New York Central Park in November

Memom and the Leaves of Love

I haven’t tried to write a poem in a long time, but I’m sitting here making a video of my grandmother, we called her Memom, and wondering if I can write something remotely descent to go with a picture I drew with my son yesterday.

I asked him if he’d like to draw a picture for Memom and explained she had died and was with God. He asked, “How do you be with God?” I could only think to reply, “being with God is when you feel the warmest, most loved, happiest.” He replied, “like in the pool?” I said, “sure, like in the pool.” I’m sure my explanation leaves much to the imagination. I know it does to mine.

Bees and Me, Photo 2

I took a walk in my grandmother’s backyard and was surprised to hear the buzzing of bees in her Macadamia Nut tree. It was so loud I thought, “There must be a hive up there.” So, I ducked under the branches and hanging blossoms looking high above me, but I couldn’t see anything that looked remotely similar to a hive. Couldn’t see much really, except a lot of branches. At this point, you’re probably thinking, “Wow, she’s dumb.” Rest assured, I do know bees sting when guarding their hive I just wasn’t afraid at that moment. Go figure.

Anyway, bees were flying all around me, but were too concerned with the tiny blossoms on the tree to sting me. Good thing because I think I’m allergic to bees. Can’t remember. (Again, not dumb just not afraid.) The bees landed with such precision on the blossoms. There were thousands of them, all over the tree, some open others still closed and tiny! The tiniest blossoms I’ve ever seen. So pretty!

I finally talked a few bees into posing for me, which was great because I was tired of seeing “abdomen” in all of the shots, if you know what I mean. I had to be fast because they were so busy. They hardly ever stopped moving!

Watching their nectar gathering made me think how bees (and all other insects/animals) have a task by nature. They do what they’re supposed to do, constantly. They don’t take a break or ditch out on their bee buddies to watch TV then make excuses later. I realized I need to take a lesson from the bees and keep doing what I do, writing. Whether it’s my nature or not is debatable, but I have to believe it is or it becomes just a hobby. Will I produce a product as sweet as the bees? I can only hope! 🙂

Bee sucking nectar from Macadamia Nut blossom

Conversation With Wool


W: Knock, knock
H: Who’s there?
W: Your wool sweater.
H: *cracks door* You’ve got the wrong door.
W: *stops door closing with cuff* What do you not understand about ‘Dry Clean Only’?
H: *squints eyes at sweater* Is that you?
W: HALF of me.
H: Geez…see I’ve been sick, ran out of clean socks thought I’d do some laundry.
W: Is that your excuse?
H: *digs toe in carpet*
W: What did I ever do to you?
H: Well, you ARE a turtleneck. You know what that does to my cheeks? *puffs cheeks out like a chipmunk*
W: Hey! I was born this way!
H: No need to bring the sheep into this.
W: Low blow.
H: Can we go back to knock, knock so I can NOT answer?
W: Fine, I’m leaving.
H: Where are you going?
W: I’m donating myself to the little people down the street.
H: Wait, maybe I could start a new trend, half sweaters.
W: *looks H up and down* Don’t kid yourself. Besides, given my shrunken state, I might strangle you. On accident, of course.
H: Of course.
W: Well, thanks for the memories.
H: Thanks for the warmth, even if I did look like a giant lint ball.
W: Your smart remarks just never end.
H: Sorry. *tries to look remorseful* Hey! Someone said I looked like a ski bunny once!
W: Yeah, you kinda got those rabbit teeth.
H: *narrows eyes at sweater* Is that so?
W: Well, if we’re bein’ honest.
H: Aren’t you late for the Goodwill truck?
W: Bite me.
H: *slams door*
W: Hey! My cuff! It’s in the door! Hey! Hey!

Ode To My Hair

Ever since I was a little girl I wanted long hair. Doesn’t every girl? However, it was easier for my mother to manage short hair until I was ‘old enough to take care of it myself.’ As soon as I understood what that meant I became Jose Eber. Anything that had to be done with my hair I learned including the use of a curling iron when I was six so I could look like Dorothy Hamill.

It became my personal mission never to have short again at least not as short as a man’s, which is one horrifying memory from second grade. I’ve grown my hair long and had it cut or ‘styled’ about every two or three years until three years ago when I made the mistake of visiting Fantastic Sams. I brought photo after photo of hairstyle I wanted, but the stylist kept saying things like, ‘Those bangs won’t look good on you,’ ‘Your hair is too curly for that style,’ or, my personal favorite, ‘You want that? Well, okay,’ the stylist’s face looking as though I’d just asked for a Beehive, on fire. It’s just layers and bangs! Come on already!

So began my journey to Rapunzel. Not that I intended it to be such, but I wasn’t giving it much attention until I found the perfect hairstylist. Until, one day, I just got tired of the way it made me look – old, hanging in my face making my forehead look ten times bigger, not to mention sitting on it at every turn (imagine that). I mainly wore it in a braid down my back, which was also getting tiring. So, I found an holistic salon made an appointment and SNIP! It was gone.

Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, I feel like a different person, maybe look like one too. It kind of reminds me of writing in a sense that my first draft goes on and on and on. Even though I know I won’t keep a lot of the information I just keep writing, letting the words come out as I see and hear them in my head. Then, when I’m finished, I start cutting and shaping the story adding highlights and low lights, blowing out the junk and applying a final spray of adjectives before sending it off to a real editor. So, to thank my hair and all it’s ‘time served’ I wrote a little poem. Enjoy!

Ode To My Hair

Long, thick and kinda frizzy
Thank you hair for keeping me busy
Washing, brushing, drying maybe a braid, but always tying you
Out of my face because, it seems, you were every place.
You kept me warm, probably woulda saved me from a swarm
Of bees, but, alas, I must confess, you mostly made me look a mess,
Not to mention out of date and just plain old.
So with a breath I mustered bold and had you cut with shears of gold.
Waiting on my desk, so beautiful, soon will come the day you go on Ebay
Where you will be sold.