LOST really lost.....

I was a big fan of LOST on ABC-TV since the beginning. But now I am furious with them. For the last couple of weeks they have been advertising an "All NEW episode of LOST on Earth Day, April 22! Yipee! At last. After watching show after show full of patches of new once in awhile, but a lot of stuff I'd seen over and over...finally, a new show. So what was it.....simply a COMPLETE RE-RUN of old stuff I had seen at least once and some more than once. If they have no writers or no new ideas, perhaps they should simply ask the listeners/watchers for some ideas. Or HIRE NEW WRITERS! I am considering giving up completely.....if I could find the island, I'd just blow it up. Who cares -- hey, maybe that's what they will do on their last show this year, coming soon. But I suppose we will have to watch a complete recap first, so I may just miss it entirely.

No sense trying to tell ABC-TV about my feelings. They have a cute little line that says 'contact us' but when you hit it, it tells you to go to ABC-TV.com, which then goes back to ABC-TV 'contact us.' I have never been taken around in so many circles as I have at ABCTV.

Is Everyone My Age Dead?

I was listening to Terry Gross a couple of days ago, and she was talking to and about Margaret Whiting...and I wondered if she is alive still. She and her manager used to come into my restaurant in Old Town, Chicago and drink coffee and eat ice cream.. I did make great ice cream things.... I had New York style hot fudge, so I got all the New Yorkers....dark, dark chocolate. The midwestern people like milk chocolate...yuck! Everyone also loved my chocolate-mint sodas...no wonder I am a rather large person now....dark chocolate and mint ice cream....ummmmm. Have another of those 'Bliss' chocolates....don't mind if I do. No wonder Margaret W. loved singing "Too Marvelous For Words"....anyone can sing it....even I can sing it...and I can't sing. Never could sing poor Whitney to sleep.....she used to say, "Don't sing mummy....please don't sing, it hurts my ears." And I know the words to every song from WWI to date...no, I wasn't around during WWI, but Aunt Nellie and Uncle George had an old wind-up Victrola with dozens of records and I played them over and over all the time I was visiting there. Used to go up to the 'ballroom' on the top floor and slide around the lovely smooth wood floor.

All the rest of them.....all gone.....Langston Hughes, who put up with all the questions from a silly little girl; Ned Travis, who didn't, but wound up my friend later; Max Showalter who hung out at our house when he was in "My Sister Eileen"...and the adorable Greek kid who was one of the 'Brazilian Navy;' all the artists (whose names I have to search in dusty corners of my mind to remember....who encouraged me to keep drawing and painting...after all, I presented a lovely drawing of a penguin to Admiral Byrd when I was five; Gladys Schmitt, who encouraged me in my writing, while I typed "David the King" for her; all the crazy people from the Pittsburgh Playhouse...strike parties with Gene and Fred Kelly teaching us dance steps...Mr. Burleigh barking out orders and me throwing up before going on......and they are all gone now, leaving me alone, like the last person alive...even Barry and Jan gone, both a year younger than I.

Well, I guess that's what happens when you get dropped. even if it's not on your head....all the people from your past go marching by saying, 'Well, what did you expect....got yourself into it didn't you.....nobody's fault but your own..........' am I blue...you'd be too..... Ah, well...........

Neglecting again...

Here it is April...that overdone month...April in Paris....Oh to be in England, now that April's there ...and on and on. But I shall never forget getting on the BOAC plane at Ohare in the snow and slush and looking down as we went into Gatwick at the green everywhere on April 1...then gazing out as we took the tube into the City at all the green lawns and gardens before we rushed into the tunnel. London even smelled like Spring that year, and was so beautiful to see again that I cried...but then, I'm one of those weepers...sad, happy, whenever. Sometimes I'm not even sure.....

Ah, and I at last beginning to find and join websites that might help me in my writing...that are in some way related at least. I joined Twitter, although I have no reason why and my only 'followers' are people who are selling something or themselves (as in Tony Robbins and other similar types). I did find Mark Bittman at the nytimes.com website...I LOVE that man. I am going to make crackers ....he taught me how. He cooks like I do...combining all sorts of things he has in the fridge....well, maybe he doesn't and just puts his there, but that is what I do. I just pulled a piece of frozen salmon out of my freezer, opened up the aluminium, added a sliced up small onion, some herbs scronged from neighbor's gardens, a bit of soy sauce, some Maggie sauce and some wine, wrapped it back up and put in the oven, while on the stove I was cooking some fresh noodles and carrot slices given to me yesterday. Put them both into a big wide, flattish bowl, so the sauce blended into the noodles and congratulated me on the great meal, just as Mark Bittman does. As my old nursemaid Mary Phykos used to say: "Mine gott, how I can cook!" We old types in this building are so lucky, we are constantly given all sorts of food.

