Spouses

All Poems, Emotions, Family, Spouses, Stories

Electric Garage Door

Posted on

Let’s open the garage and sneak out, whispered Bob.

Adding, forefinger to lips, and not tell Bob.

He looked at me with a glint in his eye.

Joining me in conspiracy against that grumpy Bob.

The one who, only days ago, chided me.

For opening and closing the electric garage door too many times.

Using too much electricity.

Raising our electric bill.

Which, by the way, he never sees.

Because I pay it!

The accusation startled me.

Shocked me into silence.

For, in my mind, it was he.

Opening and closing the door with abandon.

Opening it to exit with his leki stick, stored there.

Or his electric vehicle.

Driving it to the store, park, train station.

Then parking it again inside.

Protecting it from rain and snow.

So when I took umbrage, he reconsidered.

Apologized for the tongue lashing.

Saying he didn’t know what part of him spewed those words.

But, my displeasure persisted.

Each time I went to open the garage door, I asked permission.

Wearying him enough to become my partner in conspiracy.

Against the Bob from whom

even he now felt offended.

Both laughing pressing buttons.

Hurt evaporating, mended!

Lynn Benjamin

June 26, 2024

All Poems, Beaches, Family, Spouses, Stories

To the Beach

Posted on

We finally made it to the beach, said Bob.

After getting waylaid by an Irish festival.

We didn’t know was happening in Spring Lake.

Then walking the town seeking sun hats, cards, a baby gift.

Even a container of almonds.

Having forgotten to bring some from home.

But we did, finally, make it to the sand.

After the afternoon tide rolled in.

Crowds of revelers already planted with their umbrellas.

This Father’s Day weekend.

Bathers, surfers, kayakers, paddle ballers.

Piles of empty mussel shells upon the shore.

Crunching under bare feet.

As we meandered along.

Listening to the steady rhythm of the surf.

Smelling briny breezes.

Taking in the annual scene.

For the first time this season.

Always glad for ocean zephyrs

to blow away the stress.

Ancient balm for body, soul,

rejuvenating process.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 15, 2024

 

All Poems, Change, Family, People Traits, Spouses, Stories, Wisdom

Breