The Little Things

When I buy paper towels,

I don’t care about the ply.

I just don’t want boring white ones 

And perhaps you wonder why.

Well, a towel with a picture,

Printed on each rolled-down sheet,

Seems to brighten up my kitchen -

Same with napkins, I’d repeat.

Some have flowers, others veggies,

There are those with bright designs -

Any type of printed image

With my preference aligns.

Lately in the supermarket,

All the choices have been white.

While I looked, another customer

Agreed it wasn’t right.

It’s the little things in life

That pick me up and make my day.

Even something insignificant

Can help me feel okay. 

Standing Out

 Riding on a highway,

As the cars go streaming by,

I notice varied brands and styles 

I can’t identify.

To me, they mostly look the same,

The SUV’s and such, 

With different shapes of taillights

Which don’t really matter much.

The vehicles are mostly dark,

Though quite a few are white 

And sometimes there’s a burgundy 

Or red that one can sight.

Yet once in a great while,

There’s a sports car or a jeep

In a neon green or orange 

To which every eye will leap.

That attention’s what the owners

Wanted, like a little spark,

But it sure must come in handy 

When in crowded lots they park.

Checking out the Tats

Sitting by the river

There are lovely urban views,

But it’s more fun to people watch

And check out the tattoos.

 

A dragon snaking up an arm,

Some flowers on a calf,

An eagle near an elbow

And a wizard with a staff.

 

A Yankee logo on a neck,

Some words etched on a chest,

A tiger and a postcard with a stamp,

Neatly addressed.

 

A bird, an anchor and a leaf

And much more, I suppose,

Well-hidden from the public,

Meant to privately expose.

Finding Our Strengths

It’s nice to think that each of us

Possesses certain skills

Or talents or abilities

Which, maybe, life fulfills.

 

The lucky ones discover theirs

Perhaps when they are young

And if they’re able, nurture it

From when their hopes have sprung.

 

For many, strengths stay hidden

And then gradually appear,

At times to even influence

One’s choice of a career.

 

Yet others never have the chance

To tap into that vein

Where aptitude awaits,

So unaware they might remain.

 

To those who are unfortunate

And struggle to proceed,

It might be that a little boost

Might help them to succeed.

At American Family Field

We used to be huge baseball fans

(The Yankees, but, of course!)

And followed all their games and cheered

Until our throats were hoarse.

 

Our fervor somehow waned and now

We couldn’t even name

The players on the team, although

We still enjoy the game.

 

While visiting Milwaukee,

We learned there would be a match

Of the Brewers and the Pittsburgh Pirates

Which we (pun!) could catch.

 

The Pirates pitcher, we found out,

Had quite an arm to wield,

So my husband got us tickets

And we headed to the field.

 

Their ballpark is a beauty

And we joined in with the crowd

Rooting for their favorite Brewers

As instructed – very loud!

 

At inning six, a race is held;

Five “sausages” compete.

The winner was Chorizo,

Bratwurst,* sadly, in defeat.

 

The final score was 4-2,

The Brewers with the prize,

The Pirate pitcher taken out,

Which was a big surprise.

 

Despite not being N.L.**fans,

We had a lot of fun,

For certain sayings hit the mark

And “When in Rome…” is one.

 

*The others include Hot Dog, Italian and Polish

**National League

At the Bobblehead Hall of Fame

A museum filled with Bobbleheads

Is not your average art,

Although that precisely is the thing

That makes it stand apart.

What started with a giveaway

To baseball fans has grown

To a huge collection, in the thousands,

That two friends now own.

Their gallery is organized

By categories, so

You can view your favorites from the teams

Of now or long ago.

Aside from every sport, there are

The dolls that represent

TV characters, both current

And the ones that came and went.

There are cartoon figures, too,

And also singers and their bands,

Plus a host of politicians,

Even some from other lands.

We had lots of fun exploring

The nostalgia they’re providing,

Though we never did find Waldo,

The one Bobblehead in hiding.

A Public Market

A public market lures you in

With local food and drink.

From farms to people it provides

A most delicious link.

The booths are filled with produce,

Meats and dairy (lots of cheese!)

And often freshly-captured seafood,

All arranged to please.

Of course, there will be ethnic food, 

Enticing with its spices 

And sandwiches and pizzas

Offered at amazing prices.

My favorites are the baked goods -

Cupcakes, cookies, cakes and pies 

And the home-made candies, ‘specially 

The chocolates (no surprise).

There may be hats and t-shirts

Advertising local pride,

For a public market’s sure to leave

Us all quite satisfied.

