Cherries

While eating some cherries,

I have to admit

That the fruit is delicious,

But lickety-split

 

The bowl will be empty

Except for the pits

And the stems that released them

For our benefits.

 

The cherries are bursting

With beauty and taste,

Though the pits and the stems

Will get tossed out as waste.

 

When life is described as

This fruit in a bowl,

It’s obvious that

All the cherries are whole

 

And likewise, when everything

Seems on the fritz,

It’s apt to believe that

Your life is the pits.

Domingo

My husband likes conversing

With most anyone he meets,

Including taxi drivers or

The ones in Uber fleets.

 

Domingo was our Uber guy

And on the ride, we shared

Some talk of life and grandkids,

But I doubt he was prepared

 

When a question was presented

Asking him to think and rate,

On a scale of 1 – 10,

Just how happy was his state.

 

At first he didn’t get it

Then he smiled and said most days

His number would be 8 and next,

He listed all the ways.

 

He and his family have their health,

He has a home and work

And seeing others suffer,

He knows dangers that might lurk.

 

So all in all, his life’s okay

And he feels satisfied,

A pleasant conversation

For our Wednesday Uber ride.

Aging Well

My aunt plays mah jongg twice a week

And, far as I can tell,

She likes the game at the Senior Center

Known as “Aging Well.”

 

While visiting, I joined her there

And dusted off my skills,

Observing all the functions that

The Center thus fulfills –

 

Camaraderie, the sense of pride

That competition brings

And time away from home in which

To stretch reluctant wings.

 

At 97 years of age,

My aunt still likes to play

And “Aging Well” allows her

To keep doing things her way.

Game Shows

When visiting my older aunt,

We sit and watch TV.

When she’s alone she does this,

But it’s not the same for me.

So I was not familiar with

Shows like “Let’s Make a Deal”

Or “Wheel of Fortune,” which to many 

Really do appeal.

It seems that the contestants must

Be smiley, showy, loud

And enthusiastic to a point

Of which I’d not be proud.

The audience is into it -

They clap and whoop and cheer,

As grinning hosts might wonder

How they made this their career.

Yet all these shows are popular,

Which doesn’t shock me much,

But makes me see how with this country

I am out of touch.

Esther’s Apartment

Esther’s apartment is almost the same

As it was when she lived in its space.

Her son and her daughter-in-law (my dear friend)

Live there now and her vibe they embrace.

All her furniture’s there and her dishes and lamps

And the paintings of many a child

(Even Esther), plus one of a rabbi and all

By her father, professionally styled.

For the last twenty years of her life, Esther made

The apartment a welcoming home,

Where her family, including great-grandchildren, came,

Never thinking they’d be in a poem.

But my favorite thing was the album, quite big,

Of her wedding, a gala affair,

All the images captured in black and white shots 

With a true 1950-type flair.

Esther’s spirit lives on, which would not be the case

If my friend and her husband weren’t there,

But they’ve honored her past as their future is made

Which, to me, seems so special and rare.

The Restaurant

The restaurant was wonderful;

The food was well prepared. 

The atmosphere was cozy

And I liked the booth we shared.

The waiter, super-friendly,

Was attentive and the beer

Was a local IPA, which made

Me grin from ear to ear.

Yet glancing at the other diners,

What I noticed first

Was the fact that everyone was old

And what was interspersed 

At their tables were their walkers 

Or their wheelchairs or their canes.

Still, they ate and drank and laughed and maybe 

I can’t quite explain,

But it made me understand how life

In Florida is sold -

Not to get away from winter,

But to join your fellow old.

Group 6

The flight is full, so there’s no room

For everybody’s bags.

We need 3 dozen volunteers -

Come up; we’ve got the tags.

The first-class passengers are set,

As well as Comfort Plus,

But those in Groups 6,7,8 - 

You’re screwed - and that means us!

We didn’t buy the cheapest seats,

Yet still, we’re in a fix

Because our boarding pass revealed

That we are in Group 6.

We now need 20 people

To check baggage and what’s more,

By doing so, we’ll move you up

And you will join Group 4!

We waited with our bags until

A few of us remained

And yes, we stowed our bags up top, 

Despite what they’d maintained.

And by the way, 2 empty seats 

Are there across the aisle,

A challenge to the agents

Who might still be in denial.

Waxed Amaryllis

An acquaintance left my son a gift

In a bag outside his door,

An amaryllis plant in wax

I’ve never seen before.

Instructions say to let it sit 

In a well-lit room, but not

In sun that is direct; perhaps

It might get much too hot.

It needs no water, for the bulbs

Have nutrients within,

Plus all the moisture to ensure

That growth will soon begin.

In four to five weeks, stems will form,

Then one month later, buds,

Which will produce some lovely blooms

(Unless you’re stuck with duds).

A perfect gift for those of us 

Whose thumbs are far from green.

With zero effort, you can add

Some beauty to your scene.

Some Baking

Today I did some baking,

Though the holiday’s not yet,

But there is no mistaking

Rules that I will not forget.

 

Ingredients are measured

And utensils are at hand.

For this recipe I’ve treasured,

Everything must go as planned.

 

As I dust the dough with flour

And my rolling pin’s in play,

I lose track of time; each hour

Seems to slowly slip away.

 

These same cookie cutters used to

Be my grandma’s; now they’re mine

And I think she’d be amused to

See her recipe still shine.

 

I am only halfway finished

But I’m glad to take a break.

Though my skills have not diminished,

There’s a lot more left to bake.

False Positives

One was from a blood test;

One was from a scan.

Both caused much anxiety,

As bad news always can.

 

Follow-ups determined

There was no cause for concern,

Which has made me start to wonder,

Just what lesson can we learn?

 

To never trust a doctor

Or technician or result?

Or to not jump to conclusions

After yelling, “Oy gevalt!”?

 

Guess it serves as a reminder

That we cannot quite rely

On results which bring up death,

A truth we’d rather just deny.

Cover Story

My umbrella was wet,

So they gave me a bag.

A wet floor at the gym

Would be kind of a drag.

 

It was still coming down

When I left, so I tugged

My umbrella from where

In my bag it was snugged.

 

Once at home, it dried out,

But the cover was lost,

Leading me on a search

Of the streets I had crossed.

 

It was there on the walk,

Looking wet and forlorn,

But it didn’t look dirty

Or muddy or torn.

 

It’s now hanging to dry,

Reunited, I’m glad,

With my favorite umbrella

That I’ve ever had.

The New York Public Library

The New York Public Library’s

A lovely place to visit.

The main branch Beaux-Arts building

Is a landmark most exquisite.

 

In addition to its majesty,

Exhibits are displayed,

Which New Yorkers rarely think about

When plans are being made.

 

I don’t know why, for there are treasures

Waiting to be viewed.

In one case, there was Pooh Bear,

Where most children’s eyes were glued.

 

Charles Dickens’ writing table

And his calendar and chair,

Plus a baseball signed by Brooklyn Dodgers

All are set up there.

 

A special exhibition

Was the draw that lured us in,

Celebrating the New Yorker

And its hundred year-old spin.

 

And one final must-go reason –

There’s a gift shop worth a look.

You can spend the day enjoying all

And never touch a book.