In search of story


October 2.21: Coping

I know that I am cranky

but it must be more than that

that sends me into orbit

from computer bloat and blat.

To its endless mindless deluge

of must-have things and stuff,

I borrow from the Bard

and cry out “Hold! Enough!”

Gadgets, gizmos, whatnots,

creams and pills and shoes,

dog food, hats, and cure-alls,

bathtubs, nails, tattoos.

“Buy and spend!” And “one left!”

“You have to be like me!”

and my favorite Brooklyn Bridge,

a gift that’s totally free!

Celebrities by the dozens

stream a glam who’s-who,

why are they important?

I don’t have a clue.

My computer gives assist

with Likes and Sends and Shares,

but what I really need

is a key that says Who Cares?


Connections: January 4.18

“Snow showers” yesterday. Bits of the day fluffed in white. A lovely dusting of powdered sugar over the ice troughs on the street. A fairyland touch to the neighborhood. I looked out at the mailbox and the words “broken hip” flashed before my eyes.

I had just read the advice to walk on ice like a penguin. To keep one’s weight on the front foot. Wait. If you walk like a penguin, there IS no front foot. You are waddling, gracefully heaving your weight from heel to heel.

“Walk like an arthritic penguin” would be more accurate, and more fun for the observer, I’m sure. But I’m not a penguin, and waddling is not my preferred method of getting to the mailbox. Also there were enough clear spots on the driveway for a slow-motion hopscotch. I could save my waddle for the craggy terrain left by the street plow.

The windchill was bitter. The snow swirled. I retrieved three pieces of mail. One was an ad from some dentist. I didn’t think anything could be more enticing but then I saw the other two: one for “Senior Living,” and the other for Assisted Living and Memory Care.

For this I walked like a penguin?

To be sure, it was good not to get the ad for the Blue Light Special on cremations. I’ve had that in the past.

Here, dear reader, is the REAL “senior living”: navigating your way back from the mailbox while contemplating all the offers to take care of you in your dotage, the onset of which is hastened by just such trips to the mailbox.