. She died exactly a week ago today. She simply could not hold out her agony
was so intense. And so she took her own life.
Joyce, is that you giving an impish smile now? And a little wink? Oh, so you're
happy at last. Your angst is over.
How do we talk to someone whose loved one has died by their own hand? How does
our group comfort itself. By asking Tony Salvatore to come speak to us. Tony has
dedicated his life to suicide prevention, due to the death of his son, Paul, by
sudden suicide.
Bittersweet when I got home from the shore. The good with the bad. Heaps of
work. Looky here at the good: my first paid article
in the Trend. The challenge was: How to make a
dull subject interesting. Imagine my surprise when Kevin Hoke, Dem committeeman,
wrote & told me he liked the article.
Kevin was an early Obama supporter. He is also a cyclist, riding round the hood
on his 10-speed. He was surprised when I wrote him about the bike I rode in Cape
May. Did I tell you every part of my body aches except my ear lobes?
The bike's a Fuji Saratoga. Look, I never heard of it either until 2 days ago.
Pedal pedal close to the ground. Easy to get on
& off. Soon as I hopped on, I started wobbling like a drunk. I refused to go on
the open road until I practiced on the back streets (will do you no good), sings
Springsteen.
Guess who volunteered to buy me a Fuji Saratoga 4.0? That's right. My
mustachioed boyfriend.
Feel free to think about your fave bike-riding stories. Here's mine. Well, first
I've gotta get a glass of freezing-cold ice water with lemon. BTW, I'm in
negotiations with Gene Gerhard of the appliance store to get me a new free
icemaker. Mine is defective. Gene admitted that many of his customers have
similar problems with these once famously great Maytags which have not lived up
to their failsafe reputation.
I'm 18 yrs old. I'm callow. Sheltered. I know nothing of the world out there. My
responsibilities are very few. And then I fly to Goddard College in VT. Total
culture shock. Small college. 500 students. Plus Frank Dorsky, Paul Desfor,
Wendy Davidson, and Erlen Jacobsen. We also had the sons of Pete Seeger &
architect
Eero Saarinan.
Woke up at dawn. Everyone was asleep. Stepped outside the dorm to witness the
dimming of the stars & the coming of morning. A blue bike was leaning against
the dorm wall. I tried it on for size & began pedaling fast, as if to greet the
dawn. It was a bit of a ride into town - tiny Plainfield, along the Winooski
River - but I rode as fast & hard as I could - I was experiencing total ecstasy
- and rode around the silent town with the birds keeping me company - and then I
heard the rush of the waterfalls in town.
Never had I felt so free. Never never never.
Is it possible to recapture that feeling 44 years later?
Yes! And she said
Yes yes yes!!!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Last blog for a few days. Hopefully I'll make it back from vacation alive.
If not, read Let Us Now Praise Famous Men at my funeral. It's from the Book of
Sirach in the Apochrypha.
You can fight over whom to give my Obama sign which is on my front lawn.
A small group of serious revelers celebrated the Summer Solstice and the Joy
of Being Alive last nite at St. Philip's Church in New Hope, PA.
Ruth Z Deming was at her best. One always hopes they can rise to the occasion &
fort'ly I did. I am an outrageous flirt. An old guy was sitting with a cane & 2
bad knees each in an apparatus & I said, "Woody, your knee braces only enhance
your sexuality."
Then when we were leaving he paid me an awesome comment, "Ruth, you have a
really nice rear end. I was watching it while you were performing."
"Yeah, but how did you get a view (of my big fat ass)?"
"When you turned around," he said. He was wearing a wedding ring but I didn't
want to ask about his wife in case she was dead. If nothing, I am
thoughtful.
15 minutes before leaving home I wrote a new poem. They all loved it. I'll print
it below.
These readings are like a Quaker meeting. We all sit there until someone feels
moved to stand up. Liz Bowman is the amazing host whose energy & spirit infuses
the group with its loving spirit.
An ample-sized woman, Liz wore a long flowing tie-dyed dress. She introduced
banjo-player Sandy Bender & he began to play. There's no sound like the joyful
but melancholic banjo. I asked him to share some memories from his trip to China
last October with fellow architects.
After half an hour, I got up & said, I have 2 poems to read. One is short & the
other is long. I'd like Sandy to accompany me on banjo for the longer poem which
was Fathers Day, an American Holiday, published below.
I really got going on the Fathers Day poem. I was singing & strutting &
extemporizing. Y'all woulda been prouda me. I'll do it again at our next
Coffeeshop Gig in September.
After I read my first poem, Liz said, I was thinking the very same thing today,
What would I do if....
A KNOCK ON THE DOOR
I was doing my dishes one day and heard a knock on the front door. I leave my
door open in the summer and always have a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge. I
love the way the lemon wheels float to the top and the glass gets all frosty.
Imagine my surprise when I turned around and saw a man standing there.
Not just any man, mind you. But one who looked exactly like Jesus from the
Bible.
Christ? I called. Is that you? He smiled that gentle smile of his and pushed a
stray hair behind his ear.
It’s me! Jesus Christ our Lord.
I was so excited I didn’t know what to do. My mind flashed many thoughts. Was I
properly attired to meet Christ our Lord? Did I have spots on my shirt? Walnuts
in my teeth? Did my toenails need trimming?
Finally, I ran barefoot to the door. You’ve come, I said. You've come at last.
I’ve been waiting for so long.
When he stepped inside, the sun shone on his long auburn hair. Starlight
sparkled from his long white robe. Was it my imagination or did a fluorescent
halo float around his head.
No matter.
I have had many experiences in my life. It’s been a good life. A very good life.
I remember mostly the good things: the birth of my children, the publication of
my first newspaper article, walking into my yellow house for the very first
time.
But when Jesus walked in, it was the very best feeling I ever did have. It
was like seeing my own father risen from the grave.
And now, I have left my sandals behind and have ascended to be with my people.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Check out
this link from
Tony Salvatore about bipolar being
overdiagnosed.
Selected comments from last nite's meeting:
-
John was a really great speaker. I really needed to hear his advice on finding
a job. Where'd you find him? (It's a long fantastic story that even John doesn't
remember.)
- Are you Ruth Deming? (The person was in awe of me so I politely shooed her
away... if there's anything I can't stand... )
- I've never seen so many people here! There must be at least 60. (I never
count, I just estimate.)
- What? You've raised the price from $3 to $5! Outrageous. (This fool was not
kidding either. Nor was he repentent after he admitted it was a great meeting.)
Here's my comment. The hardest part of the meeting is getting everyone in their
small group discussions. I run around the room moving people around. Then just
when I think everyone's in their small group, in walk 8 people who've been
smoking outside.
Then I went around to each table. If I knew someone was in particular trouble,
I'd tell the table they needed to work on that. This is a problem-solving group.
We wanna use teamwork & resources to help solve your problems.
I'm always satisfied after a meeting. Why? Because I prepare and b/c I know our
people. During Creveling's presentation he had us doing exercises with a
partner. We told each other a few of our strong points. "Don" said to me, You have
thousands of them.
Yeah, I said, but name one.
I can't remember what he said. Possibly that I have lovely toes. But he did
remember our first phone call.
I was probly eating, right? I said.
Yeah, he said, plus you were doing a million things while we were talking. We
talked more than an hour. I never met anybody who was so willing to talk.
Busy day today. The wash is running now. For the first time I'm doing everything
on COLD to save money & energy. I have a giant egg spot on a blouse & can't wait
to see if it comes out.
Oh! Finally remembered what I really wanted to talk about. At the
Arboretum I was dying to tell someone about the book I'm reading: book two in
the Anne Rice series on Jesus Christ our Lord.
Now, when you have something important to say, you've gotta tell the right
person or people. Since Marion is a believing Catholic, plus a witty
conversationalist, I mentioned the book.
Now, Ruth, since you're Jewish, I wouldn't think you'd be interested in the
book.
To the contrary, I said. I'm fascinated by Christ & think he was a great
teacher. I actually studied the New Testament in a class at Temple University.
Do you think you could become a Christian?
As you know, Marion, I'm a very openminded person, so anything's possible.
However, I sincerely doubt it.
Private note to Christ: Feel free to pop on by. I have plenty of delicious
cold water & will be happy to bathe your feet. I am not kidding. Also, I bought
this delicious
Casaba melon and need someone to share it with.
I highly recommend the book. Rice is an excellent writer and Christ comes alive.
It's written in the first person and is entirely believable.
I am what's called a Christ afficionado. My fave Christ movie is The Last
Temptation of Christ w/Willem DeFoe. Many Christian people, when they get manic,
believe they are Christ or Willem DeFoe (just kidding).
Women believe they're Mary Magdalene or The Virgin Mary.
Because I'm Jewish, I never had the pleasure of becoming, for example, the
sainted Bernadette of Lourdes or Mother Katherine Drexel.
However, when my brain was unknowingly healed from bipolar disorder & I was
still on Lamictal, wouldn't you know that one day when I was walking around
beautiful Lake Galena in Doylestown, PA, I thought I was the Lord Almighty.
What a burden for a then-57-yr-old Jewish girl. However, I did realize I was NOT
God. I just couldn't shake the thought. That's the power of medicine.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Of Ada & Rich & the Arboretum - Of Tara & Movie Nite - Of Father's Day Poem in
Progress - And This is the Day I'm Having Massive Computer Trouble (my computer
is morbidly obese) so this may be my last blog for a while - Am having my first
phone Compass interview on Saturday
The 6 of us were standing admiring a beautiful tree at Tyler Aroboretum in
Media, PA, when Chris, the groundskeeper, descended from his Gravely mower to
chat with us.
An arboretum, he told us, categorizes trees and plants, and labels them for the
viewers. Tyler, with its 625 acres of rolling hills, meadows, and small forests,
is one of the largest in the Northeast.
We were standing in awe of these amazingly diverse trees, over 1,000 different
species. Did you know that an unmown meadow will evolve into a forest? Think of
your own lawn & what trees attempt to take root there.
Count me in, Mr. Tarantino. I am a new devotee of his films. True Romance, which
we watched at Movie Nite, was a small masterpiece. Every scene was perfect. You
could not turn your head away for fear of missing the brilliant acting &
impeccable dialog.
Avert your eyes, I used to say to my kids when we were watching violent movies.
I said this to our movie group on Tuesday as I averted my eyes. If my friend
Marcy still lived here I'd suggest we have a marathon Tarantino film nite.
He loves diners and pie. Let's imagine ourselves, Dear Reader, at a diner of
your choice. I'll be at Terminal Luncheonette just down the street on Davisville
Road where the waitress knows everyone's name and the coffee is steaming hot &
goes down good. Sometimes Doug Kelly with his blue eyes is there with his pack
of Salem set on the counter & will tell you he's trying to quit.
Now right here's a poem I been workin on. Am gonna put it right here right now
cuz I gotta get rid of it & free my mind.
FATHERS DAY, AN AMERICAN HOLIDAY
Fathers all
we gather in the land
we call America
in the backyard
cold drinks in hand
make mine Running Rock, Sue,
we watch the kids chase each
other and the dog
which kid was it
sparked the incident
oh the longhaired boy
with eyes like his moms
looks like he’s barely out
of diapers and yet
the dog is sleek
chosen at the shelter
ribs poking out
half dead
look at her now
lays panting
after chasing a ball
likes killing
rabbits birds
chipmunks
anything with fur
black feathers lay in a
random pattern
from a blackbird
she shook to death
try not to step on the
feathers
the women were inside talking
the grill was getting hot
the sun set over the
other fence
as Midge came out to
set the table
I shot a glance
at her sagging behind
that caused men’s eyes
to water
and drank a sip
on
fathers day
our kid left the country
we waited for the mail
that never did come
didn’t matter what it said
just the printed envelope
was enough
that handwriting that made
you remember his
trophies and
the girl he knocked up
we'd preached about condoms but
the cat wanted out
from beneath the curtains
another woman
Lil
lifted him up
you saw her behind the glass
and soon Lil was walking the
cat on a leash
across the random feathers
and now the boys jumping
into the pool
look at the little one
Davey with the big wet ears
left his hot dog and relish
so he could swim with the
boys
someone loved him a lot
generations of love
not just two or three
but all the way down the line
to Adam or Christ or
wherever
it all begins
the kid who starred in the incident
took the cat in his arms
buried his face in its fur
thinking, you know,
of the fire he set in the woods
wasn’t supposed to spread
but did
a field burned down in back of
the old man’s house
that’s one way to learn of
the power of a man
one sure way is to burn down a field
on the way home
we drove through a rainstorm
drumbeats on the roof of the truck
the almighty don’t care
what day it is
to show the power
of the Lord over the
inhabitants in his world
before he gathers us
into his Loving Arms
and then too
the boy with the ears
his father is a hunter
I remembered that when
I turned the corner in my hometown
I may never see the boy again
but I’ll remember the deer that was down
on the corner by the pizza shop
lying on his side
as if napping
lying like we do
body still and at peace
waiting
just waiting
for the flies
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Stephen, did you read the article in
today's Times about McCain's yrs as a Vietnames pow? I do like when the liberal
Times writes allegedly fair stories about candidates it opposes. I think the
story will help McCain. I perceive the Times as being critical of McCain for his
recalcitrance while a pow, reminiscent of the Paul Newman movie - can't remember
the name - where Newman pretends to go along with the jailers only to royally
screw them at the end, to the delight of fellow convicts & the audience. It IS a
great feeling to screw your enemies, tho the 'forgiving' way is to adopt the
Scottish proverb Success is the best revenge.
Enough about politix. Oh! Did you listen to the Times interview with Obama? It
was the first time I actually liked Obama. He was talking facts. Facts about our
faltering economy & what to do about it. I mean, look, we are in real trouble as
a nation. Sure, we all exist on a local level, things are fine here on Cowbell
Road - so my icemaker doesn't work, so what? - but
there are veritable 'ghosttowns' in Ohio where people used to work and live. I
mean, that's outrageous! Ghosttowns. These people thot factories were forever.
I'll just work in here, cough a bit, go home to my wife & send the kids to
college so they can become doctors or poets.
Not to be.
On my to-do list is to write a poem called Father's Day. I ain't got no father,
tho he was with me for my first 34 yrs - and then poof - it was as if a Giant
Crane descended & lifted him from his accustomed place at the dinner table. I'm
a lot like him. When he'd call me up, he'd just start talking right away, no
hello or nothin. At work, he'd answer the phone Greenwold.
Got a couple 800 phonecalls at dinnertime thother nite. I lunged at the phone
all ready to yell, How dare you call me? Who are YOU to invade the
sanctity of my home?
True. I function best when no one is around. No one to stop me or say things
like, How can you go outside barefoot, you'll step on something & get tapeworm.
Oh dear. I was trying to impress Scott with my speed yesterday. Needed to put
some crops in his backseat & I pressed the backseat car opener & jammed my
thumb. Luckily I don't have hemophilia. It made a nice black clot under the nail
& I didn't have to call in Rasputin to save me. Some nice refreshing sleep also
helped it heal.
Gave my Joy of Intimacy Class yesterday at Doylestown Fitness Center. I was 22
minutes early so I could bond & network with my boss, the program director,
Bruce. I wanted to look sexy for the class, which is really all about sex, so I
tried on 4 outfits before settling on THE ONE, a nice Yves St Lauren I bought on
a recent trip to his couterier in Paris. This was shortly before his death so it
was de facto our last goodbye. He was always so kind & knew EXACTLY how to fit
this aging beauty.
Shall I work on my novel now? A woman from my late novelwriting class, Annie,
spurs me on. She lives in Long Island. We title our emails Tick Tick Tick.
Not to be confused with Thich Thich
Thich.
We had 5 married couples at the Joy class. It went great. When I gave my first
class it was the most challenging thing I'd ever done. Like, how dyou talk about
having great sex in front of total strangers. How do you teach them?
It can be done, Dear Reader, it can be done. A comment I received on the Survey
Sheet read, "Ruth was very positive & direct."
Direct. Of course, I'm the director of the world's greatest support group!
(Yeah, & maybe someday she'll learn how to direct her own g'dam life.)
(Oh be quiet, inner censor, be quiet.)
Saturday, June 14, 2008
In hot weather, eat cold foods. I made a scrumptious cold shrimp salad with
cold broccoli, hardboiled eggs & other salad mixins, while chatting on the phone
w/Marcy. Together we decided on a Russian dressing w/plenty of garlic, olive oil
& lemon.
I decided that since we only live once it's important to have blueberries
every day they're in season. And cantaloupe too. American-grown.
Hey did you watch Bill Moyers last nite? Our free-market economy has been
declining since 1980 & wages for the common man are lower than what our
grandfathers made (adjusted for inflation). The decline of union power began
when Reagan busted the Air Traffic Controllers & outright fired them.
My boyfriend Scott knows all about this & helps keep me informed about the
plight of America. I liked when Moyers' guest speaker called corporate CEOs
pathologically greedy. To me, the gas-wasting SUVs are the trickle-down symbol
of the common man's buying into the greedy American syndrome & not thinking for
themselves. Why emulate rich people or movie stars?
Think for yourself! For role models, why not emulate your hardworking ancestors
who came to America to better their lives? In the old country, my people
were.... fill in the blank.
My former psychiatrists said I would never be cured from manic depression. Had I
listened to them I'd still be drugged up. Fortunately, I had the power to think
for myself.
Six months before my brain changed with my first manic psychotic episode at age
38, I lost my athletic ability. My eye-hand motor coordination was shot & I had
to hang up my tennis racket.
A week ago Scott & I were at Modell's sporting goods. We used tranquilizer darts
to flag down a salesperson to help us select tennis rackets. One of the signs of
a decline in American pride is finding someone to help you in a store. This guy
actually knew what he was talking about.
We emerged with new rackets & a bevy of balls.
Standing at Masons Mill Park, racket in hand, it hardly felt like TWENTY FOUR
years had passed by since I stood at attention on the court, senses alert, my
entire being poised to receive the ball.
Scott excells at softball. Not tennis. Nonetheless the 2 of us had some strong
volleys & my motor coordination is definitely back. Tennis is without a doubt
the best exercise there is, for me. Your entire body moves. I could feel the
sweat dripping from my hair onto my shoulders.
Last nite we played at a nearby park. I envisioned some of my partners from my
life in tennis. O where are you now Susan Diener from Shaker, Frank Dorsky from
Goddard, Russell Eisenman from Elkins Park. I am here - Your Little Ruthie -
watching the sun rise here on Cowbell Road.
Weds., June 11, 2008
RZ: Dyou take credit cards?
Girl, looking over shoulder at mom sitting in lawn chair: Mom, do
we take credit cards?
Mom: No.
RZ, hopping out of car: Okay then I'll pay in cash. How much is a
glass of lemonade.
+
Last nite I drive Scott to the train station. Ooh, says I. I love when it's
windy. Let's sit out on the bench. The sky is an unearthly gray and it begins
thundring & lightning. I get outa the car & raise my arms toward the sky. Can
you feel the energy I say?
The wind whips up. Things start flying around - plastic bags, small pebbles,
anything loose. We sit on the bench. Suddenly it begins to pour. We're under a
roof. It doesn't matter. The rain slants our way. Torrents. We're practically
blinded by the downpour. The wind sneaks in & hits us like a slap. We scurry
over to the wall to protect our fragile bodies from the mighty downpour.
Hail clatters from the sky. I reach down with my bare hand, lift one up, put it
in my mouth & spit it out.
His train is late. He debates whether or not to go to work. The conductor tells
him a tree is down at the next station. He gets on the train. You know, I say to
the conductor, he's a mechanic on the L.
I know, says the conductor.
Scott is 2 hours late to work.
I sleep at Sister Donna's cuz our power is out. What am I gonna do at 10 pm
without a computer & without a lamp? I've got a Ruth Rendell mystery waiting for
me. After I read Judgement in Stone, I was haunted the next day by Eunice
Parchman the murderess. RENdell tells you on page one that Eunice did it.