Well, to get back to the topic....I found another great blogging area that seems to be for creative people. I was led there by a dear little girl who is a new knitter and making sox has her knitting feverishly. I am on the writing site WEbook, but a couple of days ago I found another interesting writing site...eScribe. There is not enough time in the day now, as I am looking madlly at the knitting sites, beading sites, writing sites.....and on and on, and no time to actually DO anything. ...and I really must make something for the grandchildren, who are going to have birthdays very soon.....all three of them. I shall have to work very hard and get something done. I promised Bella that I would make her a beautiful purple sweater, and I MUST do it. Then I have to make something for the other two, or they will be upset with me.

Of course, I am also in sort of a state of depression, as my guy has disappeared once again, without a word, of course. I realize that he is going through hell....lost job, lost savings that were in his 401k,,,,lost house, as court must have been on the big lawyer's side...but he should know that I don't care if he is penniless...I love him, not his STUFF! I guess guys never realize that.

I also found a free place to look for new friends (mine are dying off or disappearing fast) that is called 'plentyoffish'....so I put a bio in for fun. Actually, I have been trying for YEARS to find a writing partner.....or even someone who could write and perform music for my poetry....or one who could illustrate my books.....which is really something I should be doing for myself, but I am getting so lazy....and writing all alone is often such a chore. I shouldn't say that, as I sometimes feel that someone is writing through me, as it comes out so fast and furiously when I sit down and start to write. I've had no trouble writing the 3-day novels for Labour Day....although I am no good at throwing in f**k you....or other lovely phrases every page or two. I seem to be able to write a whole novel without swearing at all.....I guess that is boring to the younger generation, but I don't really write for them.....hell, I write for me. There....a swear word in my blog!

And with that I shall end this one, and perhaps get down to work for a change. Ah, well...........

Yes, M'am, I am Keeping at It!

Having finished off the cashew nuts, I am no longer interesting to Sylvia Katt, so she has gone to bed, as should I -- oh, dear, there is that 'should' again, the word my psychiatrist friend says not to say. Well, I'm obviously not going to do it, as I am still here typing. Ah, yes, to think I started my working career typing "David the King" for Gladys Schmitt (who actually praised my work), and now I end up typing away daily at the end of my life. I wish I had Mrs.Schmitt here to cook for me. She was a wonderful woman and a great cook. All of the Schmitts were tall and thin, in spite of the fact that they ate like hungry wolves. I ate half of what they did, but I was always the last one at table, as I am a very slow eater. Guess it was my grandmother's fault, she insisted that I CHEW.

I really started out with something to say, but I cannot remember what it was. I had a nice note from the Geek Goddess today...she said her book has a lot of things that are Mac useable. I must get a copy and see. I am still angry with Apple for charging for the basic office stuff with the new Intel chip computers. Also, I cannot use my favorite program on my new Mac (PageMaker) as they didn't upgrade it to System 10. Quite unfair. Happily I could transfer my AppleWorks to the new computer or I would have been up the creek, as all my writing is on this. It is nice though that there are many free programs that one can use. Though I do miss SuperPaint also. Ye gods, I am stuck in the 90s....I, who taught so many people to use the Mac, am suddenly in need of someone to help ME out. I do wish Connie, whom I taught to use the Mac over long-distance to Chicago, would come out and teach me all the complicated things she now knows.

Well, now as I lie in bed, hoping for sleep, I think I shall discuss the next plans for what I am to do -- with myself, of course. I have discovered a great many craft sites online and have a longing to get back to making and designing new things with my healed hands. But I really must get all my books catalogued before I expire. My darling Elvira, who comes to take care of my household on Tues, Thurs and Friday, has been doing a magnificent job of 'finding' things I had forgotten I have, and is such a great help to me, as is my dear Ana, who comes on Sat. and washes my hair. Sylvia doesn't like her, probably because she fusses over me. SylviaKatt hates most people tho, as she is a rather nasty, spoiled brat. Ana doesn't give a damn, luckily. Ah.....well......

A Few Foolish Notes.....

I just finished skimming a few "Why start a blog" notes from someone who blogs constantly. Have to go through them (long, long) later and find out why. I still don't know why I did. But then, I have said most of my life that I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and I am an ancient person. So, as Craig Ferguson always says, "Well, what did we learn tonight?"

I learned that I cannot STAND condi rice, who is nattering on to David Rose behind me. I should just turn then off I suppose, but let her continue to tell him how brilliant she is...I know she isn't in SO many ways. I love all her 3 and 4 syllable words, though. Anyone who can stare someone in the eyes and say georgie-poo is a brilliant man, has either a rather small brain or really knows how to lie easily.

I learned about a type of knitting I did not know about...and I have been knitting since I was about six years old -- but then, I think I try to learn something new every day, and usually do.

