Out With the Old Year

Out with the old year,

In with the new.

Will this be a good one?

Haven’t a clue.

 

All we can do is

Wake up every day

And see just what stuff

Will be heading our way.

 

Make no predictions;

Time has to tell

If life treats us badly

Or if we do well.

 

Wishing is useless,

More likely than not,

But have a good new year.

(I’ll give it a shot.)

Potato Latkes

Potato latkes, fried in oil

Are eaten every year

When calendars remind us

That our holiday is here.

 

To keep up the tradition,

There are choices we must make –

Buy them frozen in the market,

Use a mix (that’s a mistake!)

 

Find them in a local diner

Or, if you have time and space,

Gather all of the ingredients

And your cookware in one place.

 

Then you peel and grate potatoes

With an onion, egg and salt,

Plus you have to squeeze it dry;

(To leave some liquid is a fault).

 

Add in matzoh meal to thicken

While your oil heats in a pan;

Next, you fry them ‘til they’re golden

Or the closest that you can.

 

If you’re lucky, all your efforts

(For it is a lot of work)

Will be worth the energy you spent

(With compliments a perk).

 

Just as long as you eat latkes,

Get them any way you’ve chosen.

Since I spent all morning grating,

Come next year, I’ll go with frozen.

Gisele

I don’t know how to write this –

It’s an homage to Gisele

And her bravery despite the horror

Which to her befell.

 

She chose to show her face while

In the courtroom, on a screen,

Repeated violations

To her body would be seen.

 

Her husband, lowest of the low,

Deserves his stint in jail,

But the question one must ask is

What is normal for a male?

 

For if 50 other rapists,

Spanning families, jobs and years,

Thought their acts should be accepted,

All is worse than it appears.

 

Hearing all the awful details,

With so many men to blame,

Gisele nailed it when she told the world

The sides are switching shame.

Involved

Get involved in a project

And the hours just slip away.

Before you know it, dusk arrives

To zipper up the day.

 

No matter what you work on,

Using implements or brains,

The progress that you make depends

On how the time restrains.

 

With luck, you get to finish

Or make good on your intent,

‘Til you look outside and wonder

Where exactly this day went.

Betting on the Candles

We light our candles every night

And then we place a bet

On which will be the last to fade;

We’ve not forgotten yet.

 

This game goes back to childhood

When my brothers made their picks.

Then when I became a mother,

My two kids were in the mix.

 

Today, it’s just my husband

And myself who get to choose,

Yet we pay real close attention

Since nobody likes to lose.

 

Still, as each candle melts away,

Its ending does provoke

A heightened competition

‘Til that final wisp of smoke.

The Icicles Dripping

I’m watching the icicles dripping,

Reminded of ten years ago,

When I held up my grandson to watch them,

All the things then that I couldn’t know.

How he’d soak up so much he was learning

And prove to be clever and smart;

How his joy in our moments together 

Would tattoo him right onto my heart.

How he’d love to hear all kinds of music

And would shine when he played the trombone;

How his passion for reading and language,

Which we’d shared, he’d continue alone.

How some interests would serve to sustain him -

New cuisines, tech advances and school,

While some others would fall by the wayside -

Making maps, which were detailed and cool.

There will be so much more in the future 

That his mind will grab onto and hold,

But when we watched the icicles dripping, 

So much living had yet to unfold.

Holiday Visit

Our son and wife and grandkids

Came to visit, which is rare,

For their lives are full and hectic;

To our own, it can’t compare.

It was cold and it was snowy

But our house was nice and warm,

Filled with music, food and board games,

Plus we danced up quite a storm.

Yet the Scrabble, Life and Pick-Up Sticks

And dominoes and Clue

Were competing with the I-Pads, Switches,

V-R* headset, too.

It’s a world that we can’t conquer 

And if kids were forced to choose 

Between retro games with Nana

And this tech, we’d have to lose.

Still, at least they made the effort 

So we did our very best

To provide a fun-filled visit;

Now we need a week of rest!

*Virtual Reality - Google it!