We're waiting to find out why. Vicious woman. Loves chocolate. We see all the
characters she's gonna shoot pointblank. Aint nothing we can do about it.
Then I read my second Rendell novel. She's British. Fine writer. Fine
descriptions of country, of weather. The second book stinks. Unbelievable. My
mind wanders. I read 2 chapters hence. Same thing.
The necessity of talking if you're a human being. I sat on the couch eating my
curds n whey remembering all the fine conversations I got into today. After the
storm we need to talk. We need to tell how frightened we were - across the
street they sat in the darkened living room & talked. They heard a snap but
didn't know it was a trim limb coming down.
After the storm we need to talk about how The Kiernancs have their own electric
generator humming in the garage & lighting up the kids' rooms & the kitchen as
if there's no storm at all.
I couldn't take it & just left home. Sat on Donna's bed & we watched the
Letterman Show till I couldn't stand it anymore. That guy, I said, seems like he
does not enjoy his job. Whatsamatter with him.
He wants to be home with Harry, she said.
Oh.
You know who Harry is, Ruth?
Yeah, I said. I didn't know his name.
I slept on her leather couch in the living room. I moved away a chair so I
wouldn't trip when I got up to go to the bathroom 500 times. Her roommate came
down to drink his beverage - Hawaiian Punch. He lost his great personality when
he sobered up. Now he's a recluse. Has a good job where he doesn't have to talk,
just drive.
In the morning I was the last to get outa the house. I had a therapy client I
needed to see. I doubted my electric was back on so I hung out at Donna's condo.
Walked over to crooked Billet School where I'd take my kids to the great
playground. Every single playground, we were there. No Harry tho.
Came back to the creek & decided to stare at the ducks. When you have time, you
ought to watch the ducks. The males are incomparably beautiful. Not a wet spot
on em except their webbed orange feet.
I was wearing my sandals & stood near the water. I made some ducklike sounds. I
was hoping to pet one of em. I pretended to throw a net in to bring him in but
decided that was too cruel so I switched my fantasy. Couldn't think of another
one to pet the duck. So I just blinked my eyes & imagined petting him. How hard
he feels. How firm. How he quivers in my hands. I rub my face in his feathers.
This may be one of the greatest moments in my life, petting a duck. His eyes
won't meet mine tho. I keep my quacking to myself. Then I let him slip back into
the creek, this mallard, stamp off my sandy feet, & go home.
+
After the therapy session, I drove home thru backroads. Trees were down. Great
hunks of beautiful trees lay severed on the road or in driveways. Very sad.
Great day for tree service companies. My maples are safe in the bckyard. It's
all I need. The money I'm saving for a new Cadillac, gone to Jimmy's Tree
Service. I'll cut the damn thing up myself with my Swiss Army Knife.
Decide to stop over Stella & Ernie's house. They were at our Coffeeshop Gig. I
wanted to thank em for their generous donation.
They sat me down. Thank you for the beautiful poem, said Stella. It made me cry.
You CRIED?
The poem was right there. Written on the back of one of Scott's SEPTA work
orders. I felt guilty I didn't give em a clean copy. Nononono, they said. Don't
go to the trouble.
She pointed at the poem. Right here, she said, where you're climbing up the hill
for the very last time. It made me cry.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
My life is like the NY Times. It keeps changing every 5 minutes.
I prepared extremely well for the hot summer. Broke down & bot central air.
Am sitting in my dining room office now, feet propped up on footstool (to aid
circulation) & my feet are nicely freezing, while my eyes are shaded by blinds I
just bot at Blinds to Go, they're actually made in the USA (Lakewood NJ) not
overseas, no thanks to Mr. Lame Duck Lame Brain President.
Have you read
Stephen lately?
Whew! Thankgod I remembered. I have so much on my mind. Slept in 3 beds last
nite. Began with my comfy bed upstairs. In the wee hours got up & cleaned the
living room till daybreak. Turned up the a/c - click click click (great noises)
- & decided to revisit the old days by sleeping on the living room couch.
Sunshine woke me up. Went downstairs to the rec room for my final sleep. I am
very sensitive about people calling it a basement. I defend myself by saying,
It's got 2 doors that lead to the outside plus I have a great view of an ANT
COLONY. Wow! See that mole whizzing by diggin up all my iris rhizomes?
Let's try again with Hizzoner's glasses. I need some mood music. How bout Gun n
Roses,
November Rain. Axel's obnoxious behavior can be
excused by the genius of his music.
HIZZONER'S GLASSES
on the yahrzeit of my father's death
it wouldn't be fair to call you vain
you wore your hair short
so women would not think
of running their fingers through it
but did anyway
a master of disguise
you never showed your
freckled arms
beneath your proud uniform
of suit and tie of the day
o refugee from
a barefoot childhood of
torn pants and never
a bicycle of your own
nor did you think to
remove your eyeglasses
to show your keen eyes -
how they swept across a room
unbeheld
gleaning grains of knowledge
free to the daring observer
eyeglasses
at rest on ears like
succulent apricots
not like now
when they are no longer seen
nor used as cushions as
they were back then
to rest those very same
eyeglasses I hold now
in my hand
who deemed it thus
that eyeglasses
desk chairs with arms
Country Squire station wagons
and Schaeffer fountain pens with
refillable ink bladders
are all that's left
after the man is gone?
Monday, June 9, 2008
There's a shared camaraderie when we're facing a relatively
benign threat such as the current heat wave. Of course there will be deaths in
the city. There always are. Old people will die.
As I said at Our Coffeeshop Jubilee yesterday, I used to think 60 was old but
not no more. Quite a few of us are still playing tennis, jogging, touring the
world at that advanced age.
I had a great time, I always do. The owners Yin & Otis had to kick me out as I
was the last to leave. I totally forgot about the time & was discussing the
importance of having a competent doctor with a talented man who has NEVER been
properly medicated.
What I particularly enjoy at these gigs are the storytelling. Rich Fleisher is a
great raconteur. I also called on his mother/law Lillian to speak to us about
the days when she taught high school business at Germantown High School, I
believe. I asked her the difference between Pittman & Gregg shorthand. She
demonstrated it on a piece of paper. She looked lovely all in blue. She's 2 yrs
shy of 100.
Gregg won out over Pittman. Don't know why tho. Poet performers included
"Sharon" who read an amazing poem about her childhood of mental illness & how
people made fun of her. We all noted that her strong spirit kept her searching
until only recently, after her tyrannical father died, she was able to seek help
from a psychiatrist for the first time.
Mitch Davis, orig. from Bklyn, continued to amaze us with his artistic
perceptions channeled into spellbinding poetry. He's the food columnist for The
Trend.
Every table was filled at all times. Then Loretta entered. I waved her in. She
was not part of our group. I needed to wave people in cuz they thot we were
having a private party, but it was actually a public party. I love strangers.
Turns out Loretta, who is probly my age, had a "nervous breakdown" - psychosis -
many yrs ago but has been med-free I'd gander about 15 yrs. Good for you
Loretta!
Ray
Naylor drove in all the way from Delaware County where he's fixing up
his new house. What a voice! I have his album Slow Cooker. He sang a new tune
that made you wish the afternoon would never end.
I hastily composed a poem Sunday morning. The title came to me first - Hizzoner.
Will print it at blogsend.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Anudder dynamic meeting last nite, right guys? (rhymes with zeitgeist). We
create our own zeitgeist. I insist on having fun while we tell our stories.
Lots of newcomers.
Plus a DOZEN people who went with us to IHOP. The place was mobbed when I got
there. I got miserably lost & overshot my mark, driving to Niagara Falls & back,
all in the span of 20 minutes. When I got there our group were standing in the
lobby waiting for a table.
I'd been a good girl for many days so I ordered a
HFS. My napkin fell on the floor so I had to
wipe my mouth with Linda's when she wasn't looking. I can't stand having food on
my mustache.
Mary, our speaker, sat next to me. That woman has as much energy as my fave
gospel band,
the Dixie Hummingbirds. I was showing Scott how
I perform when the Dixies ask me to make a guest appearance & I said their
energy makes you believe in Jesus doesn't it?
Absolutely not, he said, cuffing my neck & marching me up to the front door
where my Deuteronomy-loaded mezuzzah hangs protecting me from all harm, except
stinkbugs who have made of my house a sacred burial ground.
Flush! A watery grave.
You're probly wondering what I'm munching on to conclude my procrastinatory
maneuvers before I resume Chapter 8 of my novel. Raw almonds. Thanks, Iris &
Murray. They're fresher than at the new Giant.
Also made this delicious water from an idea in the daily email called
CHOW.
I filled a tall pitcher with
ice-cold water
cucumber slices from half a cuke
an entire lime, squeezed
into this I put a tray of ice cubes
Mmmm. What a quaff!
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
My online friend Jon Goff of this
remarkable website just wrote saying he loved
my
YouTube video.
On his website is a form to nominate a place for excellent service to
breastfeeding mothers. I printed it out so I could nominate Abington Public
Library. That director can do no wrong by me. They hosted our Poetry Display
Case & of course I teach Breadmaking there.
Barack who? He could of course change his first name to Baruch to get more
Jewish votes. Scott said something to me this morning when he came home from
work. I was asleep. He came in & sat on the edge of the bed.
Oh, Obama won, I said.
That means McCain will be our next president, he said.
Don't you say that, I said sitting up.
It's true, he said.
I forbid you to say that, I said locking him in a full-nelson & forcefeeding him
a Burger King with migrant-labor tomatoes.
Was rooting around thother day for something good to read. Found my daughter's
college copy of 2 plays by Edw Albee - Zoo Story & American Dream. Kept looking
for her handwriting in the book - you know how kids mark em up - but only found
one small notation, darn!
Xtraordinary plays. Brutal! The artist sees what no one else has the guts to
report! It takes about half an hour to read each one. For those of you who like
bold statements, who are brave enuf to face the truth according to Albee (author
of Who's Afraid of Elizabeth Taylor & Richard Burton?) check this outa the libe.
You'll notice my house is unusually clean. I had approx 20 items of clothing in
the living room & when I woke up at 4 in the morning - the birds were jabbering
in Sarah's windowbox - I said, I've had it. That's it. Either you clean up your
g'dam clothes, Ruth, or you move out!
Not much of a choice, eh?
One more quick thing. BTW, this phrase is what you say when you wanna prolong a
phone conversation from someone who's gotta go to the bathroom.
One more quick thing. Called my daughter thother day for help on making
pear-sauce. Dyou think
she could be of help?
The pear-sauce was exquisiite! I just asked myself, What would Sarah put in.
3 Packham pears in an inch of water
1/4 cup coconut oil
2 tsps fresh grated ginger
cinnamon
tiny amt of vanilla extract
SAVOR THE TASTE, either alone or with the candidate of your choice.
George McGovern where art thou?
Tuesday eve, June 3, 2008
Thanks, Russell, for this
amusing video. Fortunately he warned me it's
satire. I was just putting on my shoes to run out & get some of the yummy fast
food to eat before bed so I could put 20 more pounds on my belly.
Marce, I did wanna talk to you today but I was on a roll with my novel.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
It's always good to hear from Gianna. You may have to sign in to read
her bipolar blog. I thanked her for featuring a
YouTube video of
Ram Dass & Thich Nhat Hanh.
I remember when Ram Dass had a terribly debilitating stroke. You can see how
well he's doing today. What an evolution for that man, b. 1931, the former
Richard Alpert, PhD, of Harvard & LSD fame.
He & Thich are believers in mindfulness meditation.
Me, too, along with rolling on the floor to relieve tensions from sitting at
the computer, timer ticking, while working on my novel. I've got a thick stack
of chapters, all written on backs.
Okay, Ruthie, your 10-minute break is over.
Monday afternoon, June 2, 2008
What're you waiting for
Stephen &
Ethan! Get outa your chairs & dance!
Now is the time to praise famous men in their lifetime & after they're gone.
Ellas Otha Bates of Mississippi died this morning at his home in FL at age 79.
Long live Bo Diddley! Let's dance.
Monday morning, June 2, 2008
This'll be a quickie, mostly about my big toe & the lessons I learned just
this morning. Sometimes it boggles the mind that one has lived so long & just
learned something so important.
As you know, at age 62, I'm extremely active both mentally & physically. The
most debilitating thing I do is spend hours on the computer which takes a toll
on every part of my body, even tho I get up & stretch literally every 5 minutes.
I've had every type of chair available - except. probly - the right one -
including one I bought at Relax the Back where I sat in a contorted position on
my knees.
I specifically bot a laptop so I could compose in lotus-style but the laptop
presented too many problems.
Hence I'm stuck here in the universal typing position sitting in my newest chair
- an old kitchen chair. American Indians knew how to sit. Their blood flow
wasn't stopped or tampered with the way it is when sitting on a chair.
I'm aware of all this. Question is How to fix it?
Yesterday I had a weird Right Toe Pain. The first thot is, Oh, I must've bumped
it with all the gardening I've done, painting my outside railing, & even
paddleboating at Lake Galena.
People say, Go to your doctor. I have nothing against doctors - except they
wanna give you painkillers insteada addressing the source of the problem.
Into Google I entered - Pain in Big Toe. First I read the Mayo-nnaise Clinic
Report from Rochester, MN on pseudo-gout. Treatment was taking drugs. Then I
went onto something I felt was spurious - until I read it - & tried it out.
Miraculously, my toe pain stopped after I tried what the massage therapist
suggested, based on the teachings of Janet Travell, MD & David Simons, MD.
Travell was the personal physician of JFK, who brought her into the White House.
She lived to 97. Click here for
Triggerpoints website. You'll note that the
point where the pain registers on our body is usually not the place where it
originates. This is called Referred Pain.
From now on, before spending long hours on my computer, I'll do stretching
exercises which include some fabulous yoga-style postures. Gotta make it a habit
so I'll be in shape for our next:
Coffeeshop Celebtration next Sunday!
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Happy anniversary, said Scott.
I was sitting at the computer reading
Stephen Views the News.
Thanks, I said. It's been a year. Am teaching anudder Joy of Intimacy Class in
Doylestown on Sat., June 14. Please E me if you wanna attend. A couple must MAKE
TIME to be together in this busy world of ours.
Wanna read Stephen together? I asked Scott. Sure, he said, and now all of YOU
can read it.
How bout the tornado watch yesterday? There are natural disasters & then there
are man-made disasters as reported by Stephen &
millions of others who hold the torch for a better world.
How are YOU contributing to a better world, the Lord spoketh upon receiving us
into his large bosom.
Uh, er, ahem, lemme go back & I'll do better next time.
All right, sayest His Majesty. Here are the choices unto you: You may become one
of the following, the choice is up to you, I do give you choices, you know,
- a firefly (oy! I'll end up in a little boy's jar with grass at the bottom)
- a Honda Accord (I'll be on the Top Car list but I'll have to mingle with all
those on-your-bumper drivers & my beauteous silver exterior will be covered with
- coff coff - smog)
- a red peony (not bad, I'll be pollinated by ants, Ruthie will bring me inside
& put me on her windowsill as a thing of beauty & fine aroma)
-
Lake Galena- this large man-made lake covers
over a small enclave of houses outside Doylestown, PA, & became the most visited
park in the County. Replacing the old townies who lived below the lake,
are new denizens such as the great blue heron, a bald eagle, midnight bats with
their otherworldly powers - & human visitors such as you & me.
Lemme tell you something. This is just between me & you, right? Look, I love
waking up. I love reading after I wake up. I love answering Stephen's blog. BUT,
b/c I'm a writer thru & thru, I'm not truly satisfied as a human being until I
write something ORIGINAL, even as seemingly slight as this Blog.
I keep notes around to incorporate into my novel, such as this quote I heard on
NPR: "It didn't occur to him to change a thing."
Think upon that, Dear Readers! If you're unhappy you've gotta CHANGE YOUR LIFE
as the
famous poet wrote in his astonishing conclusion
to his poem. Is it not really the most important thing of all? The Great Lord of
Peonies & Roses gives us all the opportunitiy. What if you were a migrant
worker enslaved & beaten in a trailer in FL? How would he
change his life?
We're born a wee helpless thing set upon the howling plains but o the Greatness
we're capable of.
Thother nite I betook myself to one of my favorite restaurants: Ming's in
Hatboro. I relished my time alone, walking the streets alone, having the freedom
to do & think what I wanted, before getting seated.
I was starving! Ming seated me near 2 women who were gabbing about people they
knew. Lightning was flashing from their mouths as they spoke so disparagingly
about everyone they could think of. I slowly turned my head to see what they
looked like.
They looked like you & me.
I picked up my tea-cup & walked into the other room. I'd like to sit here I said
to Ming.
While waiting for my order I decided to write a poem, based on what occurred
before I left for Ming's. I looked all around for paper. On a table up
front, I found a small calendar from Robt J Fattizzi - click
http://www.ameriwealthonline.com - thanks, Bobby! - & wrote the following
poem.
Please do not E him & tell him I defiled the back of his magnetic calendar.
ODE TO THE POPPY
Think me not unkind as I pass you in the night
I’ll be home by dawn
to stroke your petalled cheek and
kiss the plumes that grow within
to watch the moonlight dance
on the wide plain of your mouth
where bees suck
and birds fly by
wishing they were bees
Then I will let the fire in your blood-red tissue
melt into mine
A proper affair
witnessed
only by the night.
You may call me
poppy man.
O'Thursday, May 29, 2008
Our Outing yesterday to the Stooges Museum was spectacular! I told the owner
& curator & wrote in his guest book that I gave it the top award for small
museums.
How many have you been to, asked Gary Lessin.
None, I said. Check out
this new one. My sister was there. We are all
proud hippies. It's part of our make-up since we had a hippie dad. I got him to
try smoking pot when he was in his 40s. Nothing happened. I had to smoke it for
several weeks - when I lived in Haight-Ashbury in the 60s - before I got high &
then - zoOM! Up I went laffing hysterically. Hey, got anything to eat? I said to
Iris?
We had about 14 people at the museum. One was a 5-year-old kid named Amanda. She
was so pretty & so smart it reminded me of my daughter Sarah. And the great
times we had while she was growing up. I forced myself to imagine what it would
be like if Sarah were at the museum & restaurant. She was soo curious, she would
be talking to everyone & running around as did Amanda. It was amazing. I could
actually
visualize my darling daughter.
Senility encroaches!
While waiting to get into the museum, "Birgit" & I went for a walk. She's a head
taller than me & has b'ful white hair. She's actually a beauty. She has a bum
ankle so I had to make sure she wasn't gonna turn it while we were walking
across the lawn next to a gorgeous man-made pond.
Birgit & I are an unlikely pair. She's been with the group since the early days
- or the "oily" days as one of The Stooges would say. As we were walking I
realized what a fun person she is. We could've been friends if we were kids. She
would've been my Mary Truby, my favorite friend when I was growing up in Shaker
Heights.
Why? Because she was a tomboy. We used to play inside new houses they were
building. The basements smelled of mud & new wood.
Enough already! Enough!!!!
I've set the timer for 2 hours to work on my novel. I fear the wrath of Anne
from my novelwriting group - we check up one another to keep us motivated - plus
my boyfriend Scott who expects to see a thick stack of typewrin pages. I'd like
to finish the book by the end of June when he & I go on vacation.
It's a nearly impossible feat which is why I love the challenge! Scott is
reading the preface of Grapes of Wrath. Steinbeck locked himself in a small
bedroom & wrote his classic in 8 months. He used his formidable discipline to
write 3,000 words per day.
We're having a great group tonite. Our speaker Sam checked in with me now. I
said I loved his last talk - how he got the whole group talking - & that I
looked f/w to this evening.
Then I took phone off hook & am using my formidable discipline to procrastinate.
A lil bit is good for the writers' fingers. Dyou think our fingers have minds
inside?
Conceivably, in England or somewhere, you can take a finger cell & create the
whole human. I'll leave that up to the ethicists & Michael Crichton.
At ND we set goals. Months ago I set a goal to help my mom 2 hours a day once a
week to clean out her papers so she can move into an old ladies' home. I
finally accomplished my goal.