I learned that Pocahantas means a rotten, spoiled, annoying little brat, and that the woman we know as Pocahantas (if that is the spelling) had another name, but her father renamed her. I guess she annoyed him greatly. However, I further learned that she was a big wheel in her tribe, and her father was training her for greatness. Seems that the native Americans were much more sensible than we civilized people, and believed that women had brains and could become leaders. So there....and there were quite a few women who were tribal leaders. God knows we are tougher than men....they could never live through having a baby, after all.

I learned that sending my housekeeper to Costco for a large container of instant coffee is a very good idea.....well sending her there for wine and cashew nuts and almost anything is a good idea. She has managed to save me quite a bit of money recently, including today.

Now I shall click off Condi and David, and turn to good old Craig, whom I adore. That lovely Scotish accent, although not Edinburgh like my family, sounds so luvly. Goodness, the computer accepted 'luvly!' It didn't like Pocahantas and redlined it. As usual...AH well......

Monday, poetry group, Tues. St. Patrick's Day

But I, I fear, am an Orange(wo)man, so I shall simply review the Monday poetry group...and perhaps my aging, drooping eyes, which bother me, particularly on a late night such as this one.

At the poetry group I read my poem with the longest title ever done there or by me. It wound up being nine lines, but not longer than the poem, as one I did was. I think that was the one about the Scarlett Pimpernel (always loved him). Poor Bristol is being talked about on the news behind me. I suppose I should write about her, but I cannot stand those Palin white trash.

When I was quite young I met many writers and poets through my mother and her wide circle of friends...I think the one I remember best was Langston Hughes, whom I adored. He wrote out one of my favorites of his poems for me. It is called Epitaph and is very short and funny:
Tell all my mourners to mourn in red
'Cause there ain't no sense in my being dead.

He was a dear, sweet little man and I loved talking to him. He was also very kind to spend so much time chatting with a most unsophisticated sixteen year old child...but he did.

Another of my favorite poets was Eve Merriam...here is my favorite of hers (from 1943):

The Coward

You, weeping wide at war, weep with me now
Cheating a little at peace, come near
And let us cheat together here.

Look at my guilt, mirror of my shame.
Deserter, I will not turn you in,
I am your trembling twin.

Afraid, our double knees lock in knocking fear
Running from the guns, we tumble upon each other.
Hide in my lap of terror, I am your mother.

Only two, and yet our howling
Can encircle the world's end.
Frightened, you are my only friend

And frightened we are, every one.
Someone must take a stand
Coward take my coward's hand.

I dissolve in tears each time I read this. I somehow, from somewhere, memorized the last two stanzas of this poem long ago, and it took me years to find the rest. Now it is engraved on my heart, all of it. I have written many anti-war poems, but none as perfect as this one. I wish I could have met Eve Merriam, but sadly I never did.

New Day, New Year, New Life?

Funny, I felt that when Obama walked into the White House, it would be the real beginning of the new century, and a wonderful change for our country, not thinking about any new anything for me. Yesterday, however, I came to the realization that March day was the beginning of a new life for me. I have been foolishly going along in my life for the last seven years, thinking I had found a new life, but that seems to have ended yesterday. Now I'm alone, on my own and I had certainly better realize it and shape up to it. I have foolishly lived on wishes, wants and dreams, hopes and promises, but they disappeared in one tiny note yesterday, but not the Beatles yesterday. I shall not ever depend on anyone else again. I think I have learned my lesson.

Unfortunately, learning seems to have made me not only quite ill, but also vaguely agaraphobic. I do not want to leave my apartment, nor do I want to do all of the things I 'should be' doing. I'm a writer, but I don't want to write; I'm a knitter but I don't want to knit; I'm a crocheter with a huge unfinished afghan, but I don't want to crochet; I don't feel like eating; I can't seem to sleep; the sun was shining all day, but I sat here staring at my computer; I can't even google any of the things I usually want to know about. Forget the 'should do'....I can't even get to the 'must do.' Is this then a return to depressioor simply me acting like a silly teenager. I may never know.

In the meantime, I shall attempt a poem to cover the moment, and just quit.......

HOW CAN I HURT YOU, LET ME COUNT THE WAYS...

The promises swirl around my head,
The memories so strong in my mind,
The big, beautiful voice saying “I love you...”

The sweet, long, loving daily letters,
The sincerity of each precious word,
The adoring signature saying, “I love you...”

The coming together in delighted love,
The words that followed so excitedly,
The now new signature saying, “I adore you...”

The disappearance from my world,
The subtle change, less wording weekly,
“Hi’ not “Dear” -- “Bye” not “I love you...”

The short unhappy note and then gone,
The final nothing, “I’d better get to work...”
Oddly enough, a signature saying, “I love you...”

Now isn’t that just the joke of the century?