Touring a Mansion

My husband and I love to visit 

Old mansions once home to the rich.

It’s cool to see wealthy folks’ manors,

With which most people wish they could switch.

I admire the woodwork and paintings,

The furniture and the decor,

Though it’s often too showy and fancy,

Since ornate’s far from me at my core.

So I guess it won’t seem too surprising

That the rooms where at home I could feel

Are the quarters that house all the servants,

Which to me have the greatest appeal.

Milwaukee in the Heat

Visiting Milwaukee

And the sun is blazing hot.

Our tolerance, as we get old,

Is something we ain’t got.

So yesterday, the river walk

Enticed us and we went,

The temperature’s effects not really 

All that evident…

Until, with nighttime tickets 

To a huge James Taylor show,

The heat affected us so much,

We almost didn’t go.

We made it, though we didn’t stay 

Until the ending part,

Since other bands played first and James,

Much later, got to start.

Still, it was great to see him

And to hear how good he sounds.

Today, though, being in the heat

Was strictly out of bounds.

Instead, the Art Museum was

The destination where

We spent four delightful hours

And I froze my tush off there!

No Butts About It

I’m surely not the only one

Who finds this hard to use

And whether it is needed

Will produce conflicting views.

Yet when in a public restroom

I will often face defeat

When I try to use the paper cover

For the toilet seat.

As I peel one from the package,

In the process it might tear,

But it still could serve its purpose

If it only ended there…

Though the bigger problem happens,

Even if there is no rush,

When I place it on the seat and then

The toilet starts to flush.

Of course, the cover’s sucked away

So do I start again?

I do not because what I was taught,

Since I remember when

Is to simply crouch above the seat -

No contact should be made. 

Therefore even with no cover,

No one’s cooties can invade.

Packing for Camp

The grandkids are heading to sleepaway camp,

Their clothing all labeled and packed,

Plus all of the extras they may or not need -

Way too much, as a matter of fact.

They bring pillows and blankets and flashlights and fans

And shin guards and sandals and cleats 

And towels and bug spray and sunscreen and stamps 

And shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and sheets.

They need rain gear and sleeping bags, books and canteens,

A laundry bag, backpack and socks,

Plus sweatshirts and jackets and underwear (lots!)

And their sneakers and rain boots and Crocs.

Of course there are bathing suits, t-shirts and shorts

And sweatpants and PJ’s and fleece,

But there are no iPads or Switches or phones

So some wonders, I guess, never cease.

The days spent at camp will fly quickly until

All that stuff gets repacked to go home,

With some missing or ruined or filthy, but that

Is a topic for some future poem.

Thunderstorm

The fury of a thunderstorm

Should not be a surprise,

For prior to its sudden booms

Come dark-as-nighttime skies.

 

The wind whips up, the branches sway,

The air cools down a bit

And lightning zigzags right before

The thunder seems to hit.

 

Then with a crash the storm attacks,

The booming close and loud,

Which causes shrieks and running feet,

Dispersing any crowd.

 

Umbrellas open, wipers snap

And car alarms might beep

While anyone caught napping

Will be jostled from that sleep.

 

Most typically, the storm won’t last

As rumbles move away

And rain lets up to save itself

For yet another day.

 

Quite often, then, the sun appears

And brings with it the heat,

The only proof of the event

The puddles on the street.

Waiting for a Genius

I’m waiting for a genius

At the Apple store today

Where most customers are younger,

Knowing all will be okay.

 

At the counter, though, a woman

Who looks older than my age,

Sits and struggles with the agent

Who is helping her engage.

 

She, like me, is pretty clueless

(Though she seems a little worse)

And she’s viewed with some derision,

Though it once was the reverse.

 

Older doesn’t equal wiser

Like it used to long ago,

For with age comes new technology

Most older folk don’t know.

 

It’s a subject I’m repeating

And I realize it’s a bore,

But it’s really hard to handle

All I can’t do anymore.

Fair Trade

I’d gladly trade technology

For life before A.I.,

When brains and effort were the things

On which we did rely.

 

When human contact helped to solve

Our problems or our fears,

Without the witch hunts which today

Can sabotage careers.

 

When children got to play outside

And passwords weren’t used

And many things did not exist

That get me so confused.

 

When cars had keys and tv stations

Shut down for the night;

When even angry politicians

Fought a civil fight.

 

The world was never perfect then

But I was more content

When life felt simple and secure,

At least to some extent.

The Man and his Dog

They walked very slowly,

The man and his pet;

The dog, with a harness,

Was ailing and yet

 

Each morning I’d see them,

Both inching along,

The limbs maybe weak

But the life force still strong.