Altho she's 85, the papers & photos also consist of her previous generation. How
we love our families!
I managed to convince Mom to throw out 3 bags of beloved memories she
sifted thru one by one for 2 excrucating hours. I just paced around her bedroom
with the painting of Monet's poppy field over her bed. She's like me. Piles of
reading material in the bed.
She actually allowed me to take 2 pair of my Dad's eyeglasses home with me. I
also took her 3 bags so she wouldn't be tempted to go thru em & save things.
Maybe they can be buried with her like Nefertiti.
Guesday, May 27, 2008
Made the above typo but thot it looked so neat I decided to keep it.
Bartleby, how come you stopped sending
out daily emails to your fans? Now the only way I can read your site is when I
proofread my blog.
Whew, I'm glad I got THAT off my chest. Process your emotions, folks! I think on
my video you could see I'm an emotional gal. I just flushed some b'ful bug down
the kitchen sink, it had been clinging all nite to my soaking potato pot, & I
thot maybe he'd go away himself, but no, he was waiting for the final shove.
PLease forgive me, Little Guy, I said. Please forgive me, God. I am serious!
We're all in this together. Guesday, May 27, 2008.
Am trying to accustom my brain that in lessen a week, twill be June. It just
doesn't register! Is that true with You Too, Dear Reader?
Scott noticed that we have TWO early tomatoes. Then I bent down & saw a Bell
Pepper. Wait'll I tell Walter who said his tomatoes growing on his balcony had
early flowers!
I have a severe problem with my birds. Your rfeedbak eagerly sought.
Sparrow-like birds built a bizarre nest on the outside of my living room
air-conditioner. Babies now live there. Every morning one or more - I haven't
tagged them yet - flies & bumps into 2 of my windows - ping! ping! - it's awful.
I went outside & taped manila folders on the outside windows so they wouldn't
reflect anything. It didn't work. Now, Scott's got a sparrow with a bad wing. We
think it's one of the babies. It also isn't afraid of people & let's him come up
close.
Neurologically impaired, certainly, but at such a young age! Could it be
chemicals in the air?
Monday, Mem'l Day, was a Precious Gift of Time. I saw a therapy client & made
nearly $5 for the 90 minutes we spent at the mall (the frozen yogurt & choc
sauce was on the client, remind me NEVER AGAIN to order that - the syrup tasts
like vitamin-added BOSCO from childhood) -
before that, I painted a b'ful American
Flag - all red white & blue - b/c as
Carl
Yeager says, You have the perfect vehicle & you've gotta make
use of it.
Hey! Remind me to bring it to our meeting on Thursday.
The vehicle was a small slab of left-over white-painted wood - Paint on me!
Paint on me! it shouted - on which I painted the flag, which looks like a
patchwork quilt. You'd be amazed at the variations of each square of Red &
White. Each square must be perfect unto itself & different from every other
square on there.
Can't wait to show Mailman Bob today!!! He watched the video & was impressed!
When sending nearly every person - dead or alive - my
YouTube video - I looked up my former
boyfriend
Paul & sent him the link. He gave me an update
on his family & himself, sharing this
excellent website with me that changed his life
by following the diet instructions. He now runs 5 miles a day (he's in his early
60s like me) and eats only grass.
By doing this he reversed inherited heart problems. Oh for godssakes I'm only
kidding about the grass. He eats lots of chard - no, kale - which I have wilting
in my fridge as we speak. Gotta read the website to see what to do with kale.
Oh, hell, I'll just chew a bunch while I'm typing.
Scuse me a moment. Listen to
this recording while we're waiting. I am!
Raise your hand if you've ever eaten kale & like it. Intense heavy flavor
similar to broccoli-rabe. which I gave up for Lent.
Am gonna try & write a poem now. Oy veh. Wish me luck. May the power of the
stink bug I flushed down the drain enter me & be received as poetry.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Stephen, you certainly hit a bases-loaded homerun with your Memorial Day
blog.
When we sexy people over sixty were kids, we also called it Decoration Day,
remember?
My girlfriend turned 60 today. Bot her a gift from Kremp Florist with a card
I wrote:
She's pretty
she's witty
she's sexy
she's sixty
She's Nancy with the warm green eyes.
When she read it to the assembled guests at her orthodox Jewish sister's home in
Bala, I was in the backyard playing swingball with her 8-year-old nephew, Razzi.
The score was 10-2, Razzi.
Swingball is like the old tetherball when we were kids, remember
Stephen? - except you hit the ball with a racket. It zooms by fast &
hard, like life itself.
Be back in 35 minutes. Gotta walk Scott to the train.
Hi I'm back. Someone put a fab wooden bookrack out in the trash. It was too
heavy to carry so I'll drive over tomro. I already got black n blue marks from
pushing a wheelbarrow home uphill last week from the same curb.
Sharon, if you ever visit - or should I say
WHEN - we've gotta keep the faith - I'll give you a tour of all my bargain
finds, including a handmade pottery cup on my desk when I visited my daughter at
Brown. We crossed the street to
RISD where they had a student craft fair & I
bought the cup, a wooden bowl & clay bowl I use for storing pushpins, paper
clips, pennies & a Susi garlic press.
The joys of the universe are infinite.
38 minutes with the Great Walter. He watched Antiques Roadshow & saw Woody
Guthrie DOODLES going for a minimum of $3,000 apiece.
Walter has actual typewritten letters by Guthrie - pages & pages - plus
handwritten letters - all legible & in mint condition. That man will make a
fortune! I sat at his kitchen table flabbergasted by the wonder of seeing these
letters. Him & his girlfriend are taking em tomro to get appraised.
We'll keep you posted!!!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Great use of the word "bile,"
Sarah. I don't think I've ever spelled out that word before, tho I
believe my bile ducts are hard at work digesting my Memorial Day potato salad,
which YOU & everyone else reading this would love. In fact, I used a pinch of
powdered ginger Sarah bot me from Penzey's at Grand Central Station - echo!
echo! That's an inside joke. Call me to explain it it it it.
I felt Sarah at last met her match when in Grade 4 she got a scholarship to her
Quaker private school. She overtook me in brilliance at age 3. (True, sadly.)
Sarah, did you see your brother's foto on his
company's website. Scroll down. I refrained from calling him today
but I was missing his cats so much I wanted him to put green-eyed Chaz on the
phone. Sarah & love those cats! I taught Chaz how to talk.
Scott & I went for one of the best walks ever today. I'd done it numerous times
w/o him but it's more fun with the person you love. He picked up some one-cent
stamps at the Bryn Athyn post office & then we walked the dead railroad tracks
(a head-on collision in 1929) all dates approximate - if this were a newspaper
piece they'd be correct - 9 people were killed & the train was closed for good.
Weeds overran the tracks. We walked thru a path with foliage & flowers on either
side. It was like walking down the aisle of a wonderland, knowing not what lay
ahead. We listened to sounds of songbirds. Each patch of land produced different
tweets & twitters. The Pennypack Creek flowed beneath us. We stood & watched a
two-foot long snake swim far below & then sun himself on a rock. Scott saw a
giant blue heron fly overhead & perch on a faraway rock. We snuck up to him but
alas he flew away.
Dyou think, I asked Scott, God pulled out all the stops for us to let us see the
wonders of the world? I was staring down at the rushing swirling crick, my
elbows on the rusty iron railroad bridge.
Could be, he said, looking at my long red beard.
Ooops, that's my niece Jade's new fabulous boyfriend who teaches at a school
similar to my daughter's. He & Jade are 20 & 22. I'm 3 times Jade's age. Even
tho I'm 62, I consider myself 60. My mind hasn't started its descent. Am hoping
it never will.
I can't stand doing the same thing twice. In my Comcast interview, I actually
tried saying
things differently than last year. Sorry I
couldn't fit in the word bile, maybe next year if I'm still alive.
Sarah, I've read 4 of the books you mentioned on your fab
Book List. Why do my kids love reading so much?
My dad, the late Harold J Greenwold, was a great reader & guided me in my choice
of books, ranging from Catcher in the Rye to Dream Merchants by the writer of
great sleaze Harold Robbins to The Egyptian by Mika Waltari.
My kids & I went to the library when each one reached the advanced age of 6
weeks old. Sarah, you will not remember the library in Giddings, TX, where you
were born (Brenham, actually) & I proudly carried you in to personally meet the
librarian. One book I remember reading in TX was a bio of Chaz Darwin. The man
would lie down at nite with a heavy book on his chest to read & tear each page
he read outa the book & fling it onto the floor, the book evolving into a
smaloer & smaller book like the dino turning into a migrant bird.
In walks Scott. He watered our garden with "delicious rain water" he saved in a
cistern. By doing so, we had enuf money to eat at the deli Ben & Irv's. I found
a new taste sensation there - sweet potato fries. They looked just like french
fries but were sweet, juicy & scrumptious. I think I'll have them on the menu
when I get bat mitzvah'd!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Stephen, I haven't had a chance to read
your blog yet but just read in the
Times what the president condoned in Iowa. That
unmentionable misguided idiot had nearly 200 illegal immigrants mostly from
Guatemala shackled & handcuffed & in one of the quickest trials ever - probably
conducted without due process - incarcerated, & charged as criminals. I'oll let
the eloquent if sardonic Stephen write about it in his next blog.
How much more damage can Bush do before he's ousted in November? His legacy
is growing day by day.
As is mine. Oh, dear, that's sounds terribly grandiose which I'm not. Dyou
think me grandiose,
Bartleby? I'm just your average ordinary
housewife who loves to do family interventions which I did this afternoon for
about 2 hours with a family of 4.
What you wanna do is get the family interacting & exhibiting their very worst
behavior, which they did. You want to see them as they are, when they're not on
their best behavior.
I love these family interventions cuz I work very hard but it's thoroughly
enjoyed & I earn a fair rate for my work. First you must relax the family with
idle chitchat, all the while getting to know them & noticing every lil detail so
you can size them up quickly & make good helpful interventions while PROTECTING
the vulnerable ones.
Can you see me yawning? It's 10:39 pm & I'm so tired I......zzzzz
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Have gotten some interesting comments about my
YouTube video.
Bob, who runs
an excellent support group - we
partnered with them last summer in hosting a seminar about Moods, Minds &
Meds, wondered if, in our group, I personally promulgate a no-meds approach.
Absolutely not! Last nite I gave one of my hour-long groups at Horsham
Psychiatric Clinic - they are a major referral source for our group - I showed
them the YouTube video - they actually applauded when it was finished. Two psych
aides were sitting in, each with their long necklace of an ID tag. We reviewed
our Keys to Recovery & I emphasized as I always do - esp. at our own group - the
importance of Key No. One: Find yourself a good psychiatrist & get on the proper
medication.
Most docs, but certainly not all, believe the illness is forever. My own
personal family physician
Bernardo Merizalde, MD, said that a handful of
his patients take no meds for their mood disorder. I personally know 4 people
who are symptom-free & take no psychotropic (mind-altering) meds. All are over
55.
Was just reviewing some online literature about bipolar by noted shrink
Peter Whybrow who in his book A Mood Apart
acknowledges that some of his bipolar patients improve later in life. Since I
haven't read the book, can't say for sure if he actually said some of his
patients take no meds.
I don't care if a million doctors tell me there is no cure & mine will come back
- total hogwash! - I know in my bones it's gone for good! However, if I
take a steroid I will become manic: angry, irritable, mind racing, & say utterly
inappropriate things. If I take the painkiller narcotic Percoset, which I last
took for excruciating sciatica, I become psychotic.
Truly, tho, we will never know for sure if I'm really cured until I am dead.
"Oh, she was right," they'll say as I float in my ship to meet
my beloved Tristan.
Don't forget that people who are cured no longer see their psychiatrist, so
they're statistics are not counted. Dr. M. estimates 20 percent make a full
recovery!
If my mania should return, I would call my friend Pam the singing psychiatrist &
sing to her on the phone as I usually do when I reach her: Pam-a-LAH! and then
sing my tale of woe in my fake operative voice - I am getting manic, what should
I do, what should I do - I think I'll take a Klonopin!
I have absolutely no fear that this will happen again. I chased Mania away 4 or
5 yrs ago. Did you know I was a rapid cycler? Manic 4 times a year, quickly
quelled with an antipsychotic.
Bob, I hope that answers your question.
Now, this one's for Claude. She & I installed a Poetry Display Case at the
Elkins Park Library. My mind is now picturing the interior of the library. Ain't
minds something? They can travel wherever we wish them to go. Hey! Now I'm
swimming at the gym! Hey, now I'm traveling outside to my garden where I
transplanted some lovely lacey ferns to my front yard.
Claude had already loaded most of the case & I
did the finishing touches. I needed to take a break. Sometimes I need to clear
my brain, take a step back, which I did by going outside in the crisp May air.
Never noticed but there was a raging waterfall & crick nearby so I went over to
hear the wonderful sound of the waterfall. As I neared it, I saw a trash can.
Looking inside I noticed an amazing & truly terrible sight.
Someone had dumped 3 bags of books inside. They were waterlogged, just saturated
by rain water. Pressing down on them I assessed the damage & began tossing them
one by one onto the grass. I was horrified. The library itself was only a few
hundred yards away.
I carried the bruised books to the trunk of my car. When I went home I put them
in the oven to dry-by-pilot-light, poor darlings. That night I curled up with a
trilogy by Samuel Becket: Molloy,
Malone Dies, The Unnamable. What names! I'd
originally began reading the book sev'l yrs ago at B&N, just stood there ala
Socrates in a trance in the middle of the agora, dead to all the world except to
the World of the Book! Ah, imagination, never leave me or I shall surely
die.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
With our new grant money, I splurged! After I dropped my boyfriend off at
the train last nite, I went to Dick's Sporting Goods & bot (select the correct
item):
1- Swiss Army Knife
2- Two-door gun cabinet
3- Camouflage jacket for deer-hunting
4- Swim cap to protect my $55 hairdo
Stephen, how does your garden grow? My
red poppies are budding profusely
but haven't popped yet.
Behind the scenes note about my trash article. Part of my assignment was to send
in color photos. I'm a disposable camera girl. I have an expensive Kodak digital
but can't figger out how to use it.
Tucked the digital into my bakpak when I went to the trash yard to meet Trashman
Ed. He invited me to ride around in his walkie-talkie equipped SUV. I was
ecstatic. He took the first of a dozen photos & showed me how to work my camera.
Send me an E if you'd like me to f/w you the 5 photos I ended up sending to the
paper.
My fab son walked me - or should I say Scott - thru the steps to get it to the
paper for my one- day- early deadline.
Lemme tell you something. I hadn't written a newspaper article in a year. It's
lots different from the Letters to the Ed I write. I labored over that article.
It was a labor of rigor.
When I came downstairs this morning after a great nite's sleep (bedtime snak was
4 huge pieces of Peggela's Jewish apple cake) - hey did you know I'm Jewish
despite the last name - & preserve my Jewishness by never setting foot in a
temple if I can help it - now where was I before I rudely interrupted myself -
oh, saw the light slanting across Charley's lawn indicating The beauty of the
world is unsurpassed here on Cowbell Road.
At last I can show you a picture of my son. He works for a company that is
employee-friendly. Click on their newly designed website. Scroll down & you'll
see the young
Dan Deming, my blue-eyed cat-lovin son, who
will be married in 09.
How does it work? Does the boy's father (me) give him away? Nicole's dad is a
former Philly undercover narcotics cop. Whenever she was pulled over for a motor
violation, she'd pull out her driver's license & wait for the officer to say, Oy
veh! Are you Tom Toohey's kid?
What's on your To-Do list today?
The first thing on my-in, as some Philadelphians pronounce it, is to finish this
blab so I can check out my garden. We planted onions which seemed like they were
DOA but mother nature, in the form of nutrient-rich soil from our yard, brought
them back to life. The backyard squirrels hang by their tails like monkeys from
the backyard trees. When I'd get manic I thot they were monkeys.
There's a name for that - illusions. My first shrink wrote down the medical
terms for my symptoms including ego-syntonic and anhedonia.
Oh! Spoke to the great Carl Yeager yesterday. He designed 2 Compass covers. He's
not bitter or angry over the cards he was dealt. His inherited neurological
disease recently caused vision problems so that he could not practice
his art for nearly a year.
I'll never forget when he came over & sat on my living room couch. It was as if
Jesus Christ himself had paid me a personal visit. I LOVE Carl!
Seeing the NY Times victory picture of Obama, I said to myself, They look
like the perfect all-American family.
Will Barack load the burgers & hot dogs on the bar-b-Q come Memorial Day
weekend? Wonder what games they'll play on the White House lawn? Will Malia &
Sasha have pajama parties from Lincoln's bedroom?
Scott will be over any minute. He comes home from work at 8:45 in the morning. I
have a big surprise for him. I'm sitting at the computer & just put on my new
swim cap
to surprise him.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Thanks for the plug,
Bartleby!
At my Hatboro writers group yesterday
at the Coffee Salon, Stephen Swoyer volunteered to put my
5-minute Comcast video on YouTube. As of this
morning there were 69 views.
Make the most of every moment. Hype it up, Ruthie, so you can get more people to
realize that once diagnosed & on meds, you needn't be on em the rest of your
life.
Again, I never knew dat but my own innate intelligence kept clicking away when I
was about 55 or 56 (ah youth!)) - until - bingo was his name, O - & I got off
all meds oh-so-carefully.
Okay, gotta work on my trash story now. Hopefully readers will never look at a
trash can w/o thinking How can I help the planet by recycling. The last item I
recycled was, hmmm, lemme think - yesterday's detritus to put in the backyard
compost heap. I sucked the juicy pear rind down to the bone & then flipped it
into the pit.
Maybe that's why I've got poison ivy blisters on 5 areas of my bod. Here's what
you do for dat: Submerge affected areas in as hot water as you can
tolerate for as long as you can tolerate. It relieves itching for up to 6 hours,
if you're lucky.
Learned this remedy in a column by a pharmacist in the old Evening Bulletin.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Hello to my Saturday Writers' Group. I'll be there in 10 minutes. Sorry to
keep you waiting! Stephen, can you help me order the original Sanctuary book by
Faulkner that you have. Wanna quote Faulkner's brilliant introduction.
Am outa here dodging the wet leaves from my gutters that Scott's removing
with his aluminum ladder. Clank Clank!
Friday, May 16, 2008
The ubiquitous
Higher Power - My Annual Five Minutes of Fame (click
for last year's) - Great meeting last nite - Incredible intimacy from everyone
including newcomers - As Murray said, Once people enter our room at the church,
they never wanna leave - The laffter emanating from our room makes you think
you're watching Jon Stewart - We drove in separate cars to IHOP where the 8 of
us closed the place up
Though blustery today, you know it's spring when at 3:40 in the morning -
yes, that early - the birds wake you up and you follow their sweet song to the
front porch, step out in your PJs, move your head all around & listen to their
melodic symphony. and yes I wish I could lie down on the soft dewy grass to
sleep with the grace of the birds. I go inside, pour myself some OJ and go back
to bed.
Today was my movie-star day: My annual 5-minute Comcast Newsmakers
interview. Last nite's support group meeting wished me well. I asked numerous
people what they wanted me to stress, getting the info into my brain, & then I
drove to John's house so he could drive me to the studios.
My hair looked great! Edith from HongKong, owner of Elegance Beauty
Shop is my fave stylist ever. We watched Animal Planet together on her TV. After
I'd fallen asleep under the dryer, Edith woke me up & said, The mother giraffe
died. She'd just given birth to a baby girl. We saw the baby dropping out onto
the grass.
Hair is the single most important physical component to the appearance. Then I
began searching for a jacket to wear. Voila! A fancy jacket from my niece,
Melissa, with sleeves so long they covered my fingernails.
Not to worry. Scott pinned them up with straight pins. Jacket looked great. Wore
the same pink shirt Mary from our group gave me for last year's appearance. Wore
my fancy earrings I keep in the car ashtray that my former client gave me. Hello
Darlene where'er you are.
