no time to rhyme

There once was a lovely girl named Sally
Who about her (sad) love life would dally

In other ways she was super smart
But had challenges in affairs of the heart

She only went out now and then
Her family thought her an old hen

Worked crazy hours — her friends said it was a ton
But wouldn’t stop ’til her 401(k) hit the big one!

Finally she met a fabulous guy named Mac
But on their first date had a heart attack.

Sadly, incredible Sally died
Her family stood by and cried
and warned her nieces not to end on that wrong track!

Silence: golden or stifling? or a modern blend?

Tasting old memories is sometimes bitter.
Today it is absolutely delicious.
An anticipated ice cream cone that melts quickly in a hot, carefree summer day.
My mouth waters, especially by that hole where the wisdom tooth used to inhabit.
Is my soul that starved?

Smelling a change.
Just a few days before the tears would not stop.
Can he be trusted?
I debate and settle on a definite maybe.

Hearing my friends talk of their current loves makes me smile and drift
along proverbial memory lane, sidestepping a few potholes along the way.
Where did I put my rose-colored glasses?

I touch the side where he used to be.
I can sniff his cologne if I burrow in his tattered t-shirt.
The one I wanted him to discard.
And now I’m the one who can’t toss it.
Or the related memories.
I miss him so much.

Will I ever get over dangerous habits?

Dear My Younger Self

Oh, dear, younger self,
do not fill your days with worry
and your time with Bad Boys’ boozy promises; they lead to broken illusions.

Oh, dear, slightly older self,
enjoy all that you’ve been given instead of seeing that which you lack.

Oh, dear, how did I get to be X years old self,
smile. Laugh. Forget the pain and remember the curiosity, the fun, you new lease on life. Life begins at X.

Oh, dear, older self,
learn to be proud of sagacity. Wrinkles are jokes shared. You’ve just done a whole lot of chuckling.
Find another younger lover to remind you that your tummy is a perfect pillow and not fat at all.
Share your wisdom with those versions of blonde=haired, scared girls who are mimicking your mistakes.
Thank your friends and family and start new habits.
Know that all is going to turn out just fine and fretting never helps.

Oh, dear, dear me. Thanks for always being there.

The Uncomplicated Fellow

The sinewy, exceptional sportsman, a rowdy monarch burst with pleasure, “Squeeze! Fascinate!”

His ecstatic, eccentric repartee seductive, brilliant, acknowledged and cherished.

Be forgotten that unconventional expedition! And perceive additional luxury.

The Present

Oh, thank you dear Elinor.

I’m a vague stranger to you, but I am writing to say that your call changed my life.
The man who had been seated, got up and came over to where I was.
Such excitement!
He picked me up, out of obscurity (the tail end of 34th street) and
sent me on a journey.
It was only four doors down, but I went
from being with my own
to being cherished as unique.
I transformed from a couch potato, sitting on a shelf
to finding someone I could sing my tune to.
She picked me up lovingly and whispered sweet nothings to me
as she placed me down in that cold room.
She said not to worry, that she’d come back for me.

So I thought about what I would tell her.
I’d belt out a Broadway tune, I would.
When her manicured paws tugged at me, I knew it was time.
Time to show her what I knew.
So sing I did. My Broadway debut kind of entrance.

That pop!
was happy
the two women started laughing.
I shared in their joy.
Though I did wonder what my friends were doing a few doors down.
Would they find people to love them?
Were they as blissful as I was? I hoped so.

The sound of champagne flutes kissing.
The ladies drank me in. Were impressed by me.
But it didn’t stop there!
They complimented my body, my crispness. They knew me, the real me!
My voyage was cut short, but I know I was loved.

Yours always,
the first bottle of Veuve Cliquot

My Husband the Prince

People notice his movie-star good looks
but his inside is even more spectacular.
I cannot imagine my life without this wonderful man.

Non-judgmental, he really listens. And helps and encourages. Every one needs a man like him.

His thoughtfulness and ability to make me laugh helps rid tension at the end of a day.
In turn, I don’t overeat, so he’s helping keep me thin.

