Cozy inside on a damp dreary day - Poem: Reflections Upon Turning 66

Watched Tavis Smiley online.

Scott and I ran errands this morning. Hadn't realized how cold it was. Since I'm getting my garden ready, Mary Mary Quite Contrary, I called around for red poppies. Only Russell Gardens, about 23 minutes away down Second Street Pike, had them.

Scott didn't get wet, but I did. He missed five days of work with a bad cold. Luckily I keep a rain hat from the Baltimore Aquarium in my trunk, so I wore that.

As we walked around, I wanted every single flower I saw. Scott has a spreading red cut-leaf maple in his front yard. At Russell Gardens, they had them ranging in price from $70 to $400, depending on variety and garden of origin. My jaw literally dropped when Scott showed me the $400 one.

photo from the Internet

Bought these flowers at Russell Gardens, on Route 232, past Tamanend Park.

They had a assortment of different-colored poppies. As you remember, my gardener cut down all my b'ful poppies, thinking they were weeds.

Also bot these unusual caladium, aka elephant ears. Sarah's late father sent her some caladium bulbs when she was a kid. When I plant these, they'll perpetuate the tradition and remind us of her late father.

My new kitchen door. Dave will be back on Monday. Lots more work to do.

Here are the wide steps he built for me. I asked him to put 'grippers' at the bottom of each step so I can see where I'm going. Don't wanna fall down like I did on my trip to DC. My knee is healing nicely as you can see.

In my below poem I refer to these warm winter socks that were given to me by either Natalie, my mom/law, or sister Donna.

Speaking of Donna, who lives by a tributary of the Pennypack Creek in a Hatboro condo, she's on "floodwatch" today. Sandbags are always outside her apartment. She said the kitchen floor is already wet.

There will probly be a buy-out of her section of the condo b/c of its unstoppable flooding.

My turning-66 poem was started back in January, but I never finished it. Helen Kirchner sent me an email that the Inquirer is having a poem contest, so I figured I try for it. Poem must be 20 lines or less.

The car flashing by in the below poem was neighbor Patrick's.



VARIATIONS ON A THEME OF TURNING SIXTY-SIX

66
Upside-down nines
look like they’re going places:
jonquils swaying in the breeze
Easter baskets heavy with eggs

I still run when I walk
plant poppies in my yard
sniff every lilac
while walking ‘round the block.

Stay, 66, stay.
Mindful of the passing time,
I store moments:
A silver car flashing by,
the good feel of socks on
a damp day.

Memorize these good things:
67 is on its way.