Color me a hypocrite.  But some cautions are just, pardon the expression, one toke over the line.

More poetry from The Wanker poetry circle.

I’m going to ignore 2025 and pretend it doesn’t exist.  I fear nothing good is going to happen this year, so I’m retreating to my inner convent, wearing my habit of corduroy pants one size too big and a sloppy fleece.

While cleaning up and out, deciding what to toss, what to keep, I found this.  Years have passed since I wrote this, but the sentiment remains.

Well, it’s that time of year when we have to think of the perfect gift for—sigh—absolutely everyone.

I hate the cold.  I know this is allegedly the season of good will, but I have no good will to give because I’m frozen.

When one thinks Thanksgiving, one’s first thought goes to the stomach.  Turkey, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, pecan pie?  Unfortunately, I don’t like any of them.  And yet—

Between November 27 to December 4, you, YES, YOU! will have a chance to bid on five (ok, 6) fabulous items.  I know.  You can’t wait. But November 27 is coming up fast, and we have fabulous items to auction.

With the November election, the majority of the people have chosen to reject the ideals of the United States of America and have chosen a man corrupt, hate-filled, vengeful, with the inability to feel sympathy for anyone other than himself.  So be it.

As you can see, I am distracted by nature.  I love to see what’s outside my window because it’s much more interesting than what’s inside.

Whenever there’s a strong wind, I know that I’ll be spending time picking up tree branches from the driveway.  Sometimes they’re small, manageable, and I can place them in the recycling bin.  Other times, they’re limbs that I have to drag to the curb in the hopes that my landscaper can carry them away.

For the uneducated, and this includes 99 percent of those protesting on college campuses, let me just point out that Jews come in all sizes and colors and genders.  We are not white colonialists, as are so many of your ancestors.

We are a family of crafters.

My mother was the Eve of the bunch.  She had a passion for sewing.

Sometimes I’m overwhelmed with sadness.  Not about time passing and realizing at 82 I’ve lived more than half my life.  Only joking!  My span will not be biblical.  But—my losses have piled up; and I wonder sometimes why I plod on while the lives of two I love have been cut short in very different ways.

Throughout our pilgrim’s progress, we meet so many people who come into our lives and then just disappear into the vast wilderness of moving on.  Sometimes, like now, especially in my old age, I wonder whatever happened to them.

A happy moment a few weeks ago when I saw a fox on my front yard grabbing a squirrel by the neck.

Now I know a lot of companies are jumping on the spicy mayonnaise bandwagon, but their products are worthless.  Spice to them means bland as usual.  Stick with Sir Kensington.  Is it four times more expensive than the other products?  Yes.  Is it worth it?  Yes.  You can make up for it with ramen for dinner.

Now I understand that most people, when about to travel, will assess their wardrobe and think that maybe they need a new addition to make them sparkle. I know this is my daughter’s philosophy. Not me. I have those trusty four blouses from Steinmart that I trot out over and over.

Exercise? Yes. Somewhere in the morning I fit in enough to satisfy my watch. I used to walk every day for about 25 minutes, but lately I’ve decided not to walk if it’s too hot or too cold. So what do I do for exercise? I empty the dishwasher. I fold the clothes. I take an indoor walk. For some reason lately I haven’t made my monthly challenge. My fault? Or should the challenges be easier? Or should I just get a Timex and leave the Apple Watch in its box?

That garden used to be filled with coneflowers, but then the black-eyed susans came along and kapow. There went the garden. They didn’t affect the tiger lilies, but the poor coneflowers were defeated. Only now, several years later have they started to come back. I’m watching for the pernicious yellow to rear its beautiful but deadly head.