Sewing Class

Sewing Class

At 10 a.m. sharp we trundled up the
staircase of Wallace Sewing Chalet,
each of us lugging a new
sewing machine, each of us carrying
fantasies of creating exquisite quilts,
blouses decorated with delicate pin tucks,
charming corn bag duvet covers and
adorable Chihuahua outfits, never
mind that we didn’t even know how
to thread the needle or wind a bobbin.
Betty waded through the basics of
threads, needles and fabrics, getting
progressively more adept at dodging
an endless stream of questioning from
the most avid and persistent student.
Barbara dropped out first, claiming
she was too tired to continue,
I was too hungry to think.
The avid student kept talking.
After lunch, bobbin loaded, needle
threaded, we learned to sew pin stripes,
make a button hole, sew a button on,
overcast stitch, make stretchy seams and
even do some twin stitching.
Lindsey started planning her dog outfits,
Melissa asked a question for her husband,
Jackie quietly worked on her projects,
I ate rice cakes while hemming
the pajamas Stephen gave me for
Christmas, and the avid student
kept asking questions.
By 3:30 p.m. we had all packed up
our new machines and wandered
out to our cars, slightly dazed
and certainly amazed, fantasies intact.

Photo courtesy of http://flickr.com/photos/girlhula/622906385/

Daisy and her Treats

I used to ever so carefully
lift the lid off the cracked cookie
jar, afraid of my mother's wrath
if she heard me going after the
cookies again.
Now I ever so carefully
unscrew the lids from the
jar full of homemade granola.
If Daisy hears me, she will come
running in, all four paws
skidding to a stop at my
feet, waiting for her treats.

Plastic Food Containers

Plastic Food Containers

The plastic food containers leave this house
filled to the brim; vegetarian lasagna made
the way Luisa taught me, with béchamel sauce
and mushrooms, with grated carrot-lemon salad,
home made apple pie with lots of cinnamon.
Every time he comes over and we cook,
he leaves with the goodies; I stash them in
the black Vitamin Cottage bag with the
empty dog food container, his wallet, the
rotten banana that is always there and a few
empty plastic bags for good measure.
I don’t like leftovers, I guess, since they
almost never get eaten here and I hate waste.
He hasn’t gotten leftovers lately, even
though I cooked the most divine
beef stroganoff, braised French green
beans and roasted garlic.
He has all the containers.

The Brain from Ukraine meets her Match

The Brain from Ukraine

It was only when
he received orders to serve
military duty at the Egyptian-Israeli
border that he realized he didn’t
want conflict at his border anymore,
nor did he want to continue his
study of Dating for Dummies.
He was in love with the brain of Ukraine,
who somehow found time for the likes of him
in the midst of solving homicide cases
and dispatching the competition at chess.
As a teacher in Tottenville, he tried to
keep the kids from becoming perps;
she dealt with them if they failed.
They both chose to follow the path
of public service; their paths
locked as they chose to walk down
the aisle of St. George Ukrainian
Catholic Church in Manhattan.

Photograph and story from http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/25/fashion/weddings/25VOWS.html?_r=1&ref=weddings

Follow the Leader in the Boulder Velodrome

Yelling to each other
to move left or right,
up or down, to go faster
or slower.
Pointing left or right,
elbows jutting out
or held close.
They flew by like
fighter jets sweeping
the sky, approaching
and falling away in the
next moment.
Grouped in formation,
splitting and regrouping.
An orange one, a blue one
a green one, one in faded
blue jeans, a messenger
from heaven extolling
the joy of play.

The Blue Hat

It’s not made for cold days, as
it does not cover your ears.
It’s not made for windy days
as it blows away too easily.
It’s not made to wear with
the red dress in your closet,
as the colors will clash.
It’s not made to wear around
other people as they will stare
or burst out laughing and pointing.
There is nowhere to wear this
hat which is suspended over my
head by a thousand tiny threads.

Photo courtesy of http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2009/01/26/nytfrontpage/20090126POD_10.html

Special Advisor to the President

Each word carefully enunciated and delivered,
yet making no sense to my linear train of thought.
He had something to say, that was clear,
something urgent, a message of great importance.
His clear blue eyes pierced my professional stature,
tossed it aside as completely irrelevant.
He stood there in my doorway, his
business card in hand, offering to
share his wisdom in exchange for mine.
His, the path to eternal wisdom, the
knowledge gained from hopscotching between
parallel universes, never tethered by the
tedium of the mundane day to day.
Mine, truly the mundane, modeling atmospheric
phenomenon on this Earth, results which may
not even agree with our own reality, much less
universal reality.
He made me uncomfortable, and I urged him
to visit the Physics Department down the hall
in his search for those more erudite than myself.
He handed me his card at the same time he
offered his hand. His name, Donald,
was written neatly across a blue
background of stars and stripes,
Special Advisor to the President.
When I looked up, he was gone.

Photograph courtesy of : http://flickr.com/photos/jeavegab/654011193/