Dear E.B.

Dear Easter Bunny,

                              I would like to thank you for remembering me this Easter morning. I do not like to appear unappreciative in light of such munificence ,but I cannot help but notice that the contents of my basket have certainly changed as I have metamorphosed over the years. Jelly Beans, Chocolate Bunnies and Marshmallow Chicks have given way to fat free Chocolate Bunnies, sugar free Jelly Beans and a complete absence of marshmallow in any configuration. The Dr.Scholls arch supports were very thoughtful as well as the Polident, Geritol ,Metamucil and bottle of prune juice, yet it somehow lacked the festive flavor of the occasion. I guess that you cannot turn back the clock. Your thoughtful guidance and offerings are exemplary, however I would prefer for this one day to turn away from the November of life and revel in the April of youth, an apple cheeked ruffian, pockets filled with important treasures such as a bit of twine, a colorful rock, no doubt pirates gold, a  bottle cap and the required frog.

 I hope that you enjoyed the carrots I put out for you and promise to accept my age and eat appropriately in the coming year, but would really appreciate a regulation Chocolate Bunny next year. Thank you in advance for your attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

Jim

P.S.

                   As you hop around town at this busy time of the year dispensing joy in the form of Easter Baskets, please consider my request. Thank You again for your continued generosity.

Jim

April 2020

Full Spectrum Life

The human eye can perceive about a million different colors and you ask me to choose just one as my favorite. With such a rich abundance of choices, I can afford to be greedy. Why settle for a primary, secondary, or tertiary color, when I can dive into countless hues and tints, shades and pigments. I can be a collector of colors, profligate in my choices.

Yes, there are some colors that are easier to live with, some that make me feel upbeat, some that relax me, some that try my very being. They are each and every one of them perfection in just in the right place or time. When I was younger I loved yellow—yellow dresses, yellow bedroom, sun-shiny yellow flowers. Now I look horrid in that color. Other than a yellow tulip or a banana, you are unlikely to find that color anywhere near me. I try to surround myself with colors that complement my complexion and accommodate my mood. For example, my bedroom’s pale pink walls softly lull me to sleep and the deep wine, indigo and cream of my living room offers solid assurance that there is a place to read and ruminate, to be cocooned and creative.

Colors seem stable and defined, but they are not. My pattern of rods and cones pick up light differently than yours, and send slightly different signals to our brains.  Colors are frisky and changeable. They can be metameric and change depth and hue depending on the light they appear in. Bewitching purple will be one color in the store, another in your home, and another outdoors. Mischievous, mysterious, ever changing and beguiling. How can I be loyal when the colors themselves are not? The wavelengths of light reflected off the bits and pieces of the world color my mood and mind.

As for the black type that absorbs all light and the white paper that this is printed on, which reflects as much light as white paper can, well, there’s a topic for another essay. In the meantime, I will grab the whole panoply of color my eyes can grab. Here’s to a full spectrum life.

Marsha H.

Apr 11, 2020

A Month of Someday

        In recent weeks Governor Cuomo has repeatedly announced,"It is Groundhog Day".  Sorry, Gov, but I realized that even before you made it official and keep reminding us.  The film being alluded to, of course, is "GROUNDHOG DAY.  In it, the major character finds himself in a time-warp in which every day identically repeats itself.

One can't help but be reminded of this cautionary tale during this strange time. For it seems that the days that are now loosed upon the world are surely different from one another if only you keep looking out the window, --  or if you are brave enough to go rambling about outdoors despite the dire warning -- and faithfully  take note of the daily-changing state of the flowers and trees, the colors in the sky.  Yet if we don't focus on what's outside the window, the content of our days, if we are not very careful, can easily make us feel as if we are in a mechanically broken Time Machine, -- one that is hopelessly stuck and can only repeat the same day ad infinitum, with no mechanic in calling distance.  But wait.  There is help!      Music and books, books and music! These, I believe, are the antidote to the Groundhog Day dilemma. For they remain among the most reliable, unbroken time machines that can give us needed succor  from across the centuries, teleporting us away from our worries and despair. Of course, movies like Groundhog Day also help!  May you all have these soul-savers in large and  ready supply, as you hopefully do your stores of food and medications!

Maxine F.

April 2020

Plaid Stamps

          On a whim I decided this morning to order some make-up from Clinique -- a huge leap of faith since no one, other than my dog Toby, is going to be looking at my face until far into the foreseeable future and so probably this make-up will be all dried up by the time it is needed.  But I was feeling quixotic.  I phoned the order in rather than order online because it is always nice to hear another live human voice, especially these days.  At the end of the transaction, the customer representative on the other end of the line said,

          "Oh, before I let you go ... we have something called the Clinique Loyalty Program.  You've just earned 46 points with this purchase towards a discount when you order a product from us in the future. I can sign you up for the program, if you like."

            "How many thousands of points do I need to accumulate in order to get this discount?"

