Happy Birthday, dear brother

Happy birthday, dear brother

the one who fixed my post box after a spree of vandalism

the one who held my hand through the flood of 2013

and who listens, sometimes with a wry smile.

happy birthday to my big brother who knows everything,

or at least thinks he does, I've learned to rely on him,

90% is good enough for me, the other 10% doesn't matter.

we used to promise to keep each other company in the nursing home

we both have wrinkles on our necks now

but have younger spouses

Stephen might be pushing me in my wheel chair

Chris might be pushing yours

maybe we will be pushed along side by side

things could be worse.

I'll treasure every day and every conversation with you,

dear brother, every fantastic dinner, every shared bottle of wine.

most of all, dear brother, I am so thankful for our 

conversations, our lunches and laughs, our dinners and delights,

thank you, dear brother, for being my friend. 

Color memories on paper

 this color memory on paper

leaning against the kitchen wall in a

house next to a lake.

boats rock in the water nearby

Christmas lights blink in the darkness.

I captured this image digitally

as was the parent of this color memory

on paper

on a Fall day a couple years ago.

there was a beautiful bride and a proud groom

to have finally captured his love

long enough to put a ring on her finger

and call her his wife.

she turned away to capture this color memory

on paper 

to admire her beautiful daughter and niece,

then turned back and smiled.

Still making cookies...two of us anyway

This year, they are healthy.

Whole wheat organic flour, sugar and butter,

they melt in our mouths.

One reads the newspaper and drinks milk.

The other two mix the dough, roll it out and

make cookies.

the one reading the paper eats them.

maybe one day his straw house will blow down

and the two women will be safe and sound in their

brick homes eating cookies they saved in the

freezer for such a day.

Finding happiness

Finding happiness in a half empty peanut butter jar,

A quiet spot at the kitchen table amidst the wrapping paper

And an empty suitcase

We have too much to justify.

my mother-in-law's T-shirt hangs loose on me

Everyone is winding down, books are open

Hallelujah, the TV is muted.

I'm nibbling a corner of chocolate chip cookie

Savoring a glass of wine and watching the second hand

Move around the clock.

There are Christmas lights reflecting off the lake

I'll go outside in the darkness,

In the silence with my half empty peanut butter jar

And realize it's half full with more than enough to share.

Capturing the holidays

Christmas eve
polenta and mushrooms
watercress salad and freshly baked bread
children who tower above me
a missing husband who is missed

Christmas morning
waffles, fruit divided into three bowls
so we all get some
otherwise it will all disappear into one mouth
we know who it is
presents of calendars of poems
pie server, agave, wine, an electric mixer
to replace the one from my first marriage,
the one that finally broke, was it the marriage or
the mixer
this new one,  sleek aqua body
completely redesigned beaters silently whip
the egg whites
I was amazed at their efficiency.

Christmas Eve Day

I promised I'd write a poem to
capture her disappearing into the distance on
her skate skis, a novice no more.
a few lessons from yours truly, and off she goes.
a rather awkward gazelle, still finding her legs,
but with boundless endurance, energy and
enthusiasm.
As soon as I catch up, breathing hard, she asks
if I'm ready in a cheery voice and takes off.
Ah, youth!
And so it goes, two rounds of Buckeye Basin,
back on Peterson's and up Roller Coaster.
I am so proud to have survived,
it was even great fun,

joy

the ion source lit up
that is joy after waiting a month
after another day of no success
that is joy
that means I can take a few days off
and not worry about science,
her reluctant secrets
buried in molecules, soils
and the open sky.
i'll sleep well tonight after
dodging capoeria kicks.
I launched a few of my own
in joy
and then we danced
until late into the evening.