Wore jeans & sneaks cuz they only show you from the waist up. Carried my props
in a Xerox box-lid: Compass w/Carl's
cover,
brochure & deep pink azaleas.
Made Scott & me a hearty b'fast: soft omelette with sauteed onions & mushrooms &
grated cheese with slices of juicy pear as the side effects.
I joked my way thru the warm-up at the studio to relieve any tension I might
feel.
Okay, David, lead me to the gas chamber.
Carla looked b'ful. That woman interviews thousands of people a year. She
actually remembered me. Wait'll you hear what she said to me at the end of the
show, recorded on tape.
The show will air for one week in June or July in parts of Southeastern PA at
:24 or :54 minutes after the hour.
Quick! Gone in a wink.
After the interview John & I drove past the International regatta competition
with long low colorful boats skimming like swans across the Schuylkill to a
restaurant of his choice near the Italian Market.
It's like a foreign country, I said. Narrow streets. Produce trucks dropping off
their goods. I snapped some fotos. Then we went inside his favorite restaurant.
Marro's.
Italians, he said, either eat great meals at home or they find the best cheap
Italian food around. John is all red-yellow-green Italian tho his mama is from
The Land Down Under!
For $21 plus a $5 tip, we got antipasto with luscious marinated green peppers &
brick-oven pizza, while I learned all about his life. He's one amazing man whose
next license plate he told me will read
Bipolar I.
Good for you, John! He got into some fairly bad scrapes due to his bipolar &
believes strongly that God was there to bail him out each & every time.
Where is God, physically, I asked him.
They say he's everywhere, said John.
I do believe that, I said. It's all God's country. The whole wide world, even my
library books, are part of the Presence that is God.
When we pulled up in front of his apartment above the DQ, I'd just gotten those
words outa my mouth.
Look there, I said. The robin is coming out of his nest to say hello to us. I
have a strong relationship with the birds. Perhaps I was a
bird in the afterlife.
How about that, said John. He had a cross dangling from the mirror in his car.
Another bipolar friend sent me this email today:
Ruth, Can't believe I read your whole long blog/letter and enjoyed it! I love
hearing about your garden and your bread which makes me hungry.
I really agree about having a mood partner sometimes I feel as if I need one but
my remedy is having six year old Samantha Rose come over to visit me. She is
such a character. She gave me a bubble gum smile when I took her photo and you
see impish eyes and a wad of gum in her darling smile.
She laughed a belly laugh when she saw the picture. My friend's Mom died this
week at age 91 so I am the only Girl Scout who has a mother living now. My Mom
is 88. I guess you and I should relish the time we have left with our Moms.
Thanks for E mailing me. I only look at the dam computer about once a week so if
there is
anthing urgent call me. Love, Carolyn
When you watch my Comcast interview you'll note that Carla threw me a curveball
as she did last year. Your mind is scurrying around trying to think of an answer
& correct her at the same time. You're also trying to figger out how to get the
most information into the 5 minutes, which is an extremely long amount of time.
My mind was working very well. I covered the Waterfront, thank you, Lord. The
show will air for a week in JUNE. My son will load the video on this website
after he gets home from a camping trip in Maryland. My boy loves having fun,
like his ole mum.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Of too much largeness in our things & in our overfed selves - Every day is Be
Nice to Your Mailman Day (Mailman Bob's wife got blisters on her ears from
gardening - she was named after a Mouseketeer) - I'll make so much money with my
trash article I hired a 3-man team to mow (Patrick has big muscles from lifting,
as does my sexy boyfriend) - Join fab local societies altho I just rejoined
Fallingwater - Poem: Birds Keep us Honest
- I should goggle it to see if the title's already taken- I don't even
plagiarize myself!
Just ran down the street in my working attire - shorts, tank top & sox - to
hire a
landscape crew to cut my knee-high grass
and Scott's as well. Can you smell the delicious smell of mown grass plus
onion weed? Hate to see the buttercups go in the backyard.
Who loves you, mirrors the buttercup.
After walking my sweatheart to the train last nite, I stopped by Kevin Hoke's to
sign us both up for The
Friends of Boileau Farmstead, more than 100-strong in our Township.
Support your local causes! Good way to make friends & network & get to see other
people's gardens. Like me, Kevin bought some of his veggies at Lowe's. Scott & I
planted succulent tomatoes, cukes (rhymes with nukes), eggplant, pumpkin.
We wanna grow tender baby lettuce instead of kids.
While gardening I joined my mother & Sister Lynn by falling on my knee. Both
ended up in the hospital. I landed in my backyard among the ferns and hasta who
took good c/o me while I bathed the knee & my wounded pride with water from the
watering can.
Bartleby, sorry I've been too busy to check
your site.
Since I have so (too) many projects going, I organized my office (living room)
by putting all my acitivites in Xerox box lids with folders inside.
They read: Classes I Teach - Novel - Compass - ND - Poems for Readings
(did you know I'm a MAJOR award-losing poet?) - and Trash.
The latter is an article I'll write for a local paper. Was only gonna write a
Letter to the Ed but while talking to
my daughter we agreed I should see if any paper would be interested
in paying moi. I found one. Hint: It is not the NY Times. The word count is 1000
- 1200.
No idea what that means but I do know how to find it, thanks to Simon.
Have you seen those haunting images of the quake in China? The faces of those
who lost family members? And of children? What can we do to help them? Perhaps
the deceased Simon can use his energy to help the Quake victims recover. Dams
are out. Get to the dams, Simon, quickly, to avoid further tragedy.
Dyou think Obama should go to prove he's capable of doing something?
A Times article which featured the English thinker Malcom Gladwell (darn I can't
find it) made a good point about Americans. Acknowledged we are the most
generous people on earth, but he said we suffer from an overabundance complex.
Everything we do is in excess like our huge but so beautiful automobiles.
I constantly think to myself, What am I doing living in such a big house when my
children have flown the coop?
Sure I love my big house where I can make as much noise as I want, play mymusic
on High, sleep in the most comfortable bed in the world, look out my windows at
the beautiful greenery around me, but is it really fair when people are starving
in Africa.
THE BIRDS KEEP US HONEST
He built a raggedy nest
and I
disbelieving
laughed and
thought he'd never win a mate
until early one morning
I heard peeps
peep-peep-peep-peep
waking me up from
the drainpipe on
the side of the house
strings of shiny pearls
to keep the world honest.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Patrick Otis Cox & his wife Yin Liu are good to members of New Directions.
They opened their Coffeeshop on a Sunday to our group so we could welcome spring
with our latest Coffeeshop Gig. View
photos here.
Pam London Barrett (Psychiatrist with a Soul) is up for doing another one. So am
I. I just love having fun! The funnest thing I did today was to come in from the
bone-chilling rain.
What a fiasco I had trying to be a caller on Dan Gottlieb's radio show Voices in
the Family. Didn't know the phone number, it wasn't on their website, so I
called my local library. Katie couldn't find it either.
Finally she found the main number & they connected me to the Call Screener.
What is your first name, she said.
Ruth.
What is your question or comment?
I had wasted 10 minutes finding the phone number. There was now 17 minutes left.
Enough time, I thought for me to burble out a response should I get on the air.
I'd like to tell Dr. Dan the importance of joining a support group & talking to
your peers about depression. And if, I said, I can't get on the air perhaps you
could just ask him to read off our website.
For some strange reason, Dan has never promoted support groups. The guest
speaker - psychiatrist John
O'Reardon of Penn is head of the
treatment-resistant depression center. He spoke at our group sev'l years ago.
He's excellent, kind, hardworking & has seen many of our members. Two members
currently see Jay Amsterdam of Penn, who calls himself The Cadillac of Doctors.
Both these men & brilliant & kind.
O'Reardon, when talking of alternate means othan pills referred to self-help
groups. He also spoke of ECT & how the new methods target areas of the brain
which don't affect memory loss much. A friend of mine had successful ECT at
Abington Hospital when all else failed. O'Reardon said people over 60 seem to do
esp. well with ECT.
Other avenues to approach for intransigent depression (is that the right word
Marcy?) include deep brain stimulation as in Parkinson's disease and - get this!
- meditation - and aerobic exercise.
Dang if I wasn't listening to this show on my car radio driving home from the
gym. I'd meditated as I allus do in the swirling whirlpool, inhaling chlorine
no. 5 perfume, then swam for 25 minutes to make up for the delicious brownies my
son made for dessert last nite.
We got a nice grant in the mail to write & publish our next issue of The
Compass, which is 4 years past deadline. Can't remember how to do it. Lucky I
can still remember how to tie my own shoes at my advanced age.
I had a very unpleasant experience today so I'm processing my emotions by not
writing about it. I dealt with a very
angry woman today whose anger stings like a
hornet. People all have the opprtunity to change. And that means YOU, Uncle Sam!
I'm still changing slowly & hope to evolve into a glass of orange juice with
seltzer water. When I was digging my garden I unearthed numerous wiggly worms.
Once uprooted, they were carted off to new homes across the yard. I wished them
bon voyage & knew they'd make the journey successfully.
One thing I love about my boyfriend is this: When I knock on his door with
the big brass knocker & he opens it up, his face lights up with happiness when
he sees me. The power of love is so strong it draws the planets to the sun and
me to Scott. We're all bodies of energy made of the same stuff as the stars.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Leave it to Mom to wind up in the ER on Mother's Day. I parked in my
favorite illegal spot (cars will be towed away - but only if there's a fire -
one other lawbreaker beside me was parked in the secret spot) & took the
elevator to her new room on the fifth floor clutching my pad with room no. in my
hand - 5H18.
Three doors away was a woman from our group.
I said Hi to my mom who was sitting with my sister from New Hope, told her
I'd be right back, ran over & said Hi to our group member. I'm always bubbly &
in a great mood so I greeted her - she's the same as me, a great joker - & I
realized her roommate, attended by her fam, was not jolly at all so I backed
outa there & went to see my mom.
She looked good, very witty, mind good. They'd given her Percosets for the pain
she was in when she fell over one of her g'dam file cabinets she's been
organizing for the past 30 yrs so she can move outa the house where she raised 6
kids.
We joked about a possible new career for her at 85: becoming a Percosett abuser.
When I'd first entered her room I heard a familiar voice in the next
curtained-off area & saw him but focused my eyes on mom. This time I looked over
at him - elderly, white-haired, not terribly overweight, vest insteada full suit
- & my mom saw me looking & said,
"It's him."
I waited till he got off the phone, he was calling something in for his bedside
patient & I said, "Larry I could swear I'm getting psychotic & am seeing my
former psychiatrist."
Yes it was Larry Schwartz himself. I'm such a cool mellow cat - almost like
Lee
Child's detective Jack Reacher except I don't beat people up, just
blow their minds - that I wasn't even surprised to see Larry nor joyful either.
Suddenly he began pushing a chair out the room.
What on earth?
He'd spilled some water, he said, & was getting paper towels to mop it up.
I went into the private bathroom, unrolled 2 feet of paper toweling, went on my
hands & knees to mop it up - we don't want anyone slipping on water - he came
back to the room & said, Ruth, pleeease!
I'm always making trouble, I said, emerging from under the bed where a quart of
water made quite a splash.
I heard him explaining to his patient I was a former patient. He showed no
enthusiasm whatsoever in seeing me. Likewise I'm sure.
Am I still trying to gain Larry's approval? Judge for yourself. "I'm still
med-free & symptom-free from manic depression," I said.
It's important to know what to expect. Most people do not change even tho
developing new interests & habits creates
new synapses in our brains.
Larry shrugged his shoulders. I can't even guess what he was thinking inside.
There was nowhere to sit with my mom so I stood the whole time, watching her
white hair spilling on the propped-up pillow like a crown. Sister Lynn said
Ruthie you look great! Are you wearing make-up?
When they bury me they can make me up like a clown. I probly looked good cuz I
was happy. Scott & I planted a vegetable garden beween our 2 houses with full
sunlight beaming down. Our fresh herbs were in clay pots awaiting service for
our omelettes, spaghetti sauce, fresh steamed fish, & tease.
Mom, I brot you some bread, I said. From my enormous backpack I pulled out a
napkin holding 2 slices of homemade pumpernickel slathered w/butter & gave it to
her.
I love you, I said kissing her g'bye. Then found my way quickly to my illegally
parked car - I'd thought of putting on my flashing lights to give it an aura of
authenticity - thought better of it - & there was the little darling waiting for
me, with 2
Asian Lilies in the front seat, dirt spilling
all over the seat, I am nothing if not messy, & drove over to my son's to spend
mother's day with the Deming Clan.
I happily drank a glass of Yingling Beer, tempered by home-made crabcake
or-derves. When the choo-choo train roared by in the background I said Scott's
on the train going to work - 8 pm - I told him to look at Dan's house from the
train - he can see the back - that I'd put up a signal to say Hello.
I put the beaming yellow lily on the backporch railing & will find out the
morrow if he saw it between the dogwood & the maple tree.
Got 2 more minutes?
Mad Pride is featured in the Times featuring
Philly's own Liz Spikol. She's a tough cookie & a great writer.
The later you do your blog, eh,
Stephen, the more crowded the airwaves. The
Mothers' Day revellers apparently are all on their computers now. I can't wait
to go off so I can?.... yeah.... do what? Do what, Ruthie? Get a life, for
godssakes, get a life.
Friday, May 9, 2008 - afternoon
Excellent 8-minute
NY Times video on Healthcare for Migrant
Workers in the largest agricultural center in CA - I turned the volume on LOUD
& cleaned my messy living room
Two women at our Mall meeting yesterday
said their doctors told them You will never be able to work again fulltime.
This is so wrong. When people who are important in our life give poor advice we
are often influenced by them & believe what they say even tho we know
differently inside.
Depending upon the severity of your illness PLUS your own determination, chances
are overwhelming you can work full-time just like anyone else.
You don't wanna set yourself up for failure so re-enter the workforce slowly &
carefully. Talk to your support team if necessary - but only if necessary.
Sometimes the more we obsess over something, the worse it gets.
Our credo at ND is to lead meaningful lives even if that means changing our
goals & our lifestyles to accommodate our illness.
After my 3 days in hell during my only hospitalization - I was manic & thought
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony was revealed to me by the blustery sounds of winter -
I went back to work next day as a writer.
I kept my own counsel & did what was best for me & and 2 young uns.
Friday, May 9, 2008 - morning
Of borderline which I often mistype as Borderling - Of Packham Pears found at
our new Giant - Newest poem: House with Finished Basement For Sale - Our Top Doc
List is NOW capably run by Our Murray who has ABC'd it & includes under
Commentary phrases like "overmedicates," - "is very open to patient suggestions"
- "mixed reviews" - "do not refer" - "highly recommended" - We love giving
important jobs to our members!
It says on today's To-Do List:
- Blog
- Novel
- Giant cafe (I work on my novel there)
- Buy dinner
- David Oliver
- BP Class (this is a gigantic handout I'll provide for my Sept. BP Class in
Warrington to which you're all invited)
Never count anyone out as an ally, even the most unlikely!
If you can offer them an excellent product, they will bite & bite big!
Now my local library wants me to do a BP program with David Oliver who I just
emailed. His specialty is borderline. Amazingly I'm being besieged by
individuals who need help for their borderline family members.
People with borderline cause terrible family problems. These people suffer an
inner anguish & the only way they know of to help them feel better is to cause
the same anguish to others. They are experts & would make good sadistic prison
guards. They do hold their families hostage & few people know what to do.
So this is my blog. The first thing on the list. You're allowed to do the list
out of order.
I love this rain except I can't go out to personally say hello to my fabulous
garden.
Why not? Are you afraid of mussing up your hair?
Oh, all right. Be right back.
Hi, I'm back. I have so much on my mind that I forgot Scott put
stepping-stones between our 2 houses so we won't ruin the grass. They
look fab as do my purple lilies of the valley, one of the great aromas of the
western world.
For dessert last nite, we had pear sauce, made like apple sauce but with
Packham's Triumph pears. Wonder if
Sarah has ever heard of em.
Oh, I was novel-writing at Le Coffee Salon & chatting with Stephen. A freelance
writer, the coffeeshop serves as his workplace. We were talking about Miles
Davis & I casually mentioned my son/law was a jazz musician, little thinking S
had ever heard of him.
S: What's the name of their band?
Ruth, speaking slowly: The...Bad...Plus.
S, jumping out of his chair: Are you f**** kidding?
He has all their CDs. I'm hearing
Ethan's voice in my ear right now saying in his
Minneapolis drawl: Awesome.
While procrasting working on my novel I wrote a poem which I'll list at the end.
Bri, in answer to your qvestion (said in a Jewish accent), How was the mall
meeting?
Awesome.
I only arrived 25 minutes late as I knew Marion would hold down the fort. We had
about 8 or 9 folks. A problem we worked on was helping "Brittany" balance her
checkbook. She bounces checks. The bank's gain, Brittany's loss.
We suggested she carry Real Money around so she can SEE it & know when she's
getting low.
I save money by bringing my own food to the mall - My molasses tea & a thick
slice of homemade pumpernickel slathered in butter.
And then Iris & I took a 20-minute brisk walk around the outside of the mall on
that truly glorious May morning.
HOUSE WITH FINISHED BASEMENT IN ABINGTON, PA
I climbed up the hill
For the very last time
They believe in an afterlife
God is just
I don’t proffer my opinion
As I sit on the couch
For the very last time
I will miss their
Nervousness
The way he wrings his hands
The way she shushes him
As they sit in their accustomed places
Her tired ankles
at rest on the ottoman
he leaning forward
eyes darting out
the window
The for-sale sign
Proclaims sold
In confident letters
Truth is there’s problems
They fret the next phone call
Will determine
Their fate
The sun slants
93 million miles away
a bullet through
the side window
where the lilacs bloom
fragrance
swelling the room
I tend to swoon
Over fragrance
My boyfriend smells
Of sweat
Like a Cuban cigar
Do you think it’s true
Smells attract our mate
Like clouds to the ocean?
The phone rings in the kitchen they
rebuilt for the couple moving in
And installed a shiny black railing out front
So no one will fall again
But I take the hill
With confident thighs
For the very last time
He is not that old
a grandfather of two
a man with horse-black hair
to her silver headdress
and swanlike neck
As he rises from
The couch
I catch the sun
Golden beams
Licking
the hairs on his chest
A small field of daisies
She picked on their honeymoon
one by one.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Of Reality-Checking (get yo'self a Buddy) - Of Tom Murt who I would follow to
the ends of the earth as long as it's not a warzone (he served in Iraq at age 43
& did incredible work helping
Iraqis) - Of Pilot Programs & the patience
needed to pursue em - Hear
J. Everett Koop, now with Dartmouth, now in his
91th year, a man who refuses to kow-tow to anyone
It's so great to work from home. Where else can you sit in your office in
your short shorts & tank top, no shoes & run outside to check the garden, then
run downstairs to do a load of laundry, check the bread in the oven, &
deliberate over the possibility of achieving one of your life's goals.
Reached the director of Bucks County Office of Mental Health & finished up
our 7-minute phone conversation with these words: Thanks for your
openmindedness, Phil!!!
Then I composed a carefully worded email sending it first to myself to make sure I
didn't leave anything out. I usually call either Marion or Freda to read it to them
but I decided not to waste time & just get it out.
Remind me to discuss my mind-chatter.
First, tho, let's talk about the importance of everyone with a mood disorder
finding a "buddy" or two to speak to on a daily basis particularly if you live
alone. Many of us do not realize when we're getting manic or hypomanic.
"Adam" from our group called me this morning. He's a smart man but he said
something extremely out of character. I said to him, "Adam, I don't wanna
hurt your feelings, but I think you may be getting manic."
He did not see it. Many people don't. It's like looking in the mirror. Mania
doesn't show. He has one buddy in ND & I suggested he ask "Perry" to see if he
can detect any out-of-the-ordinary behavior.
Like the mature adult he is, Adam admitted this would be very helpful.
