Music to My Ears

Henry’s only fourteen months
And so his words are few;
His other sounds have meanings
That we struggle to construe.

But one thing he says loud and clear
Is “Nana” and, you see,
It brings a smile from ear to ear
For what he means is me!

While others have to wait until
He nails their name or rank,
I’m thrilled when I hear “Nana”
And it’s Henry I must thank.

Calendars

Each year they send me calendars
To garner a donation,
No matter if in years gone by
I met that obligation.

I must have half a dozen now
With varied scenes depicted;
But though they’re nice, those knowing me
Could surely have predicted

Not one of those would grace my walls
‘Cause even though they’re free,
The only calendar I want
Is one picked out by me!

Precautions

It’s good to take precautions
When you’re going on a trip –
Umbrella, bug spray, meds will ease
Your mind when in your grip.

Yet even if you’re more prepared
Than someone would advise,
There always is the chance that you’ll
Encounter a surprise.

For who can really tell you what
The future has in store?
And health or weather may act up
In ways not seen before.

So pack your suitcase to the brim
In full anticipation
That all your efforts cannot
Guarantee a smooth vacation.

Thanksgiving Bride

I got married on Thanksgiving
And what I remember least
Is the food out on the table,
Though it likely was a feast.

We were young and we were foolish –
Getting hitched on such a day,
But it’s thirty-nine years later
So it all worked out okay.

Still, tonight when I was eating
All that turkey and the sides,
I thought back to being one of those
Unique Thanksgiving brides.

Though in hindsight it was crazy
And we both kind of regret it,
When it comes to anniversaries,
We never can forget it!

Me-Time

I need some me-time,
Let things be-time,
Burden-free-time
To unwind.

But such flee-time,
Absentee-time,
Filled with glee-time
I can’t find.

So my plea, time,
Please agree, time;
Or you’ll see, time,
I’ll lose my mind.

Impending

The highway signs flashed “High Alert!
Tomorrow, don’t be driving.”
The day before Thanksgiving,
There’s a winter storm arriving.

So traffic crawled and inched along
Much slower than just slow
‘Cause everyone was on the road
To beat the coming snow.

You’d think that Martians had attacked
Or that the world was ending
When all that fuss is for some weather –
Lousy, but impending…

Picking a Pasta

Eeny meeny capellini,
Ziti, elbows, bucatini.
Vermicelli, farfalloni,
Gnocchi, orzo, rigatoni.

Alfabeto and linguine,
Cavatelli, fettuccine.
Penne, pappardelle and gigli,
Stelle, risi, tripolini.

Picking pasta gives you choices;
Any way, your mouth rejoices.
Think I'll go and boil me some - 
If it's cooked al dente - yum!

The Sound of Steam

It’s cold outside, but from a dream
I wake up to the sound of steam.
The room is toasty, opportune
For staying in my snug cocoon.

The gentle hiss as background noise
My half-asleep self quite enjoys,
A remnant of when I was small,
My brothers sleeping down the hall.

To make the coming day seem rosy,
There is nothing near as cozy
As that warming welcome hiss,
Deceiving us that naught’s amiss.

Not Alone

Everyone worries – we’re programmed that way,
But some have more justification.
How other’s dilemmas stack up against yours
Can’t be fathomed by mere observation.

And even if someone’s travails might be worse
That does nothing to lighten your burden.
You deal or you struggle in silence or else
You complain so no one gets a word in.

When our problems pile up and we ask ourselves why,
We’re inclined to feel sorry and moan;
But it might help the tiniest bit to recall
That in suffering, we’re not alone.

The Buying Frenzy

The buying frenzy has begun
And every store’s competing.
You’d better hurry up; these discount
Prices will be fleeting.

For those of us who hate to shop
‘Cause holidays demand it,
It doesn’t pay to moan about
How much we cannot stand it.

If we were smart we could have bought
Our presents months ago,
But good intentions somehow buck
Against the status quo.

And so we venture into stores
Among the crowds that crush
With pledges to ourselves next year
We’ll beat the Christmas rush.

Colleagues

Work with people years and years
And somehow there’s a bond,
Especially if they’re folks of whom
You’re very, very fond.

You may not see them often
Yet it’s certain when you do,
There’ll be mucho reminiscing
And a lot of fat to chew.