 

You saw their connection,

The man leaning close

And giving support

In a much-needed dose.

 

We never conversed,

At least not ‘til today,

When I spotted the man,

All alone, on his way.

 

“Where’s your dog?’ without thinking,

I just blurted out,

Though the answer, “She passed,”

I’d expected, no doubt.

 

When I said I was sorry,

He thanked me and said,

“She was near 17,”

Then he lowered his head

 

And he walked away slowly,

But not like before,

Having no one who needs

His support anymore.

By the Bunch

Fruits are good for snacking,

Like an orange or a plum

Or a peach or nectarine

Or pear or apple, even some

 

Within the melon family,

Where even just a slice

Of a cantaloupe or honeydew

Or crenshaw would suffice.

 

Most people are content with one

When looking for a munch

Except, of course, for grapes because

With them, you’d want a bunch.

 

I wonder why, when Mother Nature’s

Plan for fruits was hatched,

She came up with the strange idea

That grapes should be attached.

 

There must have been a reason

Why on stems they’ve gotten stuck,

But it’s kind of fun to eat them

‘Til you find you’re out of pluck.

"Good Night and Good Luck"

“Good Night and Good Luck,”

Brought to us from the stage,

Allowed viewers from home

To with theater engage.

 

Based on Edward R. Murrow

Who, for CBS News,

Got to challenge McCarthy,

It got rave reviews.

 

Though George Clooney was brilliant,

As was the whole cast,

What most got me was watching

A glimpse of the past…

 

When the bad guy was finally

Brought to his knees

After hurting so many

To varied degrees.

 

It’s a relevant topic

In light of the way

That democracy is

Being threatened today.

 

The unfortunate truth is,

At least what I see,

That to topple this bad guy,

There’s no guarantee.

 

“The times are a’changin”

Can’t really apply –

That train’s left the station,

No matter the why.

 

So I am afraid

We can never go back,

For the truth will be constantly

Under attack.

Fasten-aiding

There are things we take for granted 

People used to do without

With a thousand-plus examples,

But these verses are about…

Fasteners we use for clothing,

Such as zippers, hooks or snaps,

Also buttonholes and buttons,

Buckles, laces, even straps.

Have you heard of Whitcomb Judson?

He and Gideon Sundback share

The invention of the zipper - 

Just let Google take you there.

All my jeans and many jackets

Have that satisfying zip,

Which my ancestors, when dressing,

Never had a chance to grip.

Every fastener has background

Which may fascinate or bore,

But we owe some thanks to those

Who get us quicker out the door.

*Thanks to my husband for the title!

Our Daughter's Swing

A branch once held our daughter’s swing

By blue supporting ropes,

The yellow molded plastic

Holding her and all our hopes.

 

We pushed her as she laughed out loud

And always wanted more,

So we complied, each happy swing

Just like the one before.

 

In time, she grew too big for it;

It hung there, never used.

The branch, from wind and rain and

All that weight was worn and bruised.

 

And then one day it simply snapped,

The swing found in the dirt,

Long past the time when any toddler

Might have gotten hurt.

 

The tree still stands, our daughter’s grown

And very few recall

The yellow swing that held that child,

Giggling in its thrall.

Tweets and Texts

Creatures chirrup, chirp and tweet

Or warble in their way,

All so that in case they meet,

They’ll know just what to say.

It’s kind of like a human text 

Or email or a call,

Preparing what to talk of next

If they connect at all.

Or maybe all this reaching out

Is just to hear expressed

The sounds that show what we’re about

To set our minds at rest. 

Certain

Sometimes you’re certain that something is so,

So sure of yourself that you’d bet,

But if it turns out what you thought you did know

Isn’t true, you’re in somebody’s debt.

For the mind can play tricks and can make you believe

That you did what you meant to, instead

Of not carrying through what you’d hoped to achieve 

When you thought up those plans in your head.

Thus it’s better to hedge and admit that you think

You accomplished your goal, but of course,

State it’s possible that, in the time of a blink,

You did not  -  and prevent a divorce.

Isn’t true

Abandoned

Abandoned on the promenade,

A big-wheeled trike did sit,

Forlornly waiting for the tyke

Who should be riding it.

 

I passed it on my morning walk,

When few are up and out

And seeing it, I wondered

What its story was about.

 

For why was it forgotten?

Did the mom leave in a rush?

Or the dad or sitter tending to

A child’s scraped knee a’gush?

