Chain Mail

When I was a girl,

Every once in a while,

I’d receive in the mail,

Because that was the style,

 

A letter to copy

And send to a name

At the top of a list,

Which in that letter came.

 

When you copied the note,

You’d add your own address

To the list, while deleting

The top one. Success

 

Came when after some days

You’d receive quite a slew

Of the letters, from strangers,

Delivered to you.

 

If you followed the rules,

You would have some good luck.

If you didn’t, without it,

I guess you’d be stuck.

 

The letters back then

Needed stamps and were mailed

And the fun part was knowing

That you had prevailed.

 

Now my granddaughter sent me

A chain in a text:

“Sent to 15 new people

Or what happens next

 

Will be lots of bad luck

For 3 years if you don’t.

If you do, you will get

A new phone.” (No, I won’t.)

 

“You will also be getting

The pet of your dreams.

Everybody will love you!”

I guess that’s how it seems

 

To the youth of today,

But with this kind of chain,

As I wrote to my granddaughter,

I will refrain.

A Sizeable Story

A clairvoyant, who wasn’t too tall,

Got involved in an ill-fated brawl.

His predictions fell flat

And his client, quite fat,

Threw him head-first right into a wall.

 

When he managed to finally stand,

There was somehow a knife in his hand,

Which he used for one thrust;

Then, avoiding a bust,

He escaped, like it somehow was planned.

 

When the cops arrived, someone in charge

Did explain what occurred to the sarge;

So in minutes, the police

Sent an all-points release:

There’s a medium, small, who’s at large.

My Doctor's Appointment

I canceled my doctor’s appointment

The second time, due to the snow.

It’s to check on my eyes

But to no one’s surprise,

The predictions say I shouldn’t go.

 

It’s not an emergency visit,

But now I will be overdue.

I wanted things checked

But the blizzard’s effect

Is to underscore what is taboo,

 

Which is venture outside when the weather

May have whiteout conditions or worse.

I could trip on the ice

So I’ll follow advice

And stay home since the forecast’s adverse.

 

Maybe third time’s the charm will prove worthy

And on my next appointment, I’ll show.

Until then I’ll give in;

Mother Nature will win

And from home I’ll watch blizzard winds blow.

Their Own Ticking

We can’t set our internal clocks;

They manage their own ticking

And though it seems a paradox,

They can’t be changed by tricking.

 

For if you are an early bird,

Your body will awaken

At hours some will find absurd,

The dreamer’s world forsaken.

 

Yet you will revel in the dawn,

Its quiet like a buffer,

While later wake-up times will spawn

A mindset that will suffer.

 

For those who let the morning pass,

Reluctantly arising,

That extra sleep provides the gas

They need for energizing.

 

A rooster’s crow will surely jolt

Their deep and dreamy slumber

And mind and body will revolt

At daybreak’s early number.

 

Internal clocks are set at birth –

We have one or the other,

But my advice, for what it’s worth –

Don’t blame your dad or mother.

Bread and Salt

To follow tradition,

When someone has moved,

If to buying a gift

You feel somewhat behooved,

 

Instead of some flowers

Or wine, try instead

The old-fashioned welcome

Of salt and of bread.

 

These both are symbolic

Of things households need,

Ensuring its members

Will thrive and succeed.

 

An extra for sweetness,

Like cookies or cake,

Will round out the offer

Of mazel* you’ll make.

 

Whatever you bring to

Your kith or your kin,

It shows love for the home

Where new lives will begin.

 

*luck (in Yiddish)

So Many Athletes

So many athletes get their start

When they’re in school, or younger,

With parents to encourage dreams

And help sustain that hunger.

 

They’ll build a backyard skating rink

Or schlep them to their classes

And drain the family’s bank account

Plus take vacation passes.

 

The lucky ones fulfill those hopes

And join the real contenders,

Competing for the recognition

Such a feat engenders.

 

But what about the other ones,

Who never reach that level,

Whose injuries or lack of talent

Torment and bedevil?