I dubbed him “My Husband” and we joke that ours is the perfect marriage:
we don’t sleep together and
we live in separate apartments separated by four floors.
Climbing the distance helps keep both us in shape.

He remembers my birthday and picks me up things on sale.
When I need a shoulder to cry on, he offers me both of his.
And a stuffed animal.
And then he hugs me until I stop sobbing.

When summer began, he surprised me by doing my windows.
All five of them.
I didn’t realize I had such a beautiful view of Manhattan.
That step started an avalanche.
I decided to declutter and rid my place of unwanted items.
Which led to a greater appreciation of my home.
I re-arranged furniture so that my “new” apartment is welcoming.
I sleep better and am more creative.

He supports my artistic lifestyle and never makes me feel bad about my decisions.
Even my stupid, “what-was-I-thinking?” ones.

By living frugally, we keep ourselves out of debt
and a coffee out becomes a great treat.
It’s not about the location, it’s about the company.
And he’s the best you could ask for.

With him I understand why people want marriage.
He’s a partner, helping me evolve and grow as a person and as an artist.
Such a journey is not without stumbles,
and his strength picks me back up and puts me back on track again.

Ours is a fairy tale friendship.
It took me several decades, but
I met my modern day Prince
and days I’m feeling particularly generous,
I share him with my other wonderful friends.

Everyone needs a Prince Robert Bruce.
To him, I say,
“Thank you so much for everything and for being you, mi amor.”

Something’s broken alright…

Such gentle, soothing words.
When I first heard this song,
he was Cat Stevens.
9/11 meant a day on your American calendar. (Europeans would write 11/9)
No genital mutilation.
No Sudan refugees. And so many horrifying political situations.
No reality TV. Imagine a world without KarTrashians!
How I miss those days.

Do I miss those days enough to trade:
The Kings winning the Stanley Cup
The Good Wife and Man Men and The Bridge and (the list goes on…)
google and all things internet (GPS and memory cards and flash drives)
digital cameras and plasma TVs
the Smart car
iPhones and iPads and iEverything
to get them back?

Would turning back time mean losing my personal amazing memories and experiences?

When I listen to the song again, I hear the meaning of the refrain:
Praise for creation.

I feel gutted

Hiking through the woods, I use exercise to help heal a wounded heart.
Sweat takes my mind on a vacation from useless rumination and pain.

I stop for water.
Right before me, the earth has shared her scars with me.
Yet I see only inspiring beauty.
I plop down to ponder.

I feel gutted is one of my favorite British descriptions. So literal.
So powerful.
I study the huge reminder before me. A gaping hole from previously hard-packed stone.
If Mother Nature could get better, I can too.

I plow on ahead…
hoping I will be Mother Nature for the next observer in need.

‘Teamwork’ or, ‘John Starks was my favorite sixth man’

Point guard (#1)

Playmaker of the team

Excellent ball handler

Makes great passes

Think Magic Johnson, tallest point guard in history


Shooting guard (#2)

The marksman, usually scores the most

Hangs in the backcourt with the point guard

Is M.J. or Kobe better?




Small forward (#3)

Most versatile

Long-range shooter

Primary defender

Larry Bird, Dr. J or LeBron




Power Forward (#4)


Big guy who blocks

Doesn’t mind playing dirty

Bill Russell, tho Dennis “the Worm” Rodman is probably better known



Center (#5)

Patrols the paint

Strong aggressive rebounder

Imposing presence, like Shaquille “Shaq Attaq” O’Neal




our forbidden love

What am I doing wrong?

I pour myself into witty conversation, but you remain mute.

I stir in sugary comments designed to get you upset, but you’re still mum.

I sip your love and wonder if I return it in full. Doesn’t one always give more?

We’ve been together virtually every morning for decades, yet

I know so little about you. Yet without you, I would not function. You, however, would find somebody else.

You pick me up in the middle of the afternoon and our souls dance together.

You talk to me in a different language that I’m slowly learning, oh sexy, four pumps venti, white chocolate macademia nut frappucino.