Wellness

The glossy brochure made a promise,

To those maybe living with strife,

That by moving to their Senior Eden,

You’d find “wellness” the way of your life.

Though perhaps their apartments are lovely

And the clubhouse has classes and such,

To offer a life filled with “wellness,”

Is really, to me, just too much.

For no matter how shiny the pamphlet,

It all adds to a hill full of beans

When you bat around language like “wellness,”

Since I have no idea what it means.

Today Might Be

I’m happy that today might be

A day that’s mostly worry-free,

Where not a soul depends on me

To do a gosh-darned thing.

 

I’ll read and solve the puzzle page

Or watch a movie or engage

In conversations to assuage

The stress to which I cling.

 

There’s no place that I have to go,

So all my actions can be slow

And I can stay indoors and know

The peace such days can bring.

RIP Alice

Alice passed away this week,

But it would just be wrong

If a Turkey Day went by without

Us listening to her song*.

 

For Arlo Guthrie wrote a tale

About her restaurant

And he started a tradition

Which, each year, I always want.

 

We’re sitting in the car, en route

To have our special meal

And at noon on classic radio,

My husband at the wheel,

 

The eighteen minute tune comes on;

We laugh at every word

Of this “massacree,” a story

Which, though true, is most absurd.

 

And when the chorus comes around,

We belt it loud and clear,

Reminding us that it’s Thanksgiving

And we’re all still here.

 

Today we pulled up early,

(Me, my daughter and my spouse)

To the driveway of our son

And soon he exited his house

 

In the pouring rain and climbed inside,

While Arlo did his thing

And he joined right in, so chorus time,

The four of us did sing.

 

More family waited in his home,

But they did not take part.

Still, this was the moment of the day

That really touched my heart.

 

*Alice’s Restaurant Massacree” by Arlo Guthrie

Too Bad

Too bad today’s not Turkey Day;

It’s sunny, crisp and bright.

Tomorrow will be pouring, which

For travel isn’t right.

 

The floats in the parade, as well

As families who wait

To see the bands and the balloons

Will all be tempting fate.

 

Yet still, the holiday will be

A gathering of kin

And maybe friends to join to help

The festive meal begin.

 

The rain may dampen spirits

But when everyone’s together,

Thanksgiving will be much the same,

Despite the nasty weather.

Girdles and Garters

A museum exhibit

Showed 200 years

Of clothing for women

In varied careers.

 

It also had items

To wear in the home –

The aprons and housecoats

Not oft in a poem.

 

The garters and girdles

Made us reminisce

About underwear parts

Not one woman would miss.

 

Certain styles have evolved

While some retro ones last,

But I’m happy some things

Have remained in the past.

Holiday Meals

Imagine if, when giving thanks,

We grilled some burgers, ribs and franks

And ate our turkey in July

With yams and fresh-baked pumpkin pie.

 

Our guests would rear up and revolt

And out the door a few would bolt,

For some traditions can’t be ditched,

Including foods which can’t be switched.

 

I’ve heard some folks eat mac and cheese

On both occasions, if you please,

And one Thanksgiving, we did brood

When stuck with eating Chinese food.

 

But mostly, menus stay the same

On holidays, when families claim

To stick to what they always eat,

To make the past and present meet.

Wickedly Rude

At some screenings of “Wicked,”

I’ve read, it’s a thing

For some audience members

To feel free to sing.

They belt out the lyrics,

Since that is their choice,

So that no one can hear 

Any actress’s voice.

They got real defensive

When questioned and said

Anyone who objects

Should try streaming instead.

To sing in the theater

Brings them so much joy

That they can’t understand

Why this act should annoy.

If I buy a ticket,

All sound should exude

From the cast on the screen;

Singing patrons are rude.

Thai Food Near Me

The restaurant we like is far;

We wanted something closer.

To walk an extra mile or so?

My answer would be, “No, sir!”

I went to Google on my phone -

“Thai food” is what I’d enter -

But suddenly, “Thai Food Near Me”

Was listed, front and center.

The place looked good, the menu fine,

Until it tried to steer me

To a restaurant some mikes away;

I found out “Thai Food Near Me”

Is the name of the establishment,

A trick for those not knowing.

A simple check of the address

Confirmed we won’t be going.

When in Manhattan

One way to tell a tourist

In the New York City scene

Is if someone on a corner waits

Until the light turns green.

For natives look both ways, of course,

And if no traffic’s there,

They cross against the light or else

Mid-block, without a care.

This always was illegal, yet

We locals would insist

That the law was so ignored it seemed

It didn’t quite exist.

Well, now that’s true, for since last week

Jaywalking is allowed,

So all you tourists, take a chance

And join the New York crowd.

Making a Mistake

When you make a mistake,

Think of what is at stake

And decide if it can be undone;

Then the steps that you take

Might just give you a break

And proceed like you’ve only begun.

 

If your goof’s set in stone

And your chances are blown

To repair any damage you’ve caused,

Suck it up, for it’s known

To mistakes we are prone,

So your life doesn’t need to be paused.

 

You might feel like a fool

And expect ridicule,

But it’s human to err, goes the line;

Let your anguish unspool

And just try to be cool

For forgiving, it’s said, is divine.

Look Around

Look around your home and see

Your furniture, your rugs,

The pictures hanging on the walls -

Like old familiar hugs.

For every item you have placed -

Inherited or bought -

Is there to help create the space

That somehow you have sought.

We start out small, collecting

Things we like and can afford

And often there’s a goal in mind

We gradually work toward.

Our tastes may change throughout the years

But there will be a thread

Of special objects to connect us

To the lives we’ve led.

So though we may redecorate,

We’ll likely never part

With those various reminders

Which give every home its heart.

 

Rainless

We’ve had so many days without

A single drop of rain

That trees and plants are suffering 

From lack-of-water strain.

For people, it’s been wonderful -

With so much time outside, 

The joy of crisp fall weather

Paired with sun can’t be denied.

Yet animals are hurting and

Most crops are fading, too,

Though there isn’t really anything

To help that we can do.

Yet, there are reports that Thursday 

We’ll experience some rain.

I’ll miss these lovely sunny days,

But I will not complain.

A Marriage

In a marriage, it is lucky 

When the spouses are in sync,

Which does not mean they concur 

In all the ways they sometimes think.

Still, if they are in agreement 

In most big important ways,

There’s a level of contentment 

Which infuses all their days.

When they complement each other,

With their talents or their skills,

Then the time they spend together

Forms a union which fulfills.

I am part of such a marriage 

And so grateful to have found

Someone I can always count on

And be glad to be around.

The Hole Story

The pumpkins placed upon the steps

To set a scary mood

Were attractive both to look at

And to squirrels, too, as food.

 

At first, they nibbled here and there

But then were on a roll

And chewed their way inside

Via an ever-growing hole.

 

On every pumpkin (there were four),

These entries could be found

And seeds or some discarded bits

Were scattered on the ground.

 

My husband caught, on video,

One squirrel peeking out,

Then exiting with one quick leap

While others milled about.

 

And soon another made his move,

An acrobatic dash,

His last until next year, for what

Was left’s now in the trash.

Brett’s Big Birthday Bash

Brett threw himself a party

Since he hit the big 4-0

And there never was a question if

We would or wouldn’t go.

He planned it with his mother’s help

And catered in the food, 

With jars of flowers on the tables

For a festive mood.

A slide show played with photos

Showing years of happy pics

As the guests all met and mingled,

Quite a varied friendly mix.

Several people took the stage to speak

And what stood out to me

Was what every tribute mentioned,

Not just generosity,

But the many ways that Brett has shown

To family and friends,

So much caring and affection,

Which, once started, never ends.

The party was delightful

And all gathered there for Brett

Surely’d join me in the hope this was

His favorite birthday yet.

(Brett, like my daughter, his girlfriend, 

has “special needs.”)

Whittling Down

As we age, we whittle down

The things that we can do

Or the ways that we can do them

So we last the whole day through.

I’ve whittled down my exercise

And how much I can drink.

My energy’s been whittled 

And my brain’s begun to shrink.

I’ve whittled my acquaintances,

Though some were not my fault

And my memory’s been whittled 

Or locked in a keyless vault.

I’ve whittled down my travels

And my need to shop and buy.

Some hobbies have been whittled,

Which I loved; I don’t know why.

My knife is sharper than my mind

So I won’t be belittling

The ways it goes about its job,

As time goes by, of whittling.

At the Auction House

The public is invited to

The auction house before

The art is bid on, sold and then

Is carried out the door.

 

Since I live close, I love to go

To check out the display

And wonder ‘bout the patrons -

All that money they might pay.

 

I couldn’t really picture

A Picasso on my wall

Next to pictures of my family –

That just wouldn’t work at all.

 

Plus, some modern pieces, which, to me,

Were boring or bizarre,

Were expected to fetch millions;

Famous painters raise the bar.

 

Still, I felt so privileged just to see

What private owners hold,

Even though it won’t be me

To whom the auctioneer yells, “Sold!”

Real Life Rescue

Yesterday, while walking home,

I saw some people who

Were gazing past the river rail,

But why? I had no clue.

 

Two cops were there as well and so

I looked to where they leaned

And saw the body of a man;

That’s why they’d intervened.

 

More people gathered and I learned

That he was still alive.

He’d either jumped or fallen;

No one knew if he’d survive.

 

Within mere minutes, boats arrived,

The rescue underway,

The efforts of our civil servants

Proudly on display.

 

They carried him onto a boat

Then to a nearby dock

Where an ambulance was waiting

For the stretcher down the block.

 

Up close, I saw he wasn’t young

And injured on his head.

I never learned if he pulled through

Or passed away instead.

 

It felt like watching as they filmed

A TV cop show, but

The victim, sadly, didn’t move

And no one shouted, “Cut!”

On Hold

When you are away,

No matter for what,

Reality’s paused or on hold

And waiting at home,

With the mail, are the chores

And the problems you need to unfold.

 

Some you might have let wait,

Others simply popped up

But once back, they are all within reach

And you quickly forget

Your hotel or your tour

Or the days that you lolled on the beach.

 

Though a break from your life

Is important, you know

It has limits and goes by so fast

That as soon as your plane

Touches down, you can hardly

Remember the time that just passed.

Pier-less

The hurricane was weeks ago,

Yet now I get to see

The damage, or what’s left of it,

That was described to me.

We walked the route we always take

When down here for a visit,

Past lovely homes with water views,

Expansive and exquisite.

The local park’s in ruins 

And some trees and plants have died,

But the lovely pier we strolled on

Shows destruction magnified.

Staring at its buckled surface,

Twisted into quite a mess,

Tells me when it will be walkable 

Is anybody‘a guess.

Early Morning Uber

Before I watched a movie,

(On the plane, which I enjoyed)

The day began with an event 

Which more than just annoyed.

At 4 a.m. our Uber driver,

On the FDR,*

While in the far left lane decided

He would stop the car.

Now at that hour, traffic’s light,

Yet we were still in luck

That a speeding auto hadn’t,

Into our stopped Uber, struck.

We yelled out to the driver

Who complained he couldn’t see,

For the brights were on the car behind -

That’s pure insanity!

In a minute, though, he hit the gas 

And we were on our way,

A slightly stressful start

To what would be a busy day.

*a six-lane highway in Manhattan

Reading the Paper

I’m reading the paper real fast;

Don’t know just how long this’ll last

But my gut gets inflamed

When the culprit (unnamed)

Fills the page with his awful bombast.

 

By and by, there’ll be news I can read

But no politics, that’s guaranteed,

Or I’ll stick to my books

Where, if there are some crooks,

They get punished for each dirty deed.

For the Next Four Years

For the next four years, with fingers crossed, 

I’ll hope that all the joy we’ve lost

We can recover, at a cost

That we can all afford.

I do not pray, but if I did,

I’d ask that somehow we’d be rid

Of all the hate that made us skid

Right off the deepest end.

The days ahead will seem unreal,

Yet all the pain and fear we feel

Will, hopefully, begin to heal

And help our souls to mend.

Concession Speech

When a candidate loses,

That person must reach

All who gave their support

With a televised speech.

So I watched VP Harris,

The crowd fighting tears,

Though it didn’t do much

To assuage all my fears.

Yet she said what she had to

And offered her thanks,

Reassuring the voters 

We need to close ranks.

If the fight isn’t over,

As Kamala said,

There’s a lot to be done 

And four long years ahead.

If This is America

If this is America,

All I’ve been taught,

As a student in school

Or in life, adds to naught.

 

If this is America,

Fairness and truth

Are mere follies we bandy

About in our youth.

 

If this is America,

Bullies may rule,

With justice expected

By only a fool.

 

If this is America,

Decency’s out,

For power and flattery’s

What it’s about.

 

If this is America,

So much is wrong

That all I can think is

That I don’t belong.

Voting Reminder

On my phone came a reminder 

That today’s Election Day,

With a list of things to do to keep 

Anxiety at bay.

See some art at a museum,

Find a park to soothe your soul,

Have a meal at some new restaurant -

Diversion is the goal.

Go to church if that’s your calling;

Do some shopping if it’s not.

Read a book or try some exercise -

They both can help a lot.

At the bottom of the message,

Which reminded me to vote,

After all of the suggestions

Came a most surprising note:

“If you’re feeling suicidal,

Here’s a number you can call.”

When I think of this election,

That reminder says it all.

A Cardinal Encounter

Behind a fence were piles of leaves

The trees had lately shed

And as I passed, my eye picked up

A flash of something red.

 

I stopped and looked and out it popped,

An unexpected sight –

A cardinal, enrobed in red,

Which filled me with delight.

 

I don’t believe, as many do,

This sighting signified

A visit from the dead or that

Good luck was thus implied.

 

I rarely see this bird, though,

Yet my morning did begin

With a cardinal encounter

Nowhere near the Vatican.

Ralph - You Are Behind Schedule

Before the marathon began,

I walked First Avenue,

Aware 100,000 feet

Would soon come pounding through.

 

The do-not-cross tape waited

And the police were getting set

To control the hordes of cheering fans

Who hadn’t gathered yet.

 

Since some apartments face the street,

Their balconies supply

A place for friends to stand and shout

As runners hurry by.

 

From one such place, I saw a sign

To jokingly remind

A guy named Ralph, despite his plans,

He’s lumbering behind.

 

I wish I could have witnessed Ralph

As, passing, he took note,

Of the presence of his buddies

And the message that they wrote.

 

(The title is what the sign actually said.)

Seize the Day

You look at things differently when you are old

And should do things when you have the chance,

For maybe you won’t get to act on the plans

You have made way too far in advance.

 

Surely some opportunities won’t come again;

You must grab them, no matter the cost,

Or you’ll wake up one day and you’ll realize, too late,

That the moments you’ve craved have been lost.

 

Time is fleeting and more so as decades add up

And the years you have left start to fade.

Every chance that you miss offers no second shots;

Possibilities can’t be delayed.

Polite

The biggest surprise in the suburbs,

Where I helped out on Halloween night,

Wasn’t focused on candy or costumes,

But the kids, who were just so polite!

Whether solo or part of a gaggle,

Dressed as witches or pirates or queens,

They approached in a calm, measured manner,

While their parents looked on, dressed in jeans.

“Trick or treat!” they exclaimed, sporting smiles,

As I offered the candy-filled bowl.

When I told them, “Take two,” they said “Thank you!”

As if being polite was the goal.

No one pushed or took more than was offered;

All were patient and many did shout,

“Have a great Halloween!” as they parted,

Not a one with a sneer or a pout.

It was wonderful watching this happen -

Just a night filled with nothing but fun.

The true magic will be if politeness

Stays alive when their childhoods are done.