 

Or perhaps they came across some friends

And headed to the swings

With the tricycle remaining there,

Ignored for better things.

 

I hope someone remembers it

And comes to take it home,

Where it belongs much more

Than as a subject for a poem.

Ayodele Casel at the Joyce Theater

Of all the types of dance there are

Across a world-wide map,

My very favorite one, by far,

Is any type of tap.

 

There’s something ‘bout those quick short moves

With that staccato sound

That gets me into happy grooves

When tap shoes are around.

 

Today we saw the final show

Of a two week tap dance run.

The joy on stage produced a glow

Which covered everyone.

 

I wore a ninety-minute grin

And didn’t have my fill.

I couldn’t keep my feelings in;

My feet would not stay still.

 

It was a privilege being there,

My husband by my side,

To soak up such delight (so rare!)

That tap dance can provide.

Elders

Elders once had wisdom,

Which is what was always taught,

So they were treated with respect;

Advice from them was sought.

 

Their years of life provided

The experience they’d learned

And there was satisfaction

When that knowledge was returned.

 

Yet that’s no longer valid,

For intelligence is gleaned

Artificially and so

The human aspect’s been demeaned.

 

Nowadays, to be an elder

Is to realize no one cares,

For our input isn’t valued

By our progeny or heirs.

 

As a consolation, maybe,

For so many years alive,

Elders get a senior discount

Once they’ve aged to sixty-five.

Whether Your Weather

Whether your weather

Is chilly or hot,

Most people get used to

The climate they’ve got.

If heat is your thing,

Be it humid or dry,

You don’t mind the schvitzing,*

Though I don’t know why.

But if you like winter,

With sleet, ice and snow,

You couldn’t care less

If it’s seven below.

I guess there are some

Who may move out of state

If they live where the weather

Is something they hate.

For those with four seasons,

We get to complain

Only part of the year

When the temps are a pain

Which for me, means the summer 

And days like today 

When I hope Mother Nature

Will lure them away.

*sweating

Making a Purchase

When you’re making a purchase 

And there is a choice,

Do you settle or wait for 

That yes-that’s-it! voice?

There are some who don’t care

And will buy the first thing,

Even if it is lacking

That makes-you-smile zing.

Yet others (like me) tend to

Wait for that spark,

Knowing much of what’s out there

Is missing the mark.

But the problem with waiting

Is that a delay

Could extend way beyond 

What a snap judgment may.

In the meantime, you’re stuck with 

An outdated couch

(Or whatever) and everyone

Thinks you’re a slouch.

If you settle or wait,

Either way it’s okay

For it’s deeply embedded

In your DNA.

Lunch on Third Avenue

Had lunch with a friend

And we sat in the shade

In a sidewalk arrangement

The restaurant made.

 

I live on the east side

And she on the west.

We meet to catch up

At each other’s request.

 

The corner was busy

And traffic zipped by.

With sirens and buses,

I’m not gonna lie,

 

The noisiness level

Was blaring and loud,

Plus bulldozers rolled

As pedestrians cowed.

 

Construction just added

More rat-a-tat-tats,

With shouts from the workers

In safety-type hats.

 

My friend and I chatted,

Our voices both raised,

Delighted to be there,

New Yorkers unfazed.

Birthday Parade

We know the dates of birthdays

Of some presidents, once dead,

Yet this time a parade will tout

A living one, instead.

 

As tanks roll down the DC streets

And soldiers march in step,

Republicans won’t focus on

The millions spent in prep.

 

They’ll bow down to their MAGA king

As fireworks explode,

Just like the crowds for Stalin

In his power-hungry mode.

 

We’re told that this parade is for

Our country’s birthday, though,

Considering the president,

We know that isn’t so.

After a High Point

After a high point,

There’s no place to go

But back to the usual

Life that you know.

 

Good feelings may linger,

A satisfied air

Which, if you are lucky,

Will help you prepare

 

For the letdown to follow

That everyone knows

Happens after the high point –

That’s just how it goes.

Putting Together

I ordered a free-standing cabinet,

Despite having known in advance

It needed to be

Put together by me

And my husband, who viewed it askance.

 

All the pieces were labeled quite clearly,

As was each tiny bag filled with screws,

So we read the brochure,

Not quite feeling secure,

Yet we thought we had nothing to lose.

 

As we struggled to follow instructions,

Which had steps listed 1 up to 10,

We repeated our vow

That we’d finish this now

But we never would do it again.

 

At the end, just a couple of hours

Was the time that it took to complete.

Still, it wasn’t much fun,

Though once it was all done,

I felt proud we’d not bowed to defeat.