Mind-chatter. I had an intense weekend, doing not a lick of work (oh, maybe a
little bit). Every minute was filled imbibing information including visiting an
unknown local park, the Boileau Farmstead c.
1750, where we toured the farmhouse, said Hello to the all-knowing
Millie Wintz, who I will follow to the ends of
the earth, or at least to the end of Terwood Road, ate hearth-cooked chicken
baked in an underground pit by
Mercy Ingraham,,,
recognized PA State Representative
Tom Murt
(R-152) & asked him to speak at our group. That man is EFFECTIVE. He said he's
very interested in mental health. I'm awaiting a call from his sec'y.
When I went to bed last nite & all was quiet on the southern front, as I climbed
in bed in total silence, I began hearing bits & pieces of conversations I'd had
during the day.
My mind was processing all this busy-ness. It apparently needed to record in my
memory banks the events of the day. I always reality check with people, just as
I asked Adam to do. Once when riding the bus to NY to see
Sarah, I ascertained the woman next to me sat there & reviewed her
day.
To me, what I wrote above is tres interesting. Nearly everything is interesting
to me except spectator sports. I'd rather read about them in the Times than
watch em. Had a fascinating detailed conversation while baking bread this
morning about a 66-yr-old fellow in our group, "Dave," who triumphed over a
cancer which was basically the male equivalent of a hysterectomy.
Dave is doing great! Except that he's too lazy to exercise. So in honor of his
poor eating habits I stopped at
DQ on my way home. After I finished my
incredibly delicious waffle n custard treat, I walked for several minutes around
the DQ neighborhood, peeking into Tom Sawyer's Auto Fix-it where I saw all
manner of cars up on the operating tables.
Private note to S who doesn't bother with the links: Just do me a favor, man.
Click on the DQ link.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Stephen, how come writing a blog is so much
easier than working on my novel?
Got an email today saying "Happy Birthday, Harold." That was so sweet of
Melvin to remember my Dad's birthday. He worked for my dad 45 yrs ago.
Called my mom so we could remember Harold together, wondering what he would look
like at age 87. We used to joke when he was dying of a brain tumor that he was
the healthiest man alive except for...
Hold on, I think that's Dad sitting at my kitchen table.
I helped myself to your bread, Ruthie. Delish!
I'll come in there & pour you a cold glass of water.
Oops. He's vanished.
Come back soon, I call. The lights flicker. The stereo stutters. He was a
generous man. Very complex. Did I understand him? Mostly. He told my mom after
he met her, I have known more sorrow than joy.
Dad, come to me in a dream tonite & tell me what you meant. Oh, I should ask my
sister Donna. She's very astute about family politics... about connections that
bind.
Just looking at those typed words May 4 is such a beautiful sight. It
reminds me of my dad. Let's do it up proper: May 4, 1921.
Try it yo'self, o blog readers! Our brains light up when viewing things we love.
Scott & I went to the movies at the local libe & saw Notes of a Scandal w/Dame
Judi Dench & Aussie Cate Blanchett. I brought my pillow which I keep in the car
to put on the uncomfy chair & when the lites went out I propped my tootsies up
on the empty chair in front.
My legs were aching since Scott & I gardened for 4 hours planting, among other
things, fragrant
purple lilies of the valley, planted near the
front door so I can smell em. My
Radio Flyers wagon became a planter in the
frontyard, Scott's idea. It's filled w/colorful fleurs.
Found the wagon in the trash up the street at ole man John Leonard's. His kids
are keeping him in his home. He's Ninety Five. I just offered yesterday to help
him maintain his magnificent backyard garden which is dark and lush and filled
with pools for the birds.
Brought a loaf of bread to the Libe for the hungry noshers after the film. And
instead of giving an apple to our Discussion Leader, I gave him an entire loaf
of whole
wheat bread, complete w/freshly grated nutmeg.
He looked so dapper today.
I wore earrings so people would think I'm an adult.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
George, the master of the perfect forward, sent me this 2.28 minute
sound video. A reward if you know the
background music.
Ten people just learned to bake bread at Abington Twp Public Library. Guess
who taught it? I wore my Starbucks apron & began preparing for the class at 7:15
this a.m. while listening to Miles Davis Run the Voodoo Down.
You need rousing music to
keep up the pace.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Every ND meeting is good but last nite's was A+++. I always think that no
one will show up but when I got there people were waiting around for me to
unlock the church door. In fact, I just called the church & told Mike S how much
we love the church. They're searching for a new pastor & get over 100
applicants. Their growth is slow & steady, liike ours, I told him.
I said that we have a growing membership of black people, perhaps about a dozen
now, which makes me really happy. We are an integrated group!
Also told Mike that sitting at tables facilitates discussion. "Especially round
tables," he said.
Indeed.
Can you smell my delicious chicken corn chowder cooking? I like to have a
million things going on at once. Ah, I've just turned on some
music.
Lots of people last nite. Great diversity. People called or emailed with ideas
which we then spoke about. Ben (all names are fake) brought up caffeine.
Drinking too much made him manic & he nearly had an auto accident b/c his mind
was speeding.
So many people commented on this! The whole room - about what, Murray - 8
tables? - were sharing. I told them when I went off coffee a coupla yrs ago I
substituted it with Molasses Tea, made from hot water,
blackstrap molasses, & cinnamon & ginger.
I'm drinkin it iced as we speak.
Suddenly from the corner of my eye I saw someone enter the room.
"DeStephano!" I called out. "Jack is back!"
The entire room burst into applause. Ours is a group that applauds people
just like AA meetings. I'm so proud of our group! No I'm not a mother hen,
please!
Jack of all trades has been working steadily moving seamlessly from one job to
another while he searches for the job that's right for him. Will call his dad to
see if he got it. Dad, in his early 80s, just had some sort of
vibrating machine inserted in his back to
alleviate pain. He has stenosis plus other conditions gotten from working 39 yrs
as a tool & die maker at the now-defunct
Budd Company.
We do have a brilliant man in our group, a former lawyer, who sadly has dementia
but our people are very good to him. I've spoken to his wife about it, he's only
in his early 70s, & Our Robert transports him to meetings. I personally usher
lots of people to tables w/a brief intro to make talking easier & I say to the
table before I seat him, "Frank has trouble with his memory."
Stevi brought up the question of Klonopin withdrawal. She's seeing an addictions
specialist who put her on Valium which is a common technique for
benzo withdrawal. Stevi is having a really hard
time. Read the second blog of May 1 on
this topic.
As members pointed out, Stevi sits home all day & cogitates. She has no
distractions from the obvious anguish she is experiencing. We all said that the
heightened anxiety she has is a form of extremely unpleasant engery which she
should expend by doing something. Excellent suggestions from Mary were using the
wall to do push-ups, chin-ups, to walk quickly, to swim.
I also mentioned that when I was first diagnosed I had intolerable anxiety (this
was before the doc put me on Klonopin, my best friend). I hadn't known there was
a name for this horrible condition & I used to jog for half hour to relieve my
distress.
We hope Stevi is not simply a "help-rejecting complainer" as Yalom said in his
classic book (fill in the blank). Let's see what Yalom is doing
these days.
And what are YOU doing these days, Dear Reader?
Feel free to stop on by for some Chicken Corn Chowder. I'll give you a tour of
my b'ful garden planted mostly in "native plants" such as the onesI bought today
such as the
dancing columbine and
yellow coreopsis from Pennypack Trust.
Evan, thanks for reading my blog. We advised him last nite to speak to his
doctor about lithium side effects. He's been on it a week or two & has the very
symptoms many people get which are so severe they can't tolerate the drug. His
doctor took him off it today.
One of Evan's favorite websites it
this un: everything you ever wanted to know
about video games. He has the 3-day-old Grand Theft Auto which he said made more
money than a new movie coming out.
Do I wish I were young again & living in this tekno-manic age? As long as they
don't limit my gardening to virtual reality.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Please check the
Home Page under Announcements. I added an
important petition for everyone to sign. The language is tres confusing
so I tried to rewrite it for our viewers.
We're having a broo-haha over the next film to see at Movie Nite. Tara is
putting it up for a vote. The film is a cult classic sure to offend - or
titillate - its viewers. It's probly more controversial than raising our
Suggested Donation from $3 to $5.
We had a record turnout at our last Movie Nite. Nine or 10 of us watched the
brilliant film Frida.
Got up early today since the Window Man Cometh. My sidewalk was laden with weeds
blocking his entry so I went out & gardened for 2 hours pulling out last year's
winter debris. I wore a gardening glove on one hand & an oven mitt on the left.
Piles of debris staccato the yard. Scott & I planted 5 trees yesterday, a gift
when I joined the Arbor Day Foundation of Lincoln, NB or is it NE. I'm guessing
NB. Hope I'll live to see my fragrant lilacs, white dogwood, crabapples, all
friends of the environment.
When I walked into the house after pulling out gobs of prickery multiflora rose,
an attractive weed, I felt like Attila the Hun. And I wasn't even psychotic!
I just felt incredibly competent. Why is that dyou spose? I remember telling my
co-worker Lillian when I worked as a therapist that the only thing that makes me
feel "important" is standing among my day lilies & watching them sway in the
breeze.
Was thinking how my former newly deceased boyfriend Simon would LOVE this time
of year. He'd be out in Bensalem, home of a Thai monestary, clearing out the
brush in his backyard. I visited for one final farewell after his death. I
imagined he was still inside, on his putt-putt, as he called his computer, with
his yapping Jack Russell Terrier barking at me from the front window.
Altho I'm not a fan of Obama since I'm one of those voters who think he's
inexperienced in everything but elocution, I think it's wrong to judge a man by
his former friends or associates. His former pastor is playing a revenge game
with him. Quite unChristian, I'd say, tho in sooth I have no idea what God
thinks about anything.
Do you presume to know the ways of The Lord?
I certainly do not, tho I do report exclusively to God as the ultimate owner of
my being, even tho I don't know if he exists. Ambivalence is one of the most
interesting traits of humankind. The ability to operate while knowing very
little & questioning everything.
As always,
Attila
PS - For good jazz listening, click on pianist
Chris's blog, scroll down, close your eyes &
listen to these xtraordinary chord changes. Chris O'R also plays Scriabin who I
never liked but now I'll check him out on YouTube.
Let's just say a girl can change
her mind. I dig it!!!
Monday, April 28, 2008
Since I just emailed 50 people my blog address, I'd better write something
quick so they think I'm: smart, funny, clever & unboring.
I wrote a profile once for an art mag about a local artist saying: Boredom is
his enemy. I can't remember a thing about him.
Am in touch with Anne, one of my fellow online novel-writers & we exchanged
effective writing tips. Hence, this a.m. I changed into my rainy day
clothes & went to the Internet cafe at our new Giant supermarket. I strode in
with my new laptop which I carry with the confidence as if I own it.
I sat in a gloomy dark corner - the cafe is dimly lit - ugh! - (ugh is a blog
word - you don't ever speak it) & I sipped on my molasses tea from home - &
began working on Chapter 4, the chapter where the couple sees a marriage
counselor.
I myself have been to 2 marriage counselors - each time proving that the
relationship was over. I've also worked as a marriage counselor. There are many
reasons to stay married as stated in my new book- on- tape by America's most
beloved therapist.
I'd never heard of her but the tape puts you to sleep in less than 60 seconds so
I can't tell you if she's my most beloved or not. This is one of her websites
which I found
un-boring.
When I went to the fridge just now to get some purple grapes & raw almonds w/a
fabulous crr-unch! - I thot of something really interesting to talk about.
It'll come to me in a second.
Ah! Wrote an Amazon.com book review last nite. Ada asked me Did you read the
whole book? Can you see me holding up my hand & taking the fifth on that?
A friend analyzed the words used on this website & found the most frequently
used word or phrase was NOT purple grapes, fresh peanuts, glass of cold water
with lemon wheels, great sex, Stephen, Simon Feuerman, whole wheat bread with
grated nutmeg but
CLICK!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Tenacity is one of our most important traits, to hang in there, do what we
think is right & have faith it will work.
No one is more tenacious that Gianna, author of the blog
Bipolar Blast.
As I wrote Gianni today, getting off meds is tough b/c the drugs are so potent.
I waited till I was 58 to do so & was one of the lucky ones whose bipolar had
evaporated over time.
My homeopathic physician said about 20 percent of cases remit.
Speaking of tenacious bloggers, here's the latest from
Stephen.
Now if you'll excuse me it's time to take phone off hook, brew my molasses tea &
work on my novel. I made an important editorial decision yesterday. Nothing will
stand in the way of my writing it. I'm gonna only have one reader & one reader
only: my boyfriend Scott who is one of those people, like myself, who rarely
watches TV, and reads in his spare time.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Saturday's fantasies center around
selling New Directions to the highest bidder, getting a part-time job to
keep my outer mind working & the bread flowing, while my inner mind is totally
devoted to working on my novel. It's coming along great!
My dream is to work on the novel 4 hours a day, as I did today, take breathers
by sweeping up dead stinkbugs, brewing hot tea w/spearmint leaves & looking out
the window at the birds bathing & crapping in the birdbath.
I was gonna write something really interesting but I forgot what it was. For
sure it's not to direct you to this fascinating website where I'd never suggest
you scroll down to
Paul Lockhart's Lament. He's a friend of my
daughter's & maintains radical views on just about everything.
Oh, just remembered. I told John in our group that I rarely read bipolar
websites. Since I live & breathe bipolar it's overkill. However I accidentally
found
this site which I really enjoyed, particularly
the part about hypomania Susan wrote about.
I was really rude to my sister when she called me today. I was in my writing
trance & forgot to take phone off hook.
Yessum, I answered.
What? she yelled.
I actually could not think of words to say b/c the place where verbal words come
from & the place where your writing words come from are different. So I was at a
loss for words.
What is it, I snapped.
Anyway I finally apologized profusely. She said she understand. Then I pulled
out the plug. There is no such thing as inspiration. It's all discipline. You
just sit down, read what you've written, set the timer for one hour, forget
about everything but what's on the screen, oh, maybe you're tempted to read the
online NY Times but you say The clock is ticking, and you can hear it, so you
force yourself to write.
Soon you're not forcing yourself anymore cuz you're in the flow. You don't even
hear when the timer goes off. Five minutes later you realize it went off & you
set it for another hour.
Repeat until Scott knocks on door & says, This is your 5-minute warning to get
ready to go to my parents' Passover dinner. The last nite.
I've never seen you eat so much, he said.
Your mom is a great cook, I said. I couldn't believe it when I put the third
helping of turkey & roasted red potatoes & carrots on my plate & smothered it
with gravy.
L'chaim!
Friday, April 25, 2008
We're still getting mazel tovs for the
NY Times article. Here's what one member, an
attorney, wrote:
Thank you for the article. Another feather (and maybe even some dough) in your
cap. It was a super question with an interesting, but not fully adequate,
response.
If there was justice, you would be rich. You have made a difference in the life
of many people, including myself. Most psychiatrists are quacks compared to you.
There is a better business model out there somewhere. Or maybe New Directions
should just be purchased by a large conglomerate. Go Public.
Nice thought, Ron. Any takers? Are ya listenin' Merck, Pfizer, GSK?
Once upon a time when on the Lam (Lamictal) I spoke to GSK suggesting I do a
paid commercial for them.
They dismissed the idea before the words were outa my mouth.
Note the title of Brent Bowers' wonderful book, I just finished (he's the dude
that wrote about us in the Times) If at first you don't succeed: 8 Patterns of
Highly Effective Entrepreneurs. Apparently I'm lacking a
pattern or two.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Am getting some nice mazel tovs from folks like Blogger
Sharon about the
NY Times article that ran yesterday about our
group.
Neighbor George wrote: How 'bout changing that one line "Ms. Deming, who is
62......is a curvy ....instead of cured manic depressive????"
Why, thank you, George.
The Times writer Brent Bowers is author of the 2006 book If at First You
Don't Succeed... 8 Patterns of Highly Effective Entrepreneurs, which is mine
for 3 weeks from the library.
Entrepreneurs, writes Brent in chapter 1, notice things. They spot opportunities
nobody else has seen and seize them. It sounds simple enough, but it is an
aptitude most people lack.
Here's some chapter titles which I find very exciting & which apply to many of
us:
- seizing opportunities
- running your own show
- nature vs nurture (sounds intriguing!)
- tenacity
- turning on a dime (we did this when we were forced to find a new meeting place
last February - a church on a main drag that would charge us nothing! took 6
nail-biting months to find)
- delusions of grandeur
About the latter, I can't even remember my delusions when I was a fullfledged
manic depressive (as was Brent's late father who taught at a midwestern college)
but with the illness merely a distant dream, like meteor showers blown out in
the night sky, I'm on the cusp of achieving all my dreams.
I've got a great boyfriend, a new job that pays $180 a year as an elections
inspector, & got a great review today about my novel-in-progress from my
teacher. The best part of the review, plus reviews from my
classmates, was when they quoted phrases of mine & said they really liked them.
The phrases they quoted were difficult to write. They didn't just pop out like
Athena springing from Zeus's temple. True, I saw them in my mind - the images! -
but then I had to express it in language.
One opportunity I constantly seize is meeting new people. At the polls yesterday
we had 400 voters streaming in. At the end a cub reporter from the Hatboro
Public Spirit (that was the first paper I wrote for) said she couldn't get
people to speak to her. I told her I'd find her some... and did!
During slow periods I went out in the hall & chatted with - dig the titles - the
judge, the constable, the clerk - we wore name badges. Someone remarked to me
that the old people from Regency Towers were so serious.
That's because, I said, they're watching every step they take so they don't fall
& break a hip. There were busloads of people & they came with their walkers,
their canes, they limped, it was dreadful to behold.
An older woman sat next to me & asked me to guess her age. Thank God I didn't
say 77.
She was 70. Whew. She suffers from constipation she told me, saying that
Passover matzah makes her more blocked than ever.
It was a long nite. Scott came to visit me. I saw his blue jacket outa the
corner of my eye. I had charge of the book that read M thru Z. The biggest
challenge for people was knowing which ward they live in. Most don't know.
I'd ask them What street do you live on?
They'd say Crown or Ellis or Mulholland Drive (this is a joke no one will get) &
I'd say Okay, you're in the right room.
At 8 pm sharp, John said I'm closing the polls. Dyou all agree it's 8 oclock?
Yes we all said. Then he printed out voting receipts from 3 machines & we did a
count. I was given a sealed envelope of a printout from each machine & told to
keep it for one year.
I put it in a special place. A deep desk drawer of miscellany that have no home.
Nearly everything in there goes in & is never seen again. Every 6 months I
plunge in & throw things out. Which reminds me, I've gotta take the garbage out
now.
Monday afternoon, April 21, 2008
I'm doing a brain test now to see how much information I can remember.
No notes, a reporter's best friend. Just say to yourself, Listen & you'll
remember.
Climbed up a steep flight of stairs in the Jenkintown office of US Congresswoman
Allyson Schwartz to volunteer for Hillary. My legs were killing me from the
Creek Clean-Up on Saturday. My group went out onto jagged rocks & sand, it was a
glorious day, & our group was literally almost stranded on these rocks. Once you
got out, there was no return.
My team included Alvin & Boris, 2 students from Penn State, originally from
China. Gave me the chance to redeem myself from a previous flop encounter with
Chinese students I'd wrin about below.
Ah, the power of redemption!
My desire for Hillary as president, oh for godssakes,
Stephen, I know she's not perfect, was so
strong that I was willing to go door to door with my aching legs. Nancy was my
partner. A worse arrangement could not be imagined. All she did was complain. I
drove. She wanted to turn back. We couldn't find the streets. They assigned us a
nursing home. Nancy couldn't take it but I'm like the person in
Message to Garcia, my father's favorite story.
We're also walking along Township Line Road & the litter is blowing all over the
street. Disgraceful. I marched back to my car & pulled a plastic bag from the
trunk & picked up litter on the way. Why not?