             "Oh, I don't think thousands!"

              "I ask because I remember the Plaid Stamps era of the '50s.  You had to buy around  $4,000 worth of stuff in order to get a so-called "gift", which you could pick out of their catalogue, or else a ten-dollar discount on a pair of sunglasses or something like that.  And you had to paste these stamps

               At this point, the Clinique fellow on the other end of the line was laughing heartily.  "I remember!  I remember!  My mother did the same thing!"

               "The funny thing is that for all the time my mother put into this enterprise, I can't recall a single "gift" or meaningful discount we ever received on anything!"
in a book every time you bought something.  Every corner of my family's living room featured a

mountain of half-filled Plaid Stamp books. The books multiplied like rabbits.  In fact, everywhere you looked little piles of them stared back at you.  In this we were not alone.  Even as a kid, I couldn't help but notice that the neighbors' homes had this same strange decor.  In fact, all of America was into this stamp business with a passion. I recall  once coming into the living room and saying, 'Mom, did you happen to see my keys anywhere?'  And my mother from the sofa pointed to the coffee table in front of her where there was a mountain of Plaid Stamp Books rising like the Tower of Pisa --and replied: "Oh, honey, look under these books I've just been working on,"  -- by which she meant for she had  been licking dozens and dozens of Plaid Stamps and placing each one neatly into the outlines of its allotted rectangles in one one of the books.

                But what a vision from the past!   If I could somehow magically be transported back to that living room scene today, I'd say to my mother: "Mom, save your saliva!  Let's go for a walk together instead."

 

Maxine F.

April 2020

 

The Usual

The Yellow daffodils are pushing their way out of the firm soil just as they used to.

The white blossoms surround the branches on my sidewalk tree just as they used to.

The small birds are on my lawn digging for worms just as they used to.

The pink magnolia blossoms are dancing on the neighbor’s tree just as they used to. 

The bushy tailed squirrels are chasing each other up and down and all around just as they used to.

The fluffy white clouds are painted against the blue sky just as they used to.

So what is wrong?

Everything is wrong!!

We are locked inside!

Ben needs medical help!

Carl needs to get on a toxic airplane to get back to his family!

Everything is wrong!

It will take a long time to get it right!

Maybe these are the good times because no one in our family has been stricken with the virus.

The sun is shining making strong shadows on our lawn just as it used to.

The wind is tossing the few remaining dried leaves just as it used to.

The birds are singing their spring songs just as they used to.

But where are the little children from the Stepping Stone preschool who came by each day on their neighborhood walk?

Ben would always give each one a fresh flower pulled from his garden, and then a high five.

No school!

No children!

Not the usual!

Ethyl H.

April 2020

The Folly of Icarus

Bright orange red, it’s billowy flames explode from the surface of the sun. Daedalus warned me and I am careful not to get too close. A million degrees, it mesmerizes me as I fly on, perspiration on my brow, the twine and feathers beginning to smolder as the wax on my wings starts to melt. I must turn away. My father was right as usual. I must break the trance before it’s too late as the wax dissolves. The fiery orange glow holds me in its grip. I am forsaken.

Wait a minute I’m daydreaming.

It is only an orange in my fruit bowl!

Jim

April 2020

Sea in the Key of Cerulean

I would begin by revealing the deep dark secret that blue is my favorite color. Okay, it’s not exactly a deep dark secret now is it? I just enjoy adding that sense of mystery. Somewhere someone scratched their head either literally or figuratively wondering why is this a deep dark secret? I distinctly recall as a young child that I simply loved the color blue. I don’t know why. In childlike fashion, I can tell you that it’s the color of the sky, or the ocean, though sometimes here in Queens it borders on green.

The ocean.

I’ve always been drawn to the sea. In a perfect world, I would live on a houseboat in Key West, channel my inner-Hemingway, while watching the sunrise from the fore deck and the sunset from the aft deck. Of course, as a non-boat person, I don’t know my fore from my aft. When you think about it, however, it really wouldn’t matter in this scenario. Houseboats are maneuverable. If one prefers the sunrise from the fore position and sunset from aft, great. If it’s the other way around, turn the boat around.

There’s a Buffett tune in here somewhere, I can feel it.

            It all comes back to blue. Cerulean is my favorite shade. In my mind, I always see the sea in the key of Cerulean. I’m deep into Assonance and alliteration by the way, so sue me – for lack of a better cliché.

I am not a fan of the cliché. Cliché’s make me

(wait for it, wait for it)

Blue!

All shades of blue.

I had taken a fiction writing course here in NYC several years ago and the instructor was determined to break me of this affinity I never knew I had for clichés. How could I not have noticed that? Now I consider myself the cliché constable in these parts, often correcting others who fall into the cliché coal mine of depravity. I’ve become pretty adept at spotting clichés from a mile…make that a kilometer away. Now I avoid them like the pl…

Coronavirus.

Which also makes me blue.

.

Tom M

April 2020