 

I wonder if they sit and watch

The games and all the glory

And wish they had a very different

Ending to their story.

Long Ago and Far Away

In the pictures, I’m smiling,

My face deeply tanned,

Surrounded by friends

In a faraway land.

 

A summer in Israel,

Without any cares,

To spend meeting people

At work picking pears.

 

We woke at 4:30

And, after a meal,

We boarded the trucks;

Oh, that life did appeal!

 

So different from all

That I knew from before.

To sweat in the orchards

Felt not like a chore

 

But like an adventure,

To be there among

Others on their own journeys,

All carefree and young.

My Morning Coffee

I drink two cups of coffee

With my breakfast every day.

It must be black and steaming hot

And perked the old-time way.

 

So I was pleasantly surprised

To read my morning drink

May cause my chances of decline

(That’s cognitive!) to shrink.

 

Dementia’s always frightened me;

It hit my mom quite young

And naturally, to worries

Of that nature, I have clung.

 

Yet now, at least, my caffeine fix

Might make a little dent

In fighting off dementia,

Though that wasn’t my intent.

Such Hype

When, oh when, will people learn

To not create such hype

That might make someone crash and burn

With reason, then, to gripe?

 

At the Olympics, all the eyes

Were focused to behold

The skaters meant to grab the prize

Which, naturally, was gold.

 

The ice dance leaders did their best,

Their program filled with magic.

The judges, though, were more impressed

With others, not quite tragic

 

Yet disappointing, since the world

Expected gold success.

The way they glided, jumped and twirled

Meant silver caused distress.

 

The competition for the men

Was even worse than that,

For all the hype exploded when

The leader’s skate fell flat.

 

The pressure facing athletes there

Must mess with all their heads.

What they don’t need is extra glare

To rip their nerves to shreds.

Valentine Hearts

The old silphium plant,

Found in ancient Cyrene,

Had some qualities Google

Brought up on my screen.

 

Seems its seed pod was used

To increase certain pleasures

And was thereby considered

Among Nature’s treasures.

 

Now this seed pod was shaped

Like a Valentine heart

And that may be how

Valentine’s Day got its start.

 

Or perhaps that’s a tale

Or an out-and-out lie,

Manufactured and shown

By some sneaky A.I.

 

But no matter the origin,

Hope your heart’s full,

Regardless of if

You believe in this bull.

Before Amazon

Think of your life

Before Amazon came.

At gift-giving time,

You had no one to blame 

If the present you purchased 

For a certain date 

Wasn’t mailed out in time

And arrived much too late.

It was all on your shoulders -

The shopping, the wrapping;

Too bad if the calendar

Caught you out napping.

Now you click on the site 

And you order away

With your gift, in a day or two,

Well on its way.

Impersonal? Yes,

But it gets to the door

Without much of the hassle

You dealt with before.

An occasional gift

Sent in old-fashioned style

Makes me marvel that someone

Went that extra mile.

Screen Saver

My husband, who wanted a change

On his phone, thought that he would arrange

For a different Van Gogh

Since, as screen savers go,

Such a choice isn’t really that strange.

 

So he searched for some art to replace

What he had and to fill up that space

And what came into view

Was so lovely, he knew

It was something that he could embrace.

 

When he showed it to me and our son,

Right away certain doubts had begun,

For the question was raised

After one real quick gaze*

If the work was one Van Gogh had done.

 

The Museum (Van Gogh) did reply

To my husband’s request, with a sigh.

What you’ve sent us, alas,

No inspection would pass

For it isn’t Van Gogh, but A.I.

 

*by my son – I was as clueless as my husband!

No One to Ask

My brother and I, reminiscing,

Realized we’ve an impossible task,

For as we’ve gotten older, with facts that we lack,

There is nobody left we can ask…

 

Like the age that our grandparents lived to

Or the circumstance when each one passed.

We each had our thoughts but they didn’t line up,

From the mem’ries we both have amassed.