Back at the office, we made nice, I kept my frustrations to myself, not easy, &
then we got on the phones. I pledged an hour's worth of phone. I comforted
myself by looking out the window. I stood up to exercise my tender legs & did
stretches.
We called in to an 800 number which automatically generated phone calls to us.
After each call, we'd punch in a code telling if they
- hung up on us before we started speaking
- after we started speaking
- if they were nice *3
- if they suffered from bipolar disorder
Object is to get off quick! Longest call was from a woman in Jenkintown who told
me Hillary appeared at Bonnet Lane Restaurant. OUR Bonnet Lane. Oooh, I think
I'll call the Fishers, who are regulars, as am I.
After canvassing I stopped at Bonnet Lane where I saw the waitresses sitting
sorting silverware. Here's the scoop:
Hillary & The Secret Service were there yesterday, Sunday. The Bonnet got a call
the nite before asking if it was okay. Democratic committeeman & Bonnet regular
Joe Hoeffel set it up.
She was wearing a "pantsuit, lots of makeup" & ordered "a whites-only omelette."
She didn't eat a thing cuz she was busy giving 2 intereviews, one to the
Inquirer. Find the link, Ruthie, find the link.
The Secret Service guys ordered food to go. One ordered a turkey club.
Ya know what I'm eating now? Purple grapes, sliced cheddar cheese, raw almonds
from Murray, & drinking Lemon Ice Water, left over from a meeting we had
yesterday on the future of New Directions.
Did I leave anything out?
Yes, I wish I could convey the beauty of my newly blooming Virgina bluebelles
mixed in with the pink bleeding hearts outside in my front garden.
The dogwood I picked for yesterday's meeting - plus brought to Stephen's house
bloomed overnight on my windowsill.
After the meeting last nite, I was typing w/o my contacts in & I accidentally
deleted this entire webside. Fortunately my son answered the phone & me & Scott
retrieved it. He put on his reading glasses.
Maybe there is a God after all. Que pense-tu?
Monday morning, April 21, 2008
Springtime is like watching a newborn baby grow. I rose from my bed before
dawn & stood out on the front porch. Unseen birds were yammering from every
space and pocket in the surrounding air.
I wish I could understand the language of the birds.
Hello, I'm a simple sparrow, come check out my nest I'm building in Ruthie's
airconditioner, not much space but it's nice n cozy, birdbath & juicy worms
available, I'll provide the nest, you be my chick.
Dyou think the birds communicate all the way down Old York Road to
Stephen's place?
Do they have accents like midwestern accents, southern accents.
There are different versions of everything from Bach's Goldberg Variations on a
simple tune which he embellishes into an almost jazz-like symphonetta to
variations on the sacred text of the
Haggadah.
Scott & I had the pleasure of spending Passover with Stephen & Arleen Weinstein.
Food, laughter, reverence, respect and love abounded. Like my late father,
Stephen loves this holiday the best, and sat at the head of the table. We all
had Haggadahs to read from, glasses of traditional wine, and the rituals of
dipping greens in salt water to remember our tragic past and to move on with our
glorious future.
What I didn't know - or was too drunk on previous Seders to remember - was the
great Jewish tradition of philanthropy based on our living through every type of
horror. I quote from Rabbi Alfred J Kolatch's Seder book:
Although the Pharaoh of old who is the tyrant of the Hagaddah, we speak this
evening of other tyrants and tyrannies as well:
of the tyranny of poverty
of the tyranny of privation
of the tyranny of welath
of the tyranny of war
the tyranny of power
the tyranny of despair
the tyranny of disease
the tyranny of time
the tyranny of ignorance
the tyranny of color
to all these tyrannies do we address ourselves this evening. Passover brands
them all as an abomincation in the sight of God.
Amen!
What are you doing to fight tyranny today? I solemnly believe it's our duty as
privileged Americans to do our best to change the world, one day at a time.
Wherever they wanna put me at the Hillary campaign today, there I'll go. It's
nice not to have to make decisions but let someone else do it for me.
The ultimate boss tho is Fate. Who determines Fate or Destiny? Is it tantamount
to God?
Saturday, April 19, 2008
We all know that people air their grievances via their blogs.
Ready?
At the Hillary rally I attended in Bristol, I signed up to be a volunteer. Two
days later they sent me an email which I answered. Then they followed up with a
phone call yesterday.
So far excellent response time.
The phone call which was from WISCONSIN told me to contact my nearby Jenkintown
office. Impressive coordination!
Here's where the system breaks down.
Dialed the Jenkintown phone number & they had - horror of horrors! - a defective
phone answering machine. Called 3 times to finally listen to another phone no.
where I called a man named John (probly rousing him from bed) who thot it was no
big deal the g'dam phone didn't work.
This reminded me of another Democratic election that was so disorganized I went
up to the head in the Jenkintown office & gave him some organizational tips,
reminiscent of when I say at our group meetings:
- Family members follow Murray into the Library
- People with Bipolar sit at these tables here
- And People with Depression go over there
At the Jenkintown office 2 yrs ago, the man joked with me, The Republicans are
organized, he said, the Democrats play it by ear.
I snickered but was not amused.
We lost that election.
Ready for my new theory? It's not based on scientific evidence but may be true
anyway. Give me your thots.
Macho men vote for McCain. This is based on 2 macho men I know.
I consider myself a macho female for Hillary. In my case macho means Tough Gal,
as my boyfriend calls me. I have no idea what he means but I like it, I like it.
Last nite we went for an hour walk in the neighborhood with the moon rising, as
always happens in our season of Passover. We walked past my office on Davisville
Road, down to the Willow Grove Train Station.
Isnt it great, I said, walking to the train station when you don't have to work?
Then we cut thru & went to War Memorial Park, a great place for teens to hang
out, there were only a few small clusters & most of em were on their cellphones.
Rollerbladers play hockey - clunk clunk - skateboards sped across the basketball
courts & Scott & I looked at the moon & walked across a small bridge over a
roaring brook.
When we got home we watched The Stepford Wives on TCM. I'd never seen it before.
Loved the satire of our suburban living. Didn't understand the end cuz we both
were falling in & out of sleep so I asked Scott what happened.
He told me. I had him repeat it again.
Jeez, what an ending! She was such a lovely woman.
Oy, I hope that's not my own epitaph.
+
Pope Benedict is very impressive. He's at last addressing the atrocities of the
sexual predator priests. I personally know 2 men who were abused. One man has
been adversely affected his whole life. The other, "Patrick" raised a fine
family. He was actually studying to be a priest & was repeatedly molested by a
priest.
Telling absolutely no one, he left the seminary. Although he is quite successful
today, no one knows this. He also suffers from paranoid schizophrenia but due to
taking his antipsychotic injections of Prolixin no one is any the wiser.
I often take the liberty of putting myself in God's shoes & asking myself, What
would God think of (fill in the blank).
This morning when I woke up I was trying to think of God's reason for creating
the universe and where he was before it began. I console myself by saying...
Someday you'll know the answer.
I don't necessarily believe this. It's God's world, not mine.
Friday, April 18, 2008
In my green Starbucks apron, I walked outside into the fragrant spring air where
my next-door neighbor was fussing over her tulips. I'm gonna make a bread I
said. Would Mikayla, almost 9 yrs old, like to come help? Mikayla, standing in
the drive, put down her pink bike & said Can I, Mom?
Soon the 2 of us were chattering away in my airy kitchen getting the ingredients
out from everywhere.
We had such fun. Baking bread is such a sociable activity I didn't wanna do it
alone.
After Mikayla had kneaded it & we'd popped it into the oven to rise, I had her
call her mom to ask if she could stay longer to make the Cream of Asparagus
Soup?
After nearly 3 hrs in the kitchen, the 2 of us sat down for a quick snak of soup
n bread. I didn't think she'd like the soup as it's adult fare.
I think it needs to be sweeter, she said.
Sweeter?
Mmm-hmm, she said sitting across from me. Ingredients in this unconventional
soup included: white asparagus from the new Giant, can of coconut milk, chicken
broth, ginger, cinnamon, lime juice..
You may be right, I said, getting the honey from the cupboard.
Lemme do it, lemme do it, she said.
It worked. The soup was delicioius. All it lacked was a lil rice to give it some
blunk. I added barley since I didn't have rice.
When I walked her home I gave her a loaf of the Swedish Rye Bread & told her mom
what a natural cook she is.
I added: I first made this bread when I lived in Married Student Housing at the
Univ of TX at Austin. There was a breadmaking contest at the university. I
taught Terri, a woman from Peru to make a challah for the contest, I taught
Michiko from Japan how to make a Whole Wheat, & I entered the Swedish Rye.
They took the top 2 prizes & I got the third prize.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Norman Cotterrell & I were searching the church for a dry eraser board &
found one at last. I got the group started & told em I had to leave for my
online novelwriting class.
Tons of oldtimers showed up: Arnie, Larry, Joe, Tom & Ann, Sandy & Dave plus
newcomers. I really wanted to stay.
I guess that's sorta how my Dad felt when Death came knockin on his door & said,
You gotta leave early, Harold. We need you over here on the other side.
I think about death numerous times every day. Dyou think that's normal?
Laurel who co-runs our family member group introduced
Norman who's a performance artist. He saw the envelope I had for him,
read the letter which asked for a donation & also asked if he'd be on our Board.
I told him we could discuss it later. He seemed amenable.
I zoom home where I've got my computer all ready for the class. I've got a glass
of cold water on the desk & the phone unplugged. Then I log onto
MediaBistro.
It's our last class.
These are wonderful accomplished people who are as busy as Barack & Hillary. I
had to laff when I saw the photo of Obama bowling in his suit. Someone told me
it's mathematically impossible for Hillary to win. I thot her behavior in the
debate last nite was deplorable but I'd still vote for her. Am trying to
accustom myself to think of Obama as the next running mate.
They love my novel. The teacher
Nicole Bokat actually asked me if I have an agent. Am I good enuf, I
asked. Sure, she said.
We're all online. You type real fast for The Chat. You make all these goofy
mistakes. It's total fun.
A knock on my door. Come in, I call. My computer's in the living room so I have
a commanding view of the great outdoors. It's dark & I have no idea who it is.
It's a friendly knock tho.
I look up from my online chat & call: Who is it?
It's your son, answers the good looking blue-eyed boy entering the door with his
girlfriend Nicole.
Just wanted to tell you, Mom, that Nicole & I are engaged.
Wow!
They each bent down to give me a kiss.
We chatted while my online class continued. Then I wrote them, Gotta stop the
show cuz my son stopped by & said he's engaged.
I asked if the cats gave their blessing.
My classmates were very happy for me & shouted out their mazel tovs. I told em
my son is Jewish & his fiancee is Catholic. A fellow writer said she was
Catholic & her husband Jewish.
I did ask Nicole & Dan a burning question: What religion are you gonna raise
your kids?
Whatever they want they said looking at one another.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Of the debates - Of Food - Of Disclosure
Watched the debate tonite between Hillary & Obama & you know what? It made
me sick. I stuck around until the truly bitter end watching these 2 intelligent
adults fight like dirty boxers. And the questions! The host was fine but the
color man couldn't wait to fling out his next mudpie at Obama. I imagined FDR
standing there - or Churchill - & wondered if they would regress to toddlerhood
attacks as did these two. Clinton, as is her practiced wont, far outstripped
Obama in the Rush Limbaugh Department of Asinine Gratuitous Nastiness.
Her b'ful daughter was in the audience & I felt sick. So was our PA governor
Rendell who stages many of Clinton's PA moves. This master politician was
sitting in the oddest position, scrunched down in his seat with the goddamnest
expression on his face. I can't even presume to read it! Only his wife knows for
sure what Fast Eddie was thinkin.
It reminded me vaguely of The Oscars: all glitz and no substance.
Politics will never change nor will the Oscars. Altho I abhorred Hillary's dirty
punches, I thought she spoke with convincing authority when she finally got
around to telling us how she'd run the country. Obama, I thot, was unsure of
himself & was often, uh, uh, groping for words.
Look, they're human. They'll each go home & have a snack like we do. And send
text messages to their spouses: Luv You, B.
Watched the entire thing at Scott's house. He'd gone to work & left me alone in
his house. When we view ourselves out of context - in someone else's rooms - we
see ourselves afresh. During commercials I checked my phone messages at home &
in the office. Our phone greeter had answered 2 calls from newcomers. Whew!
Always a concern.
Mark called me to say he'd be at the Creek Cleanup on Sunday. The Cleanup is on
Saturday. I had to resend the corrected emails when I got home. Marce, I do hope
you're coming.
Here's what I had as my Debate Snack. Bowl of crushed fresh strawberries strewn
w/ chopped
spearmint leaves from my outdoor herb garden &
walnuts all drowned in vanilla soy milk.
Ya know what? I learned that making fresh delicious foods is faster than eating
out at Ming's, my fave local restaurant with a forbidden Coke.
Now that's temptation!
An alumni wrote me a note asking if he should disclose his bipolar status now
that he's in grad school studying to be a therapist. Here's my response:
In my experience, "Jim," the most unforgiving of all people are those in mental
health. This is counterintuitive but is definitely the case. Ultimately, though,
you are the one to decide if disclosure is necessary.
Ask yourself, Why do I want to disclose? What purpose would it serve ME? You are
not going to change anyone's opinion just because you're doing well & are in
grad school. Prejudice against those of us with mood disorders is difficult to
erase.
Should you disclose, many people will view you differently. As a student, you
are constantly on trial, constantly having to prove yourself. Why rattle the
boat?
I was a therapist for 13 years. Got a master's from Hahnemann. I DID disclose in
my class b/c I had absolutely nothing to lose. I had been a successful newspaper
writer for many years & had a long history of successes to back me up. Only when
your successes can hold you, should you disclose.
All this is only my opinion, of course, & you must do what's right for you.
Good luck, Jim!
Let's close this show w/a nice video
for Brian, courtesy of Murray.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Note to daughter
Sarah: I vote No. It's sorta like
contacting one's birth mother
& finding she's living on the subway.
Brian, this
one's for you. It's a YouTube shot of ducklings
leaping from a tree. Perhaps Mom is trying to enter them into the duck olympics.
Any ideas why they're up a tree?
Monday, April 14, 2008
Hillary appears 40 minutes away in Bristol, my old Bristol-stomping grounds
since I worked there for 13 yrs - Our Coffeeshop Gig was the Best Ever even tho
Blogger
Stephen couldn't make it - but Sister Gerri
did!
Why was I wearing a
Hillary sticker tonight & why did I remove it &
stick it on my boyfriend's front door?
To remind him where I went tonite.
Ada & I whizzed down the turnpike and arrived at Bristol Junior High School,
stood 5-deep in the gymnasium, before the makeshift stage, waiting for the
arrival of the Senator from NY. Deafening applause filled the room w/people
holding up signs reading Letter Carriers for Hillary, as she mounted the stage,
along with Gov. Ed Rendell & US Congresswoman Allyson Schwartz. Their images are
emblazoned on my mind as well as my Rite-Aid disposable camera, actually made by
Fiji.
I was standing with other shorties - Megan, Justin & Ali - in their early 20s
who held their cellphones over their heads so they could see.
I couldn't wait to see what color suit the hopefully future Madam President
would wear. Twas MAGENTA w/a colorful scarf,
black slacks, clasp earrings. She looked stunning. And pumped the hands
afterward of many in the energetic decibel-breaking crowd. I prepared an opening
line to say if I should meet her: Hi there. I represent Manic-depressives for
Hillary.
Rendell - who's been managing her PA campaign better than any of her own people
- had taken her to visit the old Fairless Hills Steel plant. It had been shut
down maybe 15 yrs ago but has since reopened as a mfg plant to keep our jobs
here instead of farming them out overseas.
When she said we've got to stop jobs from going to China, the audience went
wild.
Yes, say it, Hillary. Say what's on every thinking person's mind. When she's
president, she said, she'll push thru legislation for more jobs, universal
healthcare, an end to No Child Left Behind (the crowd roared!), use our manpower
to rebuild the crumbling infrastructure that caused I-95 to briefly shut down
for repairs.
She also has plans to help pay the exorbitant costs of college today, develop
new renewable sources of energy, stop Bush's War on Science w/money towards
lifesaving stem-cell research and on & on, ending her 40-minute talk w/her exit
ideas for Iraq (more thundrous applause).
Can she accomplish all this? Whatever she does will be a thousand times better
than the moron in office who hasn't accomplished one thing of importance.
I'll say one thing about Hillary. She radiates warmth & intelligence. She
possesses charisma backed up by the places she's been, the things she has seen,
the way she has dealt with her travails. Get better, not bitter, she said to
ear-splitting shouts & clapping.
Woven thru her talk were anecdotes about her growing up in Scranton & the values
of hard work espoused by her family, esp. her dad. Her 88-yr-old mom lives with
her today & is in good health. When speaking of healthcare, H mentioned she
would work toward every American having the same healthcare as members of
Congress.
People loved hearing that. What? All men created equal?
I personally didn't think she harped on her rival's misspoken statement,
altho one of our local papers does, apparently the media
itself can't move on. I picked up on her
positive program to restore America after the ruthless devastation by W. When W
took office oil was $20 a barrel. Today it's $110.
Security was very tight. We went thru metal detectors. My backpack was
searched & I was told I couldn't carry food. They showed me a wastebasket to
toss out my delicious purple grapes & 2 slices of homemade whole wheat bread.
Since we got there early, I went outside & stowed my lil doggie bags around the
corner of the building on a pile of yellow timbers. I told a cop I was doing it.
He was buying T-shirts from a vendor for his kids.
Clusters of black-uniformed police officers occupied every building entry point.
Inside, I took a snapshot of a Secret Security man in a bright orange tie.
Two days of wonderful excitement for yours truly.
Our
Coffeeshop Gig on Sunday, every seat filled &
the drinks were great, was the best one ever. I do say that every time. This
time tho it went seamlessly, from one entertainer to the next. We had everyone
talking to one another, exchanging phone numbers. Each performer was satisfied
with his or her performance.
I was pleased b/c I only read one poem & didn't have to fill in by reading the
400 other poems I'd brot in. Mitch Davis, food columnist for The Trend & a
retired air-a-nautical engineer read 3 poems including a showstopper called
Women in Airports.
Ray Naylor, a key figure on the Philly folk scene, stunned the audience with his
brilliant performance which included his
Willie the Bipolar Bear.
Kathy, a children's librarian, rolled out her musical talents on voice,
keyboards & accordion, & had us all singing along.
Early on, I was overjoyed when my friend Walter strode in. I pronounced him Best
Dressed Man in the room - at 89 he's nattily dressed possibly b/c he must keep
up with his younger girlfriend. Go Walt go!
He told an amazing story about possessing original
Woody Guthrie letters which I saw agape at his home, encased in
plastic covers. Guthrie (1912-67), a political activist & author of more than
1000 songs, is best known for his This Land is Your Land, this land is my land.
Thanks to the Internet, we can listen to 55 seconds of
pure joy right here.
Other performers included 2 teenage boys who'd been practicing in the parking
lot for their Bob Dylan song
The amazing Linda reciting 2 poems. She's as prolific as is the burgeoning
spring
Here's what Brian wrote me about the event. Just pretend it's a review by the
Times.
The talent took me by surprise. Each bit was special. The lady on the piano and
accordion was great! They all exposed their inner self without embarrassment.
They even pulled people off of the street. The singing doctor has a lot of
chutzpah. She treats people in a very serious way and she showed her soul in
song. Some people find psychiatric doctors to be the enemy and show them little
respect and here is a woman showing her soft side in public. Amazing.
Yes, Pam London Barrett was indeed amazing. We all encouraged her to make a
demo. Her able accompaniests were Phil & Rob. The 4 of us went out afterward to
the downward spiraling Mandarin Garden whose motto is "Great Service, Lousy
Food." The wall-to-wall eaters didn't seem to notice.
Pam works at Norristown State Hospital - Make your first visit your last - I was
there after my first manic/psychotic episode & made it my first order of
business never to return.