But the best part will be laughter
And a warmth from deep inside
For experiences shared can trump
What time tries to divide.

So the past becomes the present
And you’re unified and young
When you raise a toast with colleagues
Whom you’re thrilled to be among.

Making Plans

Plans today are often made
Without a spoken word,
A situation, though it works,
I still find quite absurd.

I often wonder, as I send
An email or a text,
Exactly what communication
Format will be next.

In future years, technology
Might yet be left behind
And making plans will happen
When we read somebody's mind!

The Fire Truck

With flashing lights, the fire truck
Moved speedily my way.
The hose was tucked in tightly,
Waiting for its chance to spray.

The driver, in his helmet,
Kept a fixed and steady gaze
While the siren blared so they would make it
Quickly to the blaze.

My toddler grandson watched in awe
As it went zipping by,
Excitement lighting up his face - 
No need to wonder why.

We'd watch that scene repeat itself,
Before the day was through,
At least a hundred times because
The batteries are new!

Real Estate Section

In the Sunday paper, I can't wait
To read the section "Real Estate."
From articles that do entail
Descriptions of the homes for sale
To stories of where folks have looked,
I'm riveted and really hooked.

I check the prices, note the taxes,
Find the parks where one relaxes;
Scan the photos for decor,
Observe each window, roof and door.
I try to picture living there
And how that lifestyle might compare.

You'd think I'm aiming for improving.
What's ironic? I'm not moving!

Peace and Quiet

In the suburbs and the country
When the night arrives,
You can feel the darkness
Where the silence thrives.

For a city gal,
Used to lights and noise,
You would think such peace
Would bring endless joys.

Though my sleep improves
When the quiet reigns,
There is something lost
Which negates the gains.

Though it might sound nuts
(And I'm sure it does),
In the burbs I miss
All that city buzz.

Itchy

When the temperatures drop
And I’m bundled with clothes,
Then my skin starts to itch
Where the wind never goes.

It’s a winter event
And it happens each year,
So my lotions diminish
And then disappear.

I’m a cold weather fan
Though I wish I could hatch
A solution for this –
But I end up with scratch!

Starbucks

My coffee at Starbucks
(I wanted a small)
Was what they call a“short”
(As opposed to a “tall”).

I don’t like their lingo
A heck of a lot
But their coffee is good
(When it’s strong and it’s hot).

The younger crowd gets
Fancy lattes to go.
My friend and I sit
With a plain cup o’ joe.

Sparking Joy

The clutter expert made remarks,
When giving her advice,
That if no joy an item sparks,
Then ditch it – don’t think twice.

That goes for clothes or books or art
Or tchotchkes on a shelf,
For once this method gets its start,
You’ll lighten up yourself.

Although I am intrigued, this brings
A plan I can’t employ,
‘Cause I own way too many things
That aren’t sparking joy.

Still, I am more attuned to what
The expert had to say
And so, my ancient jeans (which sparketh not)
I gave away.

By the Front Door

We introduce new words to Henry
Every time we’re there.
He soaks up everything we say;
He’s focused and aware.

He knows the numbers of his house
And all the words as well
That describe the door and entry way –
The mailbox, knocker, bell.

But I’d never pointed out a sight
I remedied today –
Those two columns near the entrance –
Column B and Column A!

Shotgun!

When I was a kid, in the family car
We all knew where to sit;
If the order ever wavered,
Someone’d likely have a fit.

But today I heard of something new
Which tells me things have changed;
If someone hollers, “Shotgun!”
Well, the seats get rearranged.

The “Shotgun!” yeller sits up front,
Right by the driver’s side,
A better view, perhaps, and thus
A more prestigious ride.

I wonder how that’s working out
For I can clearly see
The problems this might cause within
The average family.

Had this been in existence when
My sibs and I were judging,
We would have yelled our heads off
But my mom would not be budging!

Wrinkly

When wrinkles settle in the skin
There's not much you can do,
For even Botox rarely makes
Your skin look smooth and new.

But when your clothes or tablecloths
Get wrinkled from the dryer,
An iron helps to make them look
Like textiles to admire.

If I've a choice or wrinkly
Or not, right off the bat,
I'll tell you I like irony - 
No irony in that!

The Second Hand

With every tick, the second hand
Proceeds around the face,
A little like a heartbeat
At a slow and steady pace.