We're So Lucky

My husband and I are completely in sync

And each of us knows what the other would think

In most situations, at least those that count

And our love for each other’s a matching amount.

We have different hobbies and eat different foods 

And don’t always jibe in our fears or our moods,

But when we are together, my mind can relax

‘Cause we both understand we’ve got each other’s backs.

As we age together, it means so much more

To have someone to face all that life has in store.

I know we’re so lucky that each of us found

The best person for travel or hanging around.

Waiting for Guests

You clean, you shop, you rearrange;

You cook and bake, yet what is strange

Is that your guests won’t really care

‘Bout all your efforts to prepare.

For if they make the time to drive

Or walk or somehow else arrive,

They want to visit, so you trust

They might not see a little dust.

You welcome them and try your best

And know the time you did invest

Will prove to me quite worth your while,

The proof in every hug and smile.

Buried Treasure

In the laundry room are bags

And boxes from the past,

Filled with photos, books and papers 

That I have amassed.

Today I went through one such bag

And in a tied-up stack

Were the wedding cards we’d gotten

Over forty-nine years back.

I read each one and there were names 

I did not recognize,

Plus notes from students in my class,

Which came as a surprise.

Another cool discovery - 

A work I’d been assigned,

Describing speakers in a course 

And how they’d tapped my mind.

The hand-writ ten page paper,

Which I shared and read aloud,

Was insightful and insouciant 

And made me feel quite proud.

It’s nice to get a little glimpse 

(And more so as you age)

Of a younger you and how you were

At such a different stage.

A Bit of Snow

A bit of snow is just enough

To make the traffic slow 

And add some time to get to

Where it is you want to go.

A bit of snow can coat the path 

And maybe make you slip,

So walking gingerly prevents

A broken leg or hip.  

A bit of snow can form a pile

You need to shovel out,

But it’s to be expected;

That’s what winter’s all about.

A bit of snow, though, dusts the trees

And beautifies the scene.

If you live in a place with snow,

You know just what I mean.

Mismatched Socks

I have three pairs of patterned socks,

With colors and designs

That vary in each duo 

Set on horizontal lines.

From triangles to hearts and dots

To checkerboards, as well

As numbers and some words,

But what they say I cannot tell.

Today I noticed, far too late, 

My socks are not the same.

Of course, right from the dryer,

Matching pairs had been my aim.

Yet somehow I messed up

And now my outfit is complete 

With mismatched socks, although they still

Feel cozy on my feet.

Holiday Greenery

The Cloisters is a special place,

Medieval and austere,

Assembled from five monasteries

Brought from France to here.*

 

Within its walls are gardens,

All meticulous and neat

And to celebrate the holidays,

There is a special treat:

 

Swags of greenery and apples

On the lintels, way up high,

Plus so many matching wreaths

You had to smile as you passed by.

 

Just the perfect touch of festive

For a Middle Ages site,

With no need for glitz and glitter,

An old-fashioned yule delight.

 

*Washington Heights, in upper Manhattan

The Cargo on Board

A tugboat was pushing a barge.

I wondered just who was in charge

For the cargo on board,

Which I wish I’d ignored,

Raised some issues which somehow loomed large.

 

Porta-potties were lined up in rows.

Full or empty? Too far for my nose,

But the thought of that load

Being merrily towed

Made me hope there was naught to dispose.

 

Certain subjects make some people blush,

With activities often hush-hush,

So those toilets afloat

May make many take note

That it’s better to deal with a flush.

Out of Touch

This time of year reminds me

That I’m somehow out of touch

With old buddies or acquaintances

I once liked very much:

 

The friends from work, the college crew,

The couples met on tour;

The step class crowd, my tennis pals,

The brand-new mommies corps.

 

Some moved away or else outgrew

The reason for our link,

But mostly life got in the way

And bonds began to shrink.

 

Then poof! You realize it’s been months

Which soon turns into years,

For with the flow of time, the past

Drifts by and disappears.

The Candle Tip

I use my grandma’s cookie shapes

For Chanukah each year.

They’re plastic and so very old

They might not persevere.

 

The candle cutter’s broken

So it’s hard to get a grip

On the pieces (there are 3 of them),

Especially the tip.

 

Since I’d hate to leave a shape out,

I just take an extra sec,

But today, between the batches,

I looked down and – what the heck?

 

For the candle tip was missing

And it wasn’t on the floor.

I had used it, so this wasn’t something

I could just ignore.

 

If I’d rolled it in a cookie,

An occurrence I would doubt,

Then the batter wouldn’t flatten

Since that piece would stick right out.

 

For a while I was stymied,

Then I checked one ball of dough

Which I’d gathered up until

My cookie sheet had room to go.

 

And voila! I found that sucker

And the lesson that I learned

Is to keep track of the flames

Wherever candles are concerned.

Drones

Drones are flying in the skies

But no one knows from where.

People say to shoot them down;

Officials do not dare.

 

Could it be spies or just a prank?

There’s no good way to tell.

Perhaps some aliens have come

To visit for a spell.

 

It blows my mind that even with

Technology today,

These drones are messing with our heads

And will not go away.

Wrapping Presents

When it comes to wrapping presents,

I am really not that good.

The edges aren’t neat and don’t

Lie flat the way they should.

 

The paper that I use, though,

Is quite festive, to distract

From all the perfect extras

That my presentation lacked.

 

And if I have a lot to wrap,

My efforts just get worse,

Though fortunately, the receivers

Cannot hear me curse.

 

It really makes no difference, since

To get at what’s inside,

The wrapping gets ripped off

No matter how it’s sealed or tied.

 

And once that paper’s in a heap

Or crumpled on the floor,

Nobody can remember how

That present looked before.

Baby Platy

In the tank are eighteen fish,

Or maybe there are twenty.

It’s hard to count them, but to me,

It seems that there are plenty.

The tank is not too spacious

But with pebbles and live plants,

The black and orange platys 

Do their slo-mo floaty dance.

Yet I was shown a baby

Hiding underneath the leaves

And there might be another one,

Or so my son believes.

It’s cool to see how creatures

Have their instincts kicking in,

Doing what they can to stay away

From hungry next-of-kin.

A Morning at the Met

Today I saw Greek vases

And a room by Frank Lloyd Wright,

Lots of paintings by impressionists,

Which always bring delight…

 

Fancy furnishings and jewelry,

Some sculptures and stained glass,

Ancient pottery and artifacts

Of silver, gold and brass…

 

Even samples of old baseball cards,

A true collector’s dream,

Plus the handiwork of Native tribes,

All worthy of esteem.

 

As I wandered through the galleries

With so much on display,

I felt grateful for the chance to fold

This art into my day.

Lifting My Mood

In a bit of a funk

I sat down and thunk

Of a means to elicit a smile,

‘Til the old thinking cap

Sent a flash that said, “Tap!”

Which I haven’t performed in a while.

 

So I dug out my shoes

And wood board that I use,

Found a video there on the screen,

Then I followed the steps

Which the teacher first preps

‘Til at last I could do the routine.

 

With the music at last,

Just a wee bit too fast,

I was able to tap out the dance

And it lifted my mood

Though my efforts, if viewed,

Would cause looks I’d describe as askance.

Swatches

In my never-ending sofa search,

Which fills my mind with stress,

I order color swatches, which

Don’t guarantee success.

 

In fabric, if the color’s off,

That ruins the appeal

And leather samples might have grains

The site did not reveal.

 

My husband will not get involved –

He doesn’t really care –

For even if a new couch comes,

He’d much prefer his chair.

 

Yet still, I send in my requests,

Ten swatches on the way,

And if they don’t work out, I guess

My current couch will stay.

Tree Lighting

I joined the crowd last night to watch

The local Christmas tree

As it officially got lit,

A lovely sight to see.

 

Although it’s not my holiday,

The festiveness appealed

And as the neighbors gathered ‘round,

That spirit was revealed.

 

A choir was accompanied

By instruments of brass

And caroled with enthusiasm

No one could surpass.

 

The park was filled with families,

Hot chocolate in the air,

And in the moonlight, everyone

Was happy to be there.

Today is the Date

Today is the date that

John Lennon was shot.

Each year at this time

It affects me a lot.

Not for John Lennon,

Though I was a fan,

But for somebody else,

Whose death wasn’t the plan.

My dad had a bypass,

But still was alive,

When I heard on the news 

Lennon didn’t survive.

Yet sadly, my father,

Two days later died,

So it was for him

All the tears that I cried.

Still, every December

The eighth, when I think

Of my dad, I remember

The John Lennon link.

Two fine men passed away 

Well before it was time

And though one was a murder,

Both felt like a crime.

Property Of

My pencil isn’t really mine

Because it says, instead,

That it’s the “Property of

NYC Bd of Ed.”

 

I taught in New York City schools

And, once I had retired,

There were some school supplies that I

Had suddenly acquired:

 

Like pens and pencil, post-it-notes,

Some staples, chalk and paper.

It wasn’t quite enough to be

A teacher school-theft caper.

 

I’ve been retired fifteen years

And no one has come looking.

I suspect my current pencil

Won’t land me in Central Booking.

Leftover Wool

When my knitting queen aunt

Feels that needlework pull,

She starts knitting some squares

Using leftover wool.

They’re rectangles, really,

With colorful stripes,

Their patterns and stitches 

Of similar types.

Then when there are enough,

Using needle and thread,

She will sew them together 

To cover a bed.

If no blanket’s requested

By someone she knows,

To a charity’s stockpile

That handiwork goes.

Though some unattached pieces

My aunt did produce 

Found their way to my granddaughter 

For a new use.

Now her dolls all have blankets,

Two interests in sync,

Crossing ages and miles

In such a sweet link.

A Life in T-Shirts

Going through a closet,

I was quite surprised to find

Several shopping bags of t-shirts

That my son had left behind.

 

While looking at them, one by one,

I realized they portrayed

His entire growing up, through college,

Starting in first grade.

 

The school shirts featured P.S. 6,

Then Wagner Junior High,

With a special few from Stuyvesant,

Where high school years flew by.

 

Another group had characters

From movies or TV –

Pee Wee Herman, Austin Powers

And the Simpsons’ family tree.

 

There was Beavis, there was Butthead

And the South Park kids, as well

As World Series shirts and Yankees;

(We’re New Yorkers, you can tell).

 

Favor shirts from his Bar Mitzvah

Nestled near the travel trove –

Shirts from Scotland and from Israel,

Plus some places where we drove.

 

Then the final category,

From his favorite billiards hall,

Where the hours spent resulted

In those plaques upon his wall.

 

As a grown-up and a parent,

His collection’s surely grown,

But I love these sweet reminders

Of his younger self I’ve known.

A Carpet of Gold

Just ‘round the corner,

A carpet of gold,

From the branches of ginkgos,

Was there to behold.

 

The lovely-shaped leaves

Also covered some cars,

So you couldn’t tell Hondas

From sleek Jag-u-ars.

 

I waded through piles,

Their yellow so bright

That all who walked by

Got a dose of delight.

 

In a matter of days,

Nature’s vacuum will sweep

All that carpet away,

Likely while we’re asleep.

A Holiday Fair

I went to a holiday fair.

Many craftsmen and shoppers were there.

All the goods on display

Were well-worth what you’d pay

If you had extra money to spare.

 

Yet not one little thing did I buy

And in case you were wondering why,

It’s that all of my stuff

Seems to be quite enough

So I look and walk on, with a sigh.

 

I would purchase a lot in my youth,

Checking out every kiosk or booth,

But that hunger is gone;

I will pass the baton

To each tourist or craft-seeing sleuth.

Time to Remember

It’s time to remember,

When we hit December,

How quickly the time seems to fly.

We drift through life’s stages

As calendar pages

Proclaim that the year’s slipping by.

 

We mark off the seasons

For no other reasons

Than habit and need to keep track,

Yet the forward momentum

Makes days – how we spent ‘em –

Worth little, for we can’t go back.

 

So each month we’re still living,

There’s time for forgiving

And blocking out things that annoy.

Every day of the week

We should wake up and seek

Something out there to bring us some joy.