Pam mentioned our show to one of the Norristown State chaplains, Sister Gerri,
who walked into the Coffeeshop. The second she walked in I introduced her, tho
I'd never met her, racking my brain to remember her name, but the Lord was with
me & I did.
Ruth, said Pam, I didn't realize you knew her.
I interrogated, nicely, many audience members. People are so interesting! I got
shy Mrs. F to come forward & tell us about her late dad - oh how we love our
fathers - who trained to be a chef in Norway & worked for yrs at the Germantown
Cricket Club.
Sister Gerri shared a miracle story with us which we'll get her to tell when
she's a guest speaker at our group. Do you think she'd let me borrow one of her
habits? I'd love to wear it & see if I behave less outrageously than I do now.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
ENCOUNTER AT THE BUS STOP WHILE WAITING TO SEE
FRIDA
KAHLO AT THE ART MUSEUM
Rain poured down as we stood at the busstop, an unexpected torrent, but the
roof sheltered us, a group of you, about my height, from across the Pacific. I
tried to pick up a familiar word - maybe Liberty Bell or Art Museum – but
failed. How I dreamed of lands far away and wild, of unfamiliar food on my
tongue, as sprightly as the once rare kiwi fruit exploding in my mouth.
When you had trouble finding the right bus, I couldn’t help but inquire, my
hands fluttering like birds to assist me, asking slowly Are you from Korea?
China, they said bowing and smiling, six or seven of you, dressed like us and
handbags too. Perhaps we can be friends, I thought, until the bus comes. I would
not tell you that in fourth grade I wrote a forty-one page report on China that
garnered me an A+. Nor would I say at an earlier age I had dug in the powdery
brown earth to find China, a folk game I played when I was four and would steal
my mother’s best steak knife to dig and heard one time the high-pitched sounds
of the Chinamen speaking, though no one believed me.
Where in China, I asked, Hong Kong? Beijing you said. Ah, Beijing, I said with
the composure of Confucius. We are happy you are hosting the Olympics, I said
bowing and smiling in my pink sweatshirt with a hole in one pocket.
Just then a blue bus arrived and your leader stepped out to ask its driver a
question I could not hear. The driver shook his head and the bus rolled on. It
was then I played my trump card and attempted to educate you. Your eyes went
blank. You could not grasp our city has many buses, that apartments have their
own bus, tourists have their own bus, and the city of Philadelphia has its own
bus. To you all buses were as alike as the uniforms your grandfathers wore in
the Cultural Revolution.
Your leader wore an identification tag that said University of Pennsylvania on
the ribbon around his neck. What are you studying, I asked.
Finance, said the leader.
Ah finance, I said bowing my head and looking at the glass and silver Comcast
building glistening with rain above your heads. Finance! You are taking all of
our money, I joked, my laughter blending in with the gentle rain on the roof.
But that is all right. I don’t mind.
The leader turned to the others, a hurried conference call, and concluded in the
time it takes to shoot the starter’s gun at the Olympics, what to do.
He waved to me as did the others while I watched them walking away in the rain.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Welcome back to the States,
Sarah Lynn Daughter Deming! They just got back from Athens where she
& hubby
Ethan discovered The
AG'ora was filled with energy, the place where
Plato and Socrates walked. Tell Ethan, I said to Sarah, to write a piano
composition about it.
Honk if you like Philip Glass!
Scuse me, gotta take a sip of my yummy lo-sodium V8. Can you see me wiping my
mustache?
Oy veh! Yesterday was Gramma Lily's birthday. I forgot to mention it to my
85-yr-old mom. Happy 105th birthday Gram. She began getting dementia at 84, possibly
cuz she lost her major life purposes: being a mom, a busybody (like her
granddaughter Ruthie), baking pecan tarts & chocolate kuchen, and sewing.
Now I have to give my boyfriend things to darn. We went to Sears & bot him a
sewing machine. Since he reads - & understands - computer manuals at his
job
- he read the instrux for the Kenmore & patches up his close now. I gave him 3
pair of black sox. Sew what? He looks so cute sitting on the floor operating his
sewing machine.
Believers think that heavenly spirits guide us in our lives. Can Gramma Lily
have orchestrated my Life with Scott?
Was on the phone for 45 minutes with the NY Times's
Brent Bowers. Readers of his column were urged
to write in w/their questions about their small businesses. He calls us
Entrepreneurs & has a wrin a
book. My question was How can a penniless
do-gooder like myself earn more money.
Certainly not by writing yet another Letter to the Editor. See below.
I told him all the amazing extracurricular activities I do to make money such as
my next Breadmaking Class - for adults - at the Abington Library. It'll help pay
for the new windows this average ordinary housewife MUST get cuz it's getting
hot! Esp. when she's baking a bread - smells fab! - wait'll Scott wakes up &
smells it. He'll swoon. The butter is softening on the kitchen table.
Thanks to Melvin Hill who lives in AZ with wife Cheryl, & dogs who lope in the
open fields - Sweet Pea & Sadie - for correcting the spelling of Colombia in the
below poem. My dementia hasn't hit yet. I blog so my mind don't sog.
National Poetry Month was celebrated with a gathering of poets at the Elkins
Park Library April 9. Hosted by poet-businessman Arthur Krasnow, the evening
featured half a dozen readers plus the star attraction Joyce Meyers. After her
divorce many years ago, this petite silver-haired attorney set off on a journey
of self-discovery. Under the azure-blue skies of Tuscany where “you learn to
peel yourself like an onion,” she found the perspective that comes with time and
distance.
If Meyers’ poems left lingering truths, young Josh Cooper had the packed room in
stitches as he described the fuzzy world – “an impressionist painting” - when he
was not wearing his eyeglasses. Frank Marrone, a former Marine who fought in
Vietnam, and whose son is currently serving in Afghanistan, read a confessional
poem revealing his tender side. “I am the soul of a warrior, I pray for peace.”
Everything is fodder for a poem. Krasnow, the host, read his verses about the
humble toothpaste tube and the different styles of squeezing it, his, of course
being the best. When the clock struck nine, Krasnow ushered his poets into the
warm night air to bid them adieu until the next reading in July. To get on his
email list write him at Atomic at dca. net. Poetry lovers may also wish to stop
at the Abington Public Library where their
display case is filled with the work of local
poets.
OMG! I just clicked onto the display case link. It's unbelievably fantastic.
Keep clicking on the first photo & you'll see the entire display case in detail.
Claudia brot rocks & shells from Maine. The books are from her own library. The
eyeglasses are mine since I got contax, one for each eye. I think they're giving
me early dementia.
Carolyn's prayerbook is on top. See the nun?
My father's tiny Jewish Bible, from WW2 when he was a Marine, is in there with
the caption: Did you know the Bible & its rhythms are examples of our first
written poetry?
Monday, April 7, 2008
Stephen, thanks for thinkin of me with this
Poetry link from one of our fave online
establishments.
While visiting, I checked in on this interesting room about
Meditation, my new friend.
Do stop at the Abington Library to see the Display Case we installed in
honor of Natl Poetry Month. I linked it up with the artist's condition,
as many fellow poets suffer from mood disorders.
Finally finished my poem Evelyn's Eyes
&
read it to Scott
who said, It's so much better. He's actually learning to be a critic, & a
good one. When he left this a.m. I stood up from the computer & said, Thank you
being my boyfriend.
Thank you for being my woman, he said with his sleepy eyes. He works at night
like the owls, raccoon, red fox,
skunk & bat, though he's actually a diurnal man.
He's my boyfriend in steel-tip boots.
Remember I said to throw passels of info about yourself to people b/c you
never know the outcome? I was telling my neighbors
my
son/law was playing jazz downtown & they invited me to their Jazz
Vespers service in Ambler. We drove down together last nite where I heard
xtraordinary jazz, & snippets of a sermon - not too much, thank God - that spoke
to everyone & excluded no one, not even Jews like me. If I were lookin for a
church or synagogue I'd join this one. Wonder if they perform
bat mitzvahs on 62-yr-old women?
I carry Evelyns Eyes with me & peek at it when I get up my nerve. Then something
awful about it will leap out at me & I find a quick pen & jot down the revised
version. Then I print it out again. Must see it before me in printed version.
The best time to revise is after I've slept.
Woke up at 7, read it, grabbed a pen & marked it up like mad, typed it up,
read it to Scott (these things must be read aloud), fixed it again & here it is.
There will be no more corrections cuz in 10 minutes this computer will be loaded
on the backseat of my automobile to be taken to Doylestown for repairs or
possibly I'll buy a new one. I told Bill on the phone I just bot a new Dell
Inspiron laptop & I hate it.
Said Bill, we don't sell Dell around here.
Goodbye faithful fans goodbye goodbye goodbye. Can you see me throwing air
kisses to y'all? Mwah!
Oh, jeez, I'm just like my mother. Ya try to get outa the door at her house &
she always thinks of one more thing. Read this blog to
Save the European Room at the Library of Congress & then take action
as I did.
Mwah! Gee, I hope that's not construed as a bribe.
EVELYN’S EYES
we cannot go in
people’s houses
the child says
turning
away from my door
newly up from the
streets of
colombia
everyone a relative
evelyn’s parents
slip out before dawn
to mop
and push
wastebaskets on wheels
the grayhaired grandmother
- we’ve seen them crying over mudslides
on the evening news
- minds the kids
and
cooks in silver kitchens
like our own
no mountains in the backyard
though an occasional marbling of cloud
at sunset
lit a certain way
summons
the far land
grandmother gathers
the little girl close and
yearns for the ancient tongue
of her people
evelyn has learned the
alphabet of these affluent trees
and the rhyme of the daffodil
as
the innocence of her round cheeks
calls to me
a lonely american
her sandals
remind me of my son’s
thirty years ago
before he vanished into adulthood
and left me childless
Is that my boy
striding before me
gathering dandelions
for evelyn
Mommy, can Evelyn come over
as her head
turns toward our door.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
We do love our daughters, don't we
Stephen?
Well, my
daughter is in Athens now. She began traveling
while in high school as an exchange student. In my green address book are her
various addresses wrin in her firm upright handwriting with the confidence of a
squirrel stepping out on the high wire.
Just solved a 3-day dilemma. Have been inundated - more than ever - with
requests for help from ND members. On line 5 of our message machine I recorded
an announcement that I'm a psychotherapist in private practice & will be happy
to give folks a consultation for a fee - or they can contact me at our next ND
meeting.
Murray, co-leader of our Family Member Group, has been of incredible help to me.
I value his common sense, people-knowledge & all-important ability to detect
bullshit.
Fortunately, he doesn't know my middle initials are BSA. Which is the most
truthful thing I've ever wrin & the cause of my galaxy-renowned fame.
Who would you rather be? Warren Buffet? Only goggle his name if you want
your moves to
be further recorded. When I hit goggle all my
gogglings are paraded before me, without my permission. I do not live in the
past & don't wanna be reminded of all the Ws I've looked up.
I've become diligent in performing my daily ten minute meditations & wonder if
it's helping me think more clearly & remove the detritus in my spongelike brain.
Yesterday Scott & I went on our weekly nature walk, this time to spectacular
meadowlands, where the chorus of birds penetrated the coming twilight with a
primordial stacatto symphony that deeply drew me in.
What can I do with these feelings, the artist within me cried. Somehow I must
find a way to join them.
I'm gonna meditate, I said to Scott.
He pointed to a bench. We walked over. Not even thinking, I sat down, closed my
eyes, relaxed my hands and body, tilted my head back, and entered the world of
nature.
All was still but for the sounds of my breathing and the chatter of the birds.
Coming up the hill Scott spied two BLUEBIRDS watching our ascent. I looked for
feathers. What a feather in my cap if I'd find a bluebird feather, to add to my
collection, displayed on my wall & in vases around the house. Instead, large
white feathers sprayed the ground where a whitebird had been killed by a
marrauding hawk.
No blood just feathers.
Sitting on the bench, eyes closed, the birds seemed to draw me in as one of
their own. Had they truly accepted me? Or had my utter devotion allowed me to
think myself a songbird, sitting beside them on a branch, opening my mouth and
singing.
My feathers kept me so warm.
Best interview I've ever heard from a novelist - which I passed on to my
novelwriting class - is this un where Marty interviewed
Menil Suri, author of Death of Vishnu. 52
minutes long.
The parallels to the way my novel is evolving assured me I'm on the right track.
One's whole life experience is fodder for the novel. Info is packed in our brain
like the dehydrated food carried aboard space shuttles.
Hey, did you read Ken Koch's Poem of the Day today
On
Psychoanalysis. Been there. Done that. Felt that. Time to move on. I
did. Now I'm here with you, Dear Reader.
Did you know I used to be addicted to Lake Galena? I use that word advisedly
since there are no 12-Step programs for boaters. However, since I got my nature
fix yesterday at The Meadowlands, I'm fantasizing returning again today.
As I said in my talk, My spiritual temple is the outdoors, the vast expanse
of the sky, whether grey or blue, the tumbling clouds, the stars and planets
which wink over the human family, and the songbirds who seem blithely unaware of
everything but their families and pulling up the next succulent worm.
Stay tuned for my newest poem:
EVELYN's EYES
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
To save time here's an E I mailed out yesterday:
Jason, thanks for the link to
Poem of the Day. I loaded it on the homepage of
my website under Announcements www.newdirectionssupport.org. Am also including
it when I install a library display case tomorrow for April is Poetry Month at
the Abington, PA, library, a suburb of Philly, where I live.
I myself am an award-losing poet, part of the cadre of people who suffer
from "the artist's condition," as I call those of us with manic depression &
depression.
I wonder, Jason, if you might do as you've done in previous years & allow
comments on the Poem of a Day. It did get a bit rowdy, I'll admit, but it was an
awful lot of fun.
Yours in great books & a Democrat in office come November,
Ruth Z Deming
Well, of course, Jason never wrote me back; he has more important things to do
than sign autographs for a devoted fan.
Claudia & I spent 5 hours installing the case,
which was favorably reviewed by former Montco Poet Laureate Deb
Fries who wrote: Nice job,
Ruthie!
That made me feel so good I wanted to sustain my high so I wrote her
back: I'll probly blog about this later tonight after I make my delicious Jell-O
Cook n Serve Chocolate pudding made with soy milk. Yuk! Actually, the dull soy
flavor is nullified by the chocolate which as we know is very good for our
health.
Claudia introduced me to an xtraordinary poem by Elizabeth Bishop titled One
Art.
Click here & listen to the poet read it. Her
voice is as light & airy as one of the pebbles and seashells we used as props in
the Display Case.
Turn left at the entrance & you'll find it. Couldn't resist writing this lil
commentary, which I equated w/those well-wrin informative museum captions:
Did you know that many poets – including the late Jane Kenyon (see Let
Evening Come below) have The Artist’s Condition, also known as manic
depression (bipolar disorder) or depression. These highly treatable brain
illnesses often confer immense creativity on their bearers.
If interested in learning more, please take a brochure on the nearby table from
the largest and best (we think) support group in the Philadelphia area for
people with mood disorders and their loved ones – New Directions of Glenside.
Claudia & I had such fun together, each bringing treasured objects to add to the
case. I brot my Dad's tiny Bible he used during WW2 w/the caption: Did you know
much of our earliest poetry comes from The Bible? I opened it to one of my fave
books Ecclesiastes by Quoleth the Preacher. Substitute the drastic word
meaningless for vanity.
Click.
Whilst reeading this at the library, I thot I remembered Jesus quoting part of
the text. However, some quick reserach showed that Jesus did NOT quote 5 books
of the
Old Testament as they didn't serve his firm
efforts of reform.
As usual, I had no idea when I began this blog where I would end up. Is there
Calvinistic predestination? Am I a puppet in God's hands. Does he hear my
supplications & hosannas of gratitude?
Only the daffodil knows. I plucked it from Scott's garden & showed it to him
when he answered the door. It roosts right here on my desk & I look at it for
inspiration. What? I should look at my Kleenex box for inspiration? Or my water
bottle with a twist of lemon?
Inspiration attacks you beween the eyes like a misaimed tennis ball. At the
Giant thother evening, some displaced lobsters strolled in their refugee camp
while awaiting slaughter. I stared & said hello to one particular large fellow
who boldly met my gaze. Like the Mona Lisa he seemed to follow me when I moved
my head around.
You know what I'd like to do, I said to tattooed Tyrone when he came out behind
the counter?
I'd like to take him home, put a leash on him & walk him around the block. My
new pet.
Why not? said Tyrone.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
I don't know about you,
Stephen, but I'm getting awfully excited about
April is National
Poetry Month.
First off, the word April is such a welcome word. It takes me at least a month
to shake winter out of my system. In April, my mind still thinks it's winter. I
can be standing looking at the budding dogwood & not properly realize we're
transitioning into the next season.
Fer-shtay?
Can you imagine your physician asking you this question: What about your
spirituality? I nearly fell outa my chair. Scuse me while I go meditate on the
couch right now.
When the timer rang, I opened my eyes & found myself here on earth.
Read this obit of an
amazing 65-year-old man, a Cambodian who thru
sheer tenacity cleverness & good luck escaped the Khmer Rouge & became a freedom
fighter & photographer. After his grueling ordeal he died today of pancreatic
cancer. Why, I asked myself did he die.
Every single organism competes for life. Under god's watchful eye, equal
opportunity is afforded to everything with the spark of life inside.
Question is: What is Life? Possibly we might even say Life is God. Hmmm. I think
I like that.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
The beauty of the world pierces me. If only I could express it like the
new poet laureate of Montgomery County, PA,
where I live and work and love and write.
Sometimes like now I gasp with the beauty of the new day.
Sunshine spills thru the parlor window splashing its merriment and billion-year
joy onto my Easter lily, my climbing red amyrillis, and an upside-down stinkbug
who has breathed his last & chosen to die on my windowsill surrounded by the
comfort of the living world.
Right now, you, too, can
save one hundred dollars just by sitting at your desk like me. On my head is
a $9 concoction of feisty hair dye
guaranteed to improve my
appearance when I say good morning to the
robins & feel the grass beneath my naked feet.
The birdbath is frozen this morning but not the watering can.
The Laws of Physics! Now there's a good title for a poem.
Pretending to scratch my itching scalp with a Bic.
Scott drove me to take my car in for a noille change. I was sooo disapptd my
gas-station boyfriends Bob & Adam weren't there. When Scott drove me home we sat
in his drive (I married the boy next door). It was so warm & delightful in the
car I dint wanna get out.
I think I'll meditate in here, I said. Scott came w/me yesterday to my new
doctor, the homeopathic physician Merizalde who spoke at our group. He
prescribed meditation. Plus the newest book by Herbert Benson "The
Breakout Principle," which just happens to be lying on the husband's
side of the bed, thanks to a gift of books & moolah from Susan's Sister.
Meditation helps everything, particularly stress, creativity, & athleticism.
Wonder if Benson interviewed musicians.
Peeking over at Scott
& catching his green eyes which darted like a hummingbird into mine, I
placed my hands in lap, stared straight ahead at his unblooming dogwood which
the couple before him nursed back to life, and closed my eyes.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Long deep breaths. Brush away
any thoughts that appear.
At first, it's easy. No thoughts appear on the blank screen into your vast
mysterious interior. Then suddenly Merizalde swims into view. Hello, I say.
Goodbye. Back to breathing.
Oops! Here comes another person. This time it's the new poet laureate receiving
the happy phone call she's won. I wanna continue with this thot but I say
goodbye. Gotta follow the rules.
Oh no! In marches a problem on bird-like feet. Today I've gotta tackle a
strategic problem with my novel. Yes, yes, I mumble. We'll talk later.
I check on my hands in my lap. Are they relaxed? No peeking. Keep eyes closed.
Time's up, sez Scott. You're 10 minutes is over.
Are you kidding? That was 10 minutes, not five?
Would I lie to you? he sez.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Our gal Thursday will do ANYTHING to write, if it captures her interest,
comme ca:
To the Editor:
For a free paper, The Trend offers a rich variety of articles, must-attend
community events [they list our ND meetings which Ada sends in], and colorful
ads which indeed show the trends of our times.