Wandering through an iPhone

my brother isn't here.
he's the one who patiently shows me
the ins and outs, the pluses and minuses,
the right buttons for delete.
I think I deleted all my photos, or at least
some of them, the important ones.
maybe I stored them somewhere on the cloud
that doesn't really exist since I don't know
how to get there
do you
we all think our stuff is safely somewhere
since we will never need it again
it's probably all a scam
lots of money is made
my brother is watching a woman
dance with fire on a beach in Mexico
it's cold and dark here and
I have lost my photos
precious photos.

the new you

the new you
shinier, more colorful, topped out!
smiling, radiant, ready
for the new year,
the new job,
the new place!
but alas, away from me,
your dear mother, so keep the
smile going for me, dear daughter,
it warms my heart,
it makes me smile
your topper of a green bow and
red and gold trailing tresses suits you,
my Karen, who will always be my little
girl, no matter how grown up.

Making quiche

I gave away the cook-book,

but don't tell Steve, it was such a thoughtful gift

except I couldn't read most of it.

such specialized language for cooking!

I know where it is, on the bookshelf of my 

Canadian friend and she sent me the one

recipe I desperately needed

quiche lorraine with four eggs and 30 cl of 

creme fraiche.

better yet, my daughter will make it for me

for the double Eve of Christmas Eve.

how yummy,

how delightful!

capoeira in a tiny space

i fear
i will kick the iron radiator behind me,
push over the music stand in front,
on one side the wall, a bed frame across.
the rug burns my feet, but the wood floor will freeze them
i'm too old for this
but i'll keep trying like a baby learning to crawl,
a little every day, a few minutes to go with
flute or a poem.
ah, the dishes call to me and then nighttime
will cradle me in her arms and sleep will
come quickly.

Friends

the woman in the back is eating cake,

I know, because I could hardly pull myself away.

Diane was wearing a black sheath showing off her

sculpted shoulders, I was wearing red at my very own

little black dress holiday party, I was holding a glass of

red wine, but had to put it down.

who are these people, my friends, 

Michele, who speaks six languages fluently,

LeRoy, we carpooled for several years, always

dropping my kids at school on the way, we repeated

ourselves so many times we had hand signals to indicate

another repeat.

Barry and Paula, his family, a woman in the back who I

can't quite make out, but I think it's Susan

who works too hard and needs to find a way to

have more fun and the big goof in the back,

my husband, Stephen, peeking over everyone's 

heads.

and me, looking happy, being happy

amongst all my friends.

a little boy grown big

milk shake with whipped cream on top,

3-d glasses in hand,

a smile as wide as a Nebraska horizon

his whole body wagging like a puppy

in heaven,

he's ready!

Movie night at the cinema,

Star Wars!

Storm Troopers against Rebels,

Flying machines, mid-air collisions,

Darth Vader and the Force of the Jedi,

the milkshake will somehow disappear

even though we're on a diet,

and we'll forget politics for a moment,

Good will triumph in the galaxy!

I remember

I remember.

a small boy running hell-fire around

the house, sputtering, roaring, his fighter jet

whirling and spinning, finally crashing to the

ground amidst the sounds of explosions,

the cries of wounded soldiers and tanks

rushing to the site of the crash.

it was this jet.

the paint job could be improved

but otherwise not the worse for wear.

the small boy is now a man

chasing after other things that fly

for real this time, although

not intended for war.

the only sounds are those of the birds,

a rushing river, the sound of a city street,

the drone of a motorcycle climbing impossibly

steep hillsides

his flying machine is a mere glint in the sky

it watches him from on high.

The disappearing RSVP

What happened to the RSVP?
You know, where you let a host know you'll be coming,
That little nicety of saying hey, thanks for the invite,
I'd love to come,
That little nicety of saying hey, thanks for inviting me,
So sorry to miss it
Let's catch up soon
Happy holidays.
What happened to hand written invitations that
Reliably arrive in a mailbox
Eagerly opened, treasured
Now an eVite, never received, or worse,
Viewed, but never replied,
Maybe something better will come up.
What happened to the RSVP, gone the way of
Other good manners I grew up with
I must be old.