 

There are records and photos and treasures

Which attest to important events,

But the questions which no one can answer

Will forever be kept in suspense.

A Little Bit Warmer

It’s a little bit warmer,

Much better than colder,

For time’s a transformer

And thus, I am older.

 

We’re subject to weather

Beyond our controlling

And, lone or together,

There is no cajoling

 

Since Nature likes toying

With our expectations

And, though it’s annoying,

We make adaptations.

 

The heaviest jacket

Is not what I’m wearing.

This cold, we can hack it,

But I am preparing

 

For temps to start crashing

Once we think we’re past it

As Nature, eyes flashing,

Will once again blast it.

Terribly Strange

In a Paul Simon song

Called “Old Friends,” an exchange

Mentions how being 70’s

“Terribly strange.”

 

When he wrote those lyrics,

Let me underscore,

Simon’s age was, believe it

Or not, 24.

 

Most folks in their 20’s

Or decades way past,

Have no clue just how long

Their own vigor may last

 

Since we, each of us, age

At a different pace.

Some may carry their youth;

Others don’t hold a trace.

 

Yet Paul got one thing right,

For we must rearrange

Thoughts of “old” as we age

And it’s terribly strange.

The Winter Olympics

Watching the Olympics

Does provide the perfect view

Of athletes doing all the things

You couldn’t ever do.

 

A triple axel or a quad,

A backflip or a grab

On skis or skates or snowboards,

No one with an ounce of flab.

 

Whether skeleton or bobsleigh,

Curling, hockey, Nordic, luge,

Every type of competition

Highlights skills not short of huge.

 

So it’s nice to eat some popcorn

And relax, in from the cold,

With the TV turned to Italy

And races for the gold.

 

To marvel at competitors

And hear their praises sung

For the feats beyond your talents,

Even back when you were young.

Old Man Jenkins

My grandson loves being on stage

And with characters he does engage.

In his middle school show

He let everyone know,

By his actions, he was of old age.

 

Old Man Jenkins* was his latest part

And he nailed it from right at the start.

With a walker he moved,

Stooped and slowly, and proved

Comic instincts will set him apart.

 

For he stayed very true to his role,

Which, of course, is an actor’s real goal.

Though he wasn’t the lead

I think he did succeed

To win praise in the spotlight he stole.

 

*from “Sponge Bob, the Musical”

Melania

I haven’t seen “Melania” -

To do so, I’ve no plans,

For I am not, in any shape 

Or form, one of her fans.

It’s just another instance of

A move that’s gauche and crass,

To rub into our faces

All the bad that’s come to pass.

Our country ruled by tyrants,

Lowlifes bringing fear and strife

And now 40 million dollars

Spent to showcase one such wife.

Just to think of all that money

And the homes that it could build 

Wasted on each White House lily,

Which just reprobates would gild.

When I checked “Rotten Tomatoes,”

Which rates many movie picks,

I was not surprised to see it rated

With a lowly 6.

Called self-serving and pathetic,

Boring, dull and bad and bland, 

Critics hated it but not her fans,

Who grovel on command.

Winging It

There are people who measure

And those who do not;

People who test drive

Or give it a shot.

 

People who research

And those who just act;

Those with rough guesses

Opposed to exact.

 

Some follow instructions

Right down to a T,

While others will wing it

(And that includes me).

 

I don’t have the patience

To make things ideal.

If something’s not perfect,

It’s not a big deal.

 

I like that philosophy

Most of the time,

But I have exceptions

When it comes to rhyme!

Catherine O'Hara

Who couldn’t love Catherine O’Hara?

In every performance, she rocked.

The news of her death, unexpected,

Left her fans and her co-workers shocked.

 

“Home Alone” might have granted her stardom,

But her movies with Christopher Guest

Brought her comedy chops to the forefront

And, to me, those were some of her best.

 

Yet my favorite of all of the people

She inhabited while at her peak

Was, I’m sure you can tell by my rhyming,

Moira Rose, matriarch of “Schitt’s Creek.”