So many clocks and watches, though,
Don’t come so well-equipped
So you might never realize
If some seconds had been skipped.

There’s comfort, then, to check the time
On wall or desk or wrist
And behold the second hand a’tick
With not one second missed.

The irony, of course, is that,
What really is absurd
Is acknowledging the second hand
Is actually the third!

Studs

My boots have studs like you might see
On any biker chic.
I wondered if they were the right ones
That I ought to pick.

Yet they look cool and fit so great
I figured, what the hell –
And no one’s laughed behind my back
(As far as I can tell).

When I was younger, though, the only
Way I’d want a stud
Was to come across one in a club
Made out of flesh and blood!

Wending

I love the ending of the week
As weekend time draws near
And though I am retired,
Still, it's absolutely clear

The feeling's different in the air
On Saturdays and Sundays,
Despite the fact they're often
Much more chore- than having fun-days.

So Friday nights, to celebrate,
Whenever I am able,
You'll find me at a restaurant,
A draft beer on my table.

I'll raise my glass in honor of
The week that's at its ending
And drink to welcome in the one
Through which I'll soon be wending.

Helium Balloons

Helium balloons may last
Well past when they're inflated,
Although longevity like that
Is vastly overrated.

For who needs "Welcome Baby" ones
When yours is two years old;
And most "Congratulations" 
After weeks start growing cold.

Balloons fulfill their duties well
But often they will pop;
With helium, however,
All those greetings never stop.

Yet there's one way to tell
If a balloon should bite the dust - 
When it's puckered, loose and droopy,
Then its message you can't trust.

"Once" Again

I like to read a book just once,
No matter how I like it;
So when I finish, from my list,
I’ll go ahead and strike it.

The same applies to Broadway shows –
One time is quite enough;
If I go back again, it seems
It’s just not up to snuff.

For movies, though, this won’t apply,
Or certain TV shows.
When favorites hit the screen, I’m glued;
That’s just the way it goes.

Today I went against my rule,
(A habit I should fix)
So we saw “Once” a second time
(My husband had cheap tix).

It reaffirmed that I should always
Take my own advice,
For seeing “Once” just once was great;
I overdosed on twice.

For Our Age

We look good for our age, my friend remarked
And though it might be true,
Acknowledging the obvious
Appears to be taboo.

For though we could look much much worse
When you count up our years,
If you add “for our age,” that praise
Just up and disappears.

The sagging skin and wrinkles
We would banish if we could,
But since we can’t, I guess that
“For our age,” we’re looking good.

Opening Doors

Toddlers love to open doors
And close them just as well.
The same applies to drawers,
At least as far as I can tell.

Among my grandson’s favorite toys
Are vehicles with doors.
He opens and he shuts them
In a way that never bores.

For someone oh, so little,
Being tiny takes its toll
So it must feel quite amazing
Having doors at his control.

As I watch him close and open
With such serious intent,
What I wonder is, to Henry,
What those doors must represent.

Go Oz!

Every runner has a reason
Why he’s in the race
And each makes the decision
Of attire, gear and pace.

I stood out in the freezing cold
And watched them dash on by,
United by a goal, yet
Most unique in how they’d try.

Across the street, I saw some signs –
“Go Oz!” in big bold print
So Oz (whoever he might be)
Would catch it on his sprint.

Then suddenly a roar rang out
And it was what I guessed;
A shirtless runner came in view
With OZ spelled on his chest.

He loped along with arms aloft,
His face a beaming grin
As if, by seeing all his friends,
He’d gone and snared a win.

His finish time’s a mystery
But surely such support
Helped both Oz and all the racers
In the spirit of the sport.

Shortening the Day

Tonight we change the clocks, which means
Tomorrow when I wake,
The world will look transparent
And will not appear opaque.

It’s nice to have some morning light
But not worth what we lose
And darkness in the afternoon
Is not what I would choose.

For shorter days just make me
Want to hurry up inside,
Cocooning in the coziness
That lamps and lights provide.

But that’s a paltry substitute
For sunshine and fresh air
And when the daylight lingers late
Indoors just can’t compare.

We can’t fight City Hall, they say,
So I’ll reset the time
But I can still complain and oh,
I love to kvetch in rhyme!