"I have a medicine that''s able to breathe life unto a stone." (All's Well)

.....On a different note from the ritual of aging, I have a cousin in Sheffield, England with whom, it seems, I am in virtual constant e-mail touch. I am immortalizing her in this blog because she has been my intellectual pen pal for...how long? We don't fool around with our topics...they are almost always meaningful. Cousin Ruth is not really my cousin; she's from my ex's side of the family, I believe. Otherwise I don't know who she is. But I have adopted her cousinwise, and her name is Ruth Grimsley. Sounds like a character right out of a Charles Dicken's novel...although it might be more likely if her name were something like Hester Grimsley. At any rate, she has read my book, she reads this blog, and she has watched numerous of my shows on video tape for which I am elated that someone is doing it.

.....While I was confined to Whitehall (also, coincidentally, sounds like a townhouse in a Dicken's work), Ruth was kind enough to write a poem for me explaining our relationship in--mostly iambic trimeter doggerel couplets, it seems. But that doesn't make her a bad person. At any rate, her poetic effort really lifted me out of my depression--having broken my hip; but I won't keep you in suspense any longer:

Two cousins both sides of th' Atlantic

Engaged in debates most semantic.

'Bout Hebrew they never debated

Though through it they both were related;

'Bout Yiddish they never would chat,

Which is strange, you'd think they would do that!

They never did talk about money--

And that is exceedingly funny.

They sometimes did talk about history,

But that wasn't much of a mystery.

But English was that which united them,

And that was what really excited them.

The English tongue looked so romantic,

About it they really went frantic.

Then one of them damaged his hip,

But he still didn't lose mental grip.

And this wouldn't stop them EVER

And as for stop talking--NEVER!!