Turkey Dressing

Cecilia’s middle son drew a picture of a turkey to decorate the door for Thanksgiving. The turkey had a mustache and wore a tux. “Why a tux?” Cecilia asked. Henry shrugged and Cecilia let it go. She was busy making pumpkin pie and cranberry relish for the big dinner.

As the guests arrived the next day, the first question everyone asked was, “Why a tux?” Henry’s Grandma said she liked a turkey who knew how to dress. His Grandpa said, “What a stuffed shirt.”

Cecilia said, “The best thing about this turkey tux is no one’s talking politics.”

Gobble, gobble.

On the Day of the Dead, Life and Death Meet

La Calavera Catrina strolled in the park on La Dia de Muertos. She passed stands of tamales where patrons and proprietors waved. A small boy ran to her and held out a sugar skull. “Senora, for you.” Catrina’s skeletal face brightened under the wide-brimmed hat she wore.

She plucked a flower from the hat and held it out for him. “Muchacho, muchas gracias. I wish you a long life. Live it. All the generosity in your heart, give it away and it will grow. Hold it close and it will wither.” She took his hand; he smiled; they strolled on.

On Hallow’s Eve

Rain-dappled moonlight pierced the clouds on a wet Halloween night. It cast a silo of light, illuminating a broom abandoned in a muddy field. The broom danced alone to silent music; a step, a dip, a leap. It wished for company. A witch materialized from thin air.

“I’ve come through the veil to find my sister,” she said.

The broom curtseyed, in the stiff way that brooms do. “Climb on.”

The broom got cozy under the witch’s woolen cloak, and with a few mumbled spells, the witch searched the Earth on the one night when living and dead mingle together.

It’s Been Nearly 250 Years

It’s time to come together. It’s been nearly 250 years since those guys in Philly signed that treasonous document, declared those self-evident truths. Yesiree, we’ve had a good run. Gone from hick colonies to hip leader of the free world. Freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of association. Exercised any rights lately?

Rights are a muscle. You need a dig-your-heels-in protest mentality when rights are taken away. Don’t take your rights for granted. Check to see, empty your pockets, are your rights still there? What about your neighbor’s and their neighbors? We need each other in these times.

Creating a Movement on Flag Day

Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com

Signs from the 7×7 stand-in along El Camino from Palo Alto to Sunnyvale: “IKEA has better cabinets,” “No Kings, More Queens,” “…and to the republic for which it stands…,” “We can all hang together, or we shall surely hang separately- Ben Franklin.”

A beat up World War II jeep sporting a sign: “Fighting facism since 1943.” Honks and thumbs up galore from cars decked out with flags and signs declaring love and approval for the exuberant display of democracy filling the streets. This is what democracy looks like. To would be dictators and syncophants: the people have found a voice.

Bunnies and Baskets

Easter eggs are piled sky high,
Dollar each they run.
Once a year, “Splurge,” we cry,
One for all, and all for one.

Bunny chocolatiers we are,
Upright on our legs.
Melt the chocolate from the bar;
Shape it into tasty eggs.

Eggs that nestle side by side
In shiny, foil wraps.
In wicker baskets they reside,
Excited bunnies, fill and clap.

All night long, bunnies create
Goodies for the kids.
Out you come, don’t be late,
Searching, finding where they’re hid.

Children wearing chocolate smears,
Tummies, tongues, at rest.
Bunnies done until next year.
Satisfied they’ve done their best.

Departed on St. Patrick’s Day.

Gillie wrinkled her nose. “It’s not magic.” What she meant was, the delicious taste of spring flowers and green hills was missing from her St. Patrick’s Day oatmeal.

“It’s green,” her father said.

“Did you dye it?”

He swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

“Where’s our leprechaun friend?”

Her father produced a note from his pocket.

“I’m off to the motherland. It’s not safe here.”

“Did NICE deport him?”

“The witch hunts are over. Now they’re hunting leprechauns.”

Gillie pushed the bowl away. “They’re not nice. It’s opposites day every day.”

Her father wrapped her in a warm hug, powerless to do more.

Bring on the New Year

Tables filled with tasty foods prepared by friends. The first potluck of the year is already a wild success. There’s news, of course. Travels to far away places. Lost elections; can we ever recover? Some might move. Probably not, though. Too many ties here. Look at this room, these people. They’ve known each other too long to cut and run.

There will be more adventures this new year. More books to read and hikes to take and nights around the television with the dogs snoring at their feet. Babies will be born. The world will grow older and maybe wiser.

‘Tis the Season

Along a woodsy trail in the deepest forest you’ll find a steady light if you look hard. Wish on it. If your heart is pure and you know the meaning of the season, your wish will come true. But then you won’t be believing me, will you?

No influencer am I. Not one you’ll find on Tik Tok or Instagram. Not one to hype the latest thing. But I tell you, take that walk, find a log, sit a while. A small brown bird will land on a branch. A doe might feed, a squirrel might chatter. Anything can happen.

After Wandering

They’ve built the Sukkot sukkah to remember wandering for forty years in the desert. Vegetables and fruits cover the grass mat where they will eat supper.

The sky is quiet now, but the two year old refuses to come out from under her bed where she feels safe. It’s been this way for weeks, months. It’s worse when planes are flying. If Bubbie brings food to her, she can lure the toddler into the open.

The child comes, but will not eat, as if she could control the planes this way, by waiting for peace before she breaks her fast.

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