A favorite columnist is Mitch Davis and his in-depth restaurant reviews. I
particularly enjoyed his March 26 column on Ming’s Korean-style Chinese food in
Hatboro. I’ve visited Ming’s before, was impressed by both their food and
gracious service, and was delighted to learn the story behind the operation.
That Ming owned a shop in Seoul made perfect sense as it did his serving the
then president of Korea.
Mitch Davis is a true adventurer both in his vivid writing and in his expansive
palate. Now, do I still have time to run out and order some spicy noodle soup
with “succulent representatives of the seafood world?”
Not only did I mail it to The editor but sent it to Mitch as well. He'll be
reading a poem at our Coffeeshop Celebration
on Sunday, April 13.
Y'all come out & see us & bring your handy donation!
After The Mall Talk, I went to the gym & plunged into
the baths.
For me, it's a social occasion like everything else.
Gloria, who I've consecrated Queen of the Baths, lowered herself in while I
squinted to make sure it was her, uh, er, she. Thanks,
Willie.
Then Ari got in. Hmmm. How'd I start talkin to him. What was my icebreaker?
Great bod, Ari? No, I just thot it to myself, tho truth be told all I saw was a
large blob of caucasian flesh studded with hairs.
You must be wearing a waterproof watch, I said, as he slugged me for
intruding on his privacy. Turns out Ari is an Israeli-born Republican who is
voting for McCain for all the wrong reasons.
Look, vote for whomever you want. Just get the facts straight. Ari told me that
Obama is a Muslim. Obviously the Rev. Wright comments did not penetrate this
white caucasian man's psyche.
No, no, I said. His middle name Hussein is a Muslim name. The dude himself is a
Christian.
I waited for his Captain of the Debate Team reply.
None. Here's what I learned at the bathhouse. People can be oh-so-nice,
friendly, splash their big hairy chest with water, but if they choose to be
hard-headed and in denial of the true facts, there's no stopping them. I
immediately shut my mouth, knowing there was no convincing the man. I thot to
myself, What if this man were on a jury & a man's life was on trial & Ari
refused to look truth in the eye?
(In another post please remind me to skip from the bathhouses to Into the Sauna.
I have many surreal sauna thots. I met a lovely sauna woman who became the
physical incarnation of one of my novel's minor characters.)
Then I stepped lightly outa the whirlpool & went for my 25-minute swim. For some
reason the area of my brain that was sensated during the swim was my time at
Hahnemann when getting my masters. Up popped the entire class. And me defending
my thesis. My mom made danish for the occasion. You had to bring em food plus
coffee. I was cheap even then & made it myself & carried it in a blue carafe.
Man, was I nervous. I was on psychotropic drugs but ya know what? Not a one of
em cared. My thesis was 75 pages, typed up on my kids' Apple computer. I had a
brief psychotic episode while working on it, no biggie, just popped my Haldol &
came to my senses.
I always try to figger out the etiology of things, the whys. Why did my
Hahnemann memories pop up? Praps b/c I gave my business card to a troubled
family member for me to do a home intervention. Said Mom, they all blame me.
Said I, it's no one's fault. You're a family & you all work together. The
therapists you have are casting blame when we've gotta get y'all to work
together, a team with the same goals.
I remember the first fam therapy I did. A husb & wife came to see me at the
agency. Actually they weren't married. I was sitting in my chair with rollers &
I rolled that chair up to them & talked to them forcibly. I watched myself with
glee. I had no idea what I was doing but they liked it. Someone was giving them
guidance. They knew all along what they needed (a good spanking) but they needed
a so-called expert.
Ya know what? A paid therapist must comport herself like a pro but really all
you need is a good field of neutrality & an ability to see, as best you're able,
the omniscient truth & then speak your mind.
What I really wanted to talk about here is my new fantasy husband who is about
to walk in the door. His name is Mark Bittman & he's the videotaped Chef of the
NY Times.
Not only does he cook for me but he does the dishes as well. Here he comes now.
He can't see me, I've put on my invisible cloak, & he's pushing open the front
door, shaking out his raincoat & calling Roooo-theee!
I'll be down in a moment, hun, I call, as I finish typing the last paragraf.
Now I'm skipping down the stairway. Your drink'll be ready in a sec, hun, I say,
pouring him a nice glass of Pinot Noir, in a fancy
Orrefors stem glass I swiped from the Swedish
Museum yesterday.
Do I need to let you know I'm kidding? I actually think Hillary with her Bosnia
statement tried to joke her way out of her misspoken statement. Trouble is,
she's not a joker so it fell flat.
Gotta run. Mark Bittman is waiting for me on the couch. He wants to clink
glasses with me for a nightcap. He brot me a doggy-bag of his shrimp dinner with
yummy black bean sauce.
Mom, ya got any food in the fridge? When at Mother's, we always eat. She's
eighty-five, almost as old as my deceased father, who's 86 already. My the time
flies when you're dead.
I wonder if I remind myself of
Donald Barthelme. Sarah & I used to read the now-dead man's stories
in the New Yorker. Dan was off in his bedroom playing with Legos. Scuse me now
while I tuck the kids in bed. Oops! I forgot they's all grown up.
Coming, Mark, darling!
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Stephen, you're early!
Did you read my poem Homecoming on my previous post?
Today's Ada's Outing was one of the
best ever! Murray, you missed learning the colors of the Swedish
flag, same colors as these
two
websites (oops! they got rid of yellow & switched to a more
sophisticated orange). My son works at the first company & sez they're
designing a new one as we speak. Without any help from
Ben Shalom Bernanke or my forthcoming tax
refund which'll go straight into the bank, I helped out the economy by
purchasing a postcard I'll send to
Our Claudia b/c she's helping me do an April is
Poetry Month Display Case at the Abington Library.
Like my previous one 2 yrs ago, I'll feature talented local poets - sorry,
Mare, you're from Provincetown - and also tie
it in with The Artist's Condition, a term I coined for us talented folks with
manic depression or depression (bipolar disorder has the distasteful word
disorder in it which I'm not fond of).
I buried my most recent poem at the bottom of yesterday's entry. Will someone
please read it & tell me they like it? (Remember Abby Hoffman's book, Please
steal this book.)
Anyway my term artist's condition took off like an Edsel. Oh, darn you
young people anyway, not knowing what an Edsel is. Look it up.
In the gift shop I bot the book
Flicka Ricka & Dicka which I read as a kid.
Those are the Americanized names. Am gonna read it before I go to bed tonite,
followed up by my newest book on tape The Big Sleep. Scott paid me the highest
compliiment & said my novel in progress sounds like Chandler. I have a scene in
a diner where Pulaski, spurned by his wife who would rather sleep with a pile of
magazines, attempts to pick up his first chick after divorce. Chandler would
call her a broad. But I'm hip, dude, I'm hip.
Oh, glorious moment! Hmmm, who was my first post-divorce boyfriend.
Russell, I guess. He taught psych at Temple U &
stayed with me after my first manic/psychotic episode. Back on my feet again
after a week, I eventually was a guest speaker in his classroom. Russell's
phenomenal support was one of the reasons I recovered so fast & immediately went
back to my job as a freelance writer.
Terribly important as we know to hang around supportive people. Here's what Bill
wrote me today: On March 18th, or thereabouts, ND had 2 guest speakers, Dr's
Chris and Lauren Caffery. I was very impressed and intrigued...
I called them and scheduled a consultation, which included a written and oral
review of my symptoms and a complete battery of reflex, balance and movement
tests. These were to check the functioning of various areas of the brain...
So far, these people have spent more time with me than any mental health
professionals. They are courteous, helpful and generally seem to care
about helping me improve my mood naturally. Today, Chris did some exercises with
me that he wants me to do in order to stimulate certain neurological functions.
I'd be happy to prepare a short summary for a meeting in the near future, if
that is something that might be helpful. Just let me know.
Bill will share his story next week following my 15-minute talk on Rx for
Success: Diversify your mental portfolio.
What about this glorious true-spring weather as we breeze our way into April?
Here's my fave things: the budding forsythia in the backyard which I brot in,
placed in a vahz & some have actually sprouted, the deep green crawling fingers
of leaves that mean my red poppies have pushed themselves above the earth's
crust, my backyard compost heap brimming with banana peels, grapefruit rinds,
grape stems, all on a bed of dried autumn leaves which commence the decay, the
vast panorama of lawn and dirt which in one month will be planted in expectation
of another year of azaleas and green ferns and ooh dirt under the fingernails.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008 -
fabulous poem, bartleby, & a nice commentary about Bush's Wars who no one
wants to hear about anymore. The Times, in memoriam of the FIFTH anniv. of
Bush's Iraq invasion, is featuring captivating profiles of soldiers who lost
their lives - one by one. These are real people, not statistics, who unlike any
other war in American history othan Vietnam, whose tragedies spell out: The End
does not justify the means. Senseless death. Senseless cruelty.
Listen to this powerful
TruthOut video about Winter Soldiers (great
name). Veterans opposed to the wars.
Names are very important. Always use a person's name when speaking to them.
I'm preparing my talk to ND members on Rx for Success: Diversify your mental
portfolio.
You should also limit your portfolio considerably. Get rid of the riff raff.
Hence my note this a.m. to a Vetnam Veteran:
Frank, I wrote. I like you very much but I delete all your email forwards
b/c I DON'T HAVE TIME TO READ THEM. Please remove me from your list. thanks,
ruth
While Scott was sitting here this a.m., Judy called. He & I have so lil time
together I usually don't answer phonecalls while he's here. I did walk him to
the train last nite so we could be together. He lends me his flashlite on the
way home. We walk thru my yard to the station.
On the way back, I shone the flashlite onto my nite garden. I love when the
daffodils are about to burst. Adam dug this for me, I said to myself as I looked
at the large coffin- shaped bed. The fancy catalog iris are coming up. When I
worked as a therapist, Linda Rooney & I split a pkg of iris rhizomes. Where are
you now, Linda. Her boss, "Irv Rosenbaum, MD," a revered fixture at the place,
was ignominously fired by a hatchetwoman specially brot in, Linda H, a lovely
woman, truly, who wept after she did her duty to her company. I saw her mascara
running down her cheeks.
Oh, the incompetence we had at that agency, which also fostered the
"professionally mentally ill patient." Once you're labeled, you stay that way.
The thot was: Once labeled, they'll never get better. They should never work.
Keep em on welfare. Keep signing the papers to keep em on the dole.
When I have time, remind me to tell you a great story of when I refused to sign
a man up for welfare. The entire agency nearly came crumbling down. Being on
welfare supports thousands & thousands of people, not only the recipient. A
truly ineffective corrupt system.
Can't rightly remember the man's name but curiously I met him a week after my
denial on the banks of the Neshaminy Creek, I on my contemplative lunch hour, he
b/c he had nowhere to go, nothing to do.
And of course I had manic depression myself so I saw what these people were
capable of if only they didn't believe the prevailing notions.
Our Randy, who works as a peer specialist, sez the model has changed. I sure
hope so.
Judy said she loved my blog about Obama. Both of us are diehard Hillary fans who
are gallantly trying to transfer our allegiance to Obama should he win. She &
her hubby will attend an Elton John concert at Radio City Music Hall on behalf
of Hillary. Our Judy is very active in politix.
I told her that I was happy she liked my political blogging b/c I came to
politix late in life, about 4 yrs ago, at the tender age of 58. I told her she's
a great role model for her yng son to see his mother so passionate about our
society & her compassion towards all.
Am gonna talk about expanding our interests as we evolve in life
at our next mtg. Hope you'll be there! Hey, maybe I'll have someone
introduce me! I think Obama is busy that nite.
Yesterday was a totally wasted day. Meaning No Writing Done. Since it's Tax
Season, I needed to get all my financial affairs in order. I was on the floor
most of the day organzing my portable financial filebox, making 800-number
phonecalls, & decided that as a single woman I need to LOVE - not hate -
finances - and learn the difference between an IRA & a Roth IRA.
I wanna be taken for
Suze Orman.
I am not a spender. I've always saved money. When I was manic the most
expensive thing I ever bot was a $25 wristwatch at Sears. I overpaid. The most
extravagant purchase I ever made was last year a pair of $150 earrings at Toll
Brothers Jewelers. Under the watchful eye of the jeweler, I thot they were
gorgeous. That the earrings would complete me. Now I can't stand them. I tried
to put them in my ears just now for verisimilitude but I can't find the leftie.
But lemme tell you something. Not all the money in the world can make me happy.
Nor all the love. I was blest with the god-given talent to write. And if I can't
do dat, well, I'll jess sit around eating grapes n peanuts until I remember how
to write again.
Poignant
Times story about the forgotten suitcases of
the mentally ill after they're locked up. I said to myself, you've gotta write a
poem about this.
HOMECOMING
Seventy years was a long wait
but I’m still the girl
with the long legs
and rosebud mouth
when they locked me up
how I gazed through the iron grates
year after year
waiting for my release
a prison like no other
we had napoleon in one corner
sister rose in another
I was the empress
josephine
in fine clothes
no one could see
for we wore
green gowns
starched stiff
from the laundry
tails hanging
through the bars
I’d wait for the
robin in spring
fat orange breast
sat on my gutter,
and snow flurries
floating on the pink parasol
I carried high
walking in the courtyard
ballerina slippers
leaving fish trails.
The Empress was always gay
my furnace burned within
with dark smoke.
Or tried to be
during my lockdown
of seventy-one years
dad drove there
in our family hudson
black like an undertaker
nighttime
I thought it was a southern mansion
new home for daddy’s belle
he shook his head
as he gave them
my suitcase
see you soon
he said driving away
did they come to visit?
my memory is dim
when they set me free
when I walked through the numbered gates
I beheld the sky
my long white hair fell
upon my shrunken breasts
my knees wobbled
I fell to the ground
and kissed my freedom
all I wanted
was a room of my own
noiseless
and to sit and look out the window
at the climbing roses
growing higher and higher
reaching the sky
while my pink parasol
rested unharmed
at the place I call home.
Monday, March 24, 2008 (Vatican
time)
Here's what
Stephen said about the below blog entry: I read
your somewhat non-conventional Easter sermon and came away energized... I did
wonder if Jesus is somewhat amused by your theology that is truer to his
teachings than so many of his Christian children running around with their
unamusing interpretations of his intentions ...
In which case this blog transcends into The Brag.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Pope Benedict & I both wish you a Happy Easter. Watched a fab PBS-TV show,
sev'l yrs old, on the many faces of Christ as portrayed in art. Narrators
included Julie Harris (now 82) & Mel Gibson, now disgraced.
I've always loved Christ & his bold teachings. Wouldn't it indeed be wonderful
to meet Him in person? While swimming yesterday, I asked God to let me see his
face. Then I popped up my head & saw the b'ful blue tile of the swimming pool.
Later that day, coming home from mom's, I glanced over to the still-there
farmfields & saw the massive sun beaming thru a fanfare of clouds spinning
downward onto the meadow & said, That's God for sure.
I wonder tho had I never been taught about God if it's in our genes to believe.
It's doubtful animals believe in god.
Was taking the remains of breakfast out to the compost heap this a.m. -
eggshells, papery-thin onion skins, clementine rinds, lemon seeds - and I said
hello to my deadfriend Simon. Are you still around, I asked him.
Then I grabbed a giant tree branch that had fallen on the ground & tossed it
into the lil woods behind my house.
How bout a sign? I asked him.
Just then a pointed knob from the branch pricked my palm & made it bleed.
Thanks a lot, I moaned, sucking out the blood.
Wonder if Simon would've liked the stewed apples I made for b'fast. Here, lemme
eat some while I'm typing. YUM! Into the pot along with cut-up apples, I spooned
a large dollop (don't you just love that word) of... coconut oil.
It is not liquid. It comes in a jar from Natures Harvest & looks like Crisco.
You can spoon it into your mouth & it tastes like warm ice cream. Am waiting to
hear if
my dtr, a former pastry chef, uses it herself.
Her dad & his wife are now visiting from OK. He was here visiting son Dan but I
missed my chance to see him. Didn't set the alarm & woke up at 7:30 a.m. when
his train left for NY. I still have his jacket from when he visited sev'l yrs
ago.
I married him b/c of his huge intelligence & Crockett, Texas farmboy good looks.
Today he has a swath of handsome white hair spilling down to his waist. I wish!
He's an elder in the Presby church. Go Dad go! I'm a non-entity in the Jewish
church, uh, temple. Also, I freely admit I have agnostic leanings.
Searching, inquiring, & curiosity are some of my lesser known middle names. I am
positive about NOTHING. I'm not even sure if my son's cat, Xena, who they put to
sleep on Thursday, is actually dead, but may instead have gone to another
parallel universe.
Whew! I'm glad I got that out!
I've wrin a series of Christ poems about him dying on the Cross - Jews can love
Christ, ya know - but they are soooo depressing I daren't publish them.
While eating my veggied eggs & apples for b'fast with green-eyed Scott across
the table, I had an idea & grabbed a handy pen. Rx for Success, I wrote.
Diversity. Am gonna give that talk at our next mtg. Check the sked on the front
page.
A newcomer in the group emailed me. She wanted to know some bipolar chatlines. I
discouraged her. If you need to fill your time, I said, develop some new
interests. Get out in the world. There's plenty of free things you can do. Scott
& I have a date this afternoon to go to Pennypack Park. The vista is
spectacular, five minutes away from home.
I also went with a friend to an NA meeting at a nearby church. What a b'ful
experience. People said, I love you all the time. Why? Because as children they
were not loved. They were forgotten. Parenting is the most important business on
earth which is why I mustered up my courage & staked out on my own when Sarah
was 2 and lil Dan 3 months in utero.
God has always been on my side. But really I don't understand God at all.
Everything I know about him is wrin in The Book of Job & The
Upanishads.
Ommmmmm.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
My online novel-writing teacher
Nicole Bokat asked me How dyou find time to do everything you do?
This was in reference to a Leeway Grant I completed yesterday. I wrote back that
I never stop working, that I LOVE being busy, & she shot back she was the very
same way.
When you do these online chats you must think & type very quickly. A totally new
learning experience for me. The typing mistakes we make are hilarious as are our
conversations.
The other novelists are supremely intelligent. Just like back in college days
when we sat around the fire drinking apricot brandy and discussing Proust. I
only pretended to have heard of him & his finger-lickin good madeleines. Ah,
remembrances of
things past!
I asked Nicole how she could so clearly remember the plots of all 10
novels-in-progress we're all enthusiastically critiquing. She said she didn't
know. It's like keeping track of 10 TV shows all running at the same time.
For the Leeway grant, I probly went thru an entire ream of paper ("backs,"
actually, I'm constantly collecting). Scott & I are the most frugal individuals
you've ever met. Just came back from shopping at Whole Foods. We bring our own
canvas bags (his says SEPTA, which they gave him on his first day of work), mine
says HALDOL SURVIVOR which they gave me upon checking out of my first & only
insane asylum that convinced me once is enough.
Reason why I'm looking b/w which I hate doing is b/c for the Leeway I had to
draw on my experience as being part of a club I never asked to join - the manic
depression league of nations - nor asked to leave - but was released for
bad behavior (thinking for myself). Am very pleased with my 10-page entry in
which I was forced for 2 whole days to THINK in essay form. I felt literally
drunk from too much thunk!
For the grant, I needed a partner. The way I operate, I love making new
connections. That's why at ND, we rarely have the same guest speaker twice.
Bring in new people, fresh blood. Hey, Murray suggests we get
this
guy. What dyou think?
For my partner I picked
Stephen, the political activist. I wonder if he
reads
this blog? Gore Vidal beautifully & savagely
wholloped the late Bill Buckley in this column.
Unbelievably great writing.
Thursday, March 20, 2008 (Dubai
time)
Where did I go wrong? The garbage truck just drove by & put my recyclables
into the garbage truck instead of in that long low flatbed truck.
Aargh!
Sent
this Times article
to fellow bloggers