When I was a kid, pistachios
Had
shells they dyed bright red
And
sure enough, that color
To
your fingers quickly spread.
It
didn’t wash off easily,
But
left a tell-tale clue
About
what you’d been snacking on,
That
bright red proof on view.
Today,
I cracked pistachios
And
wondered, as I ate,
Why
someone once decided
To
disguise their natural state.
No
matter why, that dye is gone –
Red
fingers not the answer.
For
all we know, pistachios
With
dye might have caused cancer.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