Contamination by silicone

 silicone creeps along surfaces

from the oven mitts you treasure in your kitchen drawer,

the hand lotion you love, the bathroom caulk.

it crept into the cleaning lab and contaminated the

surfaces and their minds

all of a sudden unable to process the simplest things

their words sticky against each other, their minds

dulled as if encased in glue

silicone contaminates a meeting

it's no longer engaging or new, it's the 

same old same old, who did, what happened

when and how to rearrange everything in 

their tidy compartmentalized jobs

silicone is messy but so 

is life.

between the snow and the sky

between the snow and the sky

a verdant hillside of pine trees

their lovely smell reminds me of Christmas

their branches are covered in snow, like

icing on a gingerbread house

on the hillside,  

our skis find a path through the forest,

the silence broken by an occasional bird

the twang of skis flexing and releasing

on every glide.

this strip of dark green

held between the overcast clouds and

snow holds beauty, smell, feel,

sound and vision,

we hear the silence between

our skis.

(not) losing weight

really

calories don't count because the scale keeps 

                  going up and up and up

even though we're not eating any more than usual,

my friend and me,

a cup of yougurt:  137 calories

half cup of fruit:  42 calories

all said and done, less than allotted for today

and yesterday and the day before

she says she's puffy and bloated,

the little pouch on my tummy is still soft

and little spare tires are growing

but today I started counting and

I'm hungry

I don't like dieting.

my new bike

I got my new bike today

tomorrow I'll kick ass.

those  who have whizzed by me all these years

they will only see a streak of red go by

and feel the wind against their faces

I'll disappear into the distance

leaving them far behind

I'll feel so strong, so powerful.

no more stressing about working out,

about not working out.

I'd rather write poetry and make music.

tonight I'd watch TV but my love

is too tired so I'll read my book

and fall asleep, dreaming of my

new bike.

an invitation

if you are reading this,
come join our party.
we will be merry around a Christmas tree,
wine will freely flow
chocolates will melt on our tongues
the pungent smell of French cheese will fill our nostrils
the dog will be hoping for fallen crumbs
her nose close to the ground
her tail will brush against our stockinged legs
come join our party,
we welcome you to our midst
drink to holiday cheer.

frozen solid

it will be -4 tonight.
frost will form inside the double paned windows
there is no such thing as perfection.
a breeze will blow off the windows
there is no such thing as a perfect seal
when it comes to the shifting of an old house
that has seen floods, freezes and the killing heat
of a relentless dry sun.
i would freeze, my lips blue, the tears would turn to ice
i am glad to be inside where it is warm,
where a cozy bed awaits me,
I am thankful to be alive in this place
in this moment.
I am lucky not to be frozen solid.

innovation

i visited this place where a building was labeled

New Ideas, the Production building was down the street.

everyone looked smart and capable,

crisp, their brains were whirring with creativity

it was frightening and I wanted to get away.

they came up with ideas like

automobiles stacked one above the other, 

the ugliest building in the world,

each customer had to make an appointment

to get her car.

in my town, I see young men with man buns

and young women with tattoos on their forearms,

they are making new ideas.

I hope they are less frightening.

packing for Mars 2020

I'll wear my nicest pants and my black cashmere sweater.
this is what women think of when they'll be in a review
with the unknowns, mostly white middle aged men.
I could be surprised.
I'll bring my big brain and hope to get a chance to use it,
considering I have no review materials ahead of time
I'll wing it.
that's what the big boys do without hesitation,
I can do that, too
in my cashmere sweater and nice pants.

Supply Chain

Supply Chain.
A chain which prevents movement forward
A faceless crowd of bureaucrats ensnared in
rules of their own making,
Separation of church and state is nothing
compared with the separation of purchase
requisitions and purchase orders. notwithstanding
the material requisition which no one seems to
know how it is made, nor where it is needed.
I wait impatiently, I try to do their job
for them.
I need my project to move forward.

it's been ten days and nothing has been
ordered yet.
The Chain is around my neck,
strangling me and my
creativity.