Changes

My son left home last week to move into his own apartment. I'm thrilled that he can support himself and make it on his own. At the same time, I'm missing his company. He took some stuff with him - a dining table and chairs, a bedside cabinet, a lot of books. He left some stuff behind - his old desk, his twin bed, a lot of books. He took his integrity and his independence and his sense of humor. He left behind the nightly burp and fart show while his parents eat dinner and watch Jeopardy on television.

My daughter got a cat last week. She has been on her own for 10 years and I'm delighted that she has some company in her apartment. I'm calling him my "grand-kitty".

Here is a poem about moving on:

Moving Day

Scraps and small reminders said the scissors to the shelf
Why do I feel empty said the oven to itself
Some of us are hungry said can opener to tin
Tell me said the radio how much you want to win
And take us along when you go.

All the way from Thailand said the topmost row of cans
Rise and turn around again explained the standing fan
None of us are broken said the tumblers to the towel
Scratch me up or polish me said banister to dowel
And take us along when you go.

When they come to get you said a carton to its box
Count your lucky hours said a doorjamb to its locks
Will she will he will she sang the plumbing to the void
Did you mean to build me will I ever be destroyed

Carpet said to ceiling Can I offer any more
Nothing I can give you said the lintel to the door
You always overlook me said the baseboard to the stair
Board games valise said the attic and a folding chair
And take us along when you go.

Stephen Burt

Fear of Flying

When I fly I am afraid. I do not worry about terrorists taking over the plane. My fear of flying goes way back before 9/11. I am afraid that the wings will fall off, or the tail will fall off. (Don't laugh, it's happened.)

I read a book once that was supposed to help me get over my fear of flight. The book said that even a large jet that loses power to both engines will glide for long distances. Yeh, right, I thought, that jet is not going to glide, it's going to head straight down, crash and burn. The book also said that a plane will float for quite a while after coming down on the water. Sure it will - unless it loses structural integrity on the way down. Have you ever notice how they describe a plane "losing structural integrity" instead of just saying "the tail fell off"?

Then last week a jet took off from Le Guardia Airport and lost power in both engines after hitting a flock of birds. The pilot glided that plane into alignment with the Hudson River and came down with perfect control. The plane floated long enough to evacuate all 155 passengers and 5 crew. People stood on the wings and the inflated slides until rescued minutes later by ferry boats. That is an absolutely amazing story. I watched it over and over on the news channels and cried with relief watching those people get pulled up onto the ferries.

So here is a poem I've been wanting to share for some time. It's about a flight that didn't end so well.

Waiting for Icarus

He said he would be back and we'd drink wine together
He said that everything would be better than before
He said we were on the edge of a new relation
He said he would never again cringe before his father
He said that he was going to invent full-time
He said he loved me that going into me
He said was going into the world and the sky
He said all the buckles were very firm
He said the wax was the best wax
He said Wait for me here on the beach
He said Just don't cry

I remember the gulls and the waves
I remember the islands going dark on the sea
I remember the girls laughing
I remember they said he only wanted to get away from me
I remember mother saying : Inventors are like poets,
a trashy lot
I remember she told me those who try out inventions are worse
I remember she added : Women who love such are the
Worst of all
I have been waiting all day, or perhaps longer.
I would have liked to try those wings myself.
It would have been better than this.

Muriel Rukeyser

A Penny Saved

Two weeks without shopping have flown by. It's too cold to go to the mall anyhow. Of course, not shopping does not mean not spending. I dropped $450 getting the cats examined, vaccinated and supplied with little packets of flea treatment to put on the backs of their little necks once a month for the next 6 months. Yesterday I spent $200 getting the little skins tags burned off my chest. They sat in a ring under my bra and complained. The insurance won't pay for this because it's cosmetic. Cosmetic? Who looks under my tits? I'm just trying to avoid the itching and irritation. Today I had a barium swallow x-ray of my esophagus and stomach. Apparently I have acid reflux disease. The insurance may not pay for this either as I have not yet met my deductible for the year. Someone once said, getting old is not for sissies. It's not cheap, either.

Ogden Nash wrote the following:

A Penny Saved Is Impossible

The further through life I drift
The more obvious it becomes that I am lacking in thrift.
Now thrift is such a boon to its possessor that years ago they began to tax it,
But it is a bane to him that lacks it
Because if you lack it you will go into a shoppe and pay two dollars for a gifte.
But if you possess it you find something just as good for a dollar fifte.
A penny is merely something that you pull several of out of your pocket before you find the nickel you need for a telephone call, if thriftlessness is in your blood,
Whereas to the thrifty a penny is something to be put out at stud.
Thrifty people put two-cent stamps on letters addressed to a three-cent zone,
And thriftless people on the other end pay the postage due and the thrifty people chuckle and rub their hands because the saving on every six letters represents a year’s interest on a dollar loan.
Oh that I were thrifty, because thrifty people leave estates to delight their next of kin with;
Oh that I were thrifty, because then not only would I have money in the bank to pay my bills, but I could leave the money in the bank because I wouldn’t have run up the bills to begin with;
Oh that I were not a spendthrift, oh then would my heart indeed be gladsome,
Because it is so futile being a spendthrift because I don’t know any places where thrift could be spent even if I had some.

You Can't Buy Love

I plan to avoid unnecessary shopping again this year. I'm aiming for 6 months of no shopping and my husband has agreed to join me. This will probably be harder for him because he loves to shop more than I do. I seldom shop on line, for example, while little boxes come in the mail for him all the time. We can do this. We will have to find other forms of entertainment besides hanging out at the malls. We can still go out to eat, and we can stay home and play with the toys we already own. My daughter has said she will try to take the no-shopping pledge as well. I hope she can. We all have way too much stuff. Not adding to it is refreshing.

Naturally I found the perfect poem. I heard this on the Writer's Almanac on Christmas Eve morning. The line about the closet full of shoes particularly hit home.

Oniomania

Not so much the desire
for owning things
as the inability to choose
between hunter or emerald
green, to buy
just roses, when there are birds
of paradise, dahlias,
delphinium, and baby's breath.
At center an emptiness
large as a half-off sale table.
What could be so wrong
with a little indulgence?
To wander the aisles of fresh
new good things knowing
any of them could be hers?
With a closet full of shoes
unworn back home,
she's looking for love
but it's not for sale —
so she grabs three of
the next best thing.

By Peter Pereira