 

In this role, she was over-dramatic,

Clueless as to how she was perceived,

But despite how eccentric she played it,

She was someone we always believed.

 

Just to watch her you couldn’t help smile;

She brought joy that no one could resist.

Now the world’s mourning Catherine O’Hara,

Who will surely be very much missed.

The Coat Check Line

We waited for the coat check

Since our winter garb is bulky

And schlepping it around could make

Us feel a little sulky.

 

The Met was far from crowded

Yet the line was barely crawling.

We inched along impatiently;

As members, it was galling.

 

At last we made it to the front;

No claim checks were presented.

Instead, you tapped your number

On a keypad; none dissented.

 

When we were set to leave,

After a lovely afternoon,

We lined up once again,

Our crawl repeating much too soon.

 

But as we zipped our jackets up,

I noticed that adjacent

To the line we left was one where

Not one person was impatient.

 

For it was meant for members,

Which describes our situation.

Had we known about it sooner,

We’d have saved some aggravation.

Six More Weeks

Both Punxsutawney Phil

And local Staten Island Chuck

Saw their shadows which, on Groundhog Day,

Means we are out of luck.

 

It seems that winter will be here

For 6 more weeks, at least,

If you believe predictions made

By this forecasting beast.

 

Supposedly, this got its start

When Pennsylvania Dutch

Marked Candlemas as “Badger Day”

And it remained as such

 

Since 1886, when if

A badger left its den

And sunshine cast its shadow,

Spring would not be seen again

 

For 4 more weeks (though now it’s 6),

Which might cause disbelief;

Though with this cold, an ending date

Would be a great relief!

Cocky

In tennis, the players

Whom I am embracing

Are those who are, most

Of the time, self-effacing.

 

They might crack a smile

If they make a great shot

Or give a huge shout,

But one thing they are not

 

Is cocky, encouraging

Fans to applaud.

To me, that’s behavior

Obnoxious and flawed.

 

Some beckon with hand signals:

“Give me some praise!”

Or grab both their ears

For some louder displays.

 

It reminds me of someone,

You’ll surely surmise,

Who demands to be handed

A Nobel Peace prize.

 

For those most deserving

Of tributes to bask in

Are those who would never

Sink low and start askin’.

A Mountain of Snow

Next to our car is a mountain of snow,

Which has frozen as hard as a rock.

Ours isn’t the only one locked in, although

It’s the worst one around the whole block.

 

We’re parked on the side where the plows seemed to push

All the snow that was blocking the street

And because of the freeze, what should turn into mush

Has instead made our blockade complete.

 

We have nowhere to go and can get to the train

When we need to help out with the grands,

So on 89^th Street, our poor car will remain

For as long as the weather demands.

 

We’ve been through this before, but it’s been a few years

Since we’ve dealt with both snow and such cold

And my husband and I, plus our car, it appears,

Feel the mileage we’ve gained taking hold.

The Ferry Suspension

They suspended the ferry

And blamed it on ice.

With weather so frigid, 

Those grounds should suffice.

The notice described 

The East River, which goes

North or south, both directions

Obstructed by floes.

The fleet is aluminum,

Making it tough 

To navigate safely

With waters so rough.

I don’t take it often,

But those who commute 

Must be wishing this ice

Will be given the boot.

Which is just like the hope

Minnesotans possess,

For both versions of ICE

Cause incredible stress.

Everybody’s Taste

 A pretzel goes with mustard

Like a bagel goes with cheese

And meals must end with something sweet

In order to appease.

French fries should not have ketchup,

But for burgers, it’s a must

And ice cream filled with chocolate chunks

Leaves others in the dust.

My choices might not mesh with yours,

For everybody’s taste

Depends on how and where we’re raised

And foods we have embraced.

Yet each of us has favorites

And that sets us all apart.

Let’s unite with some strong coffee

And a well-made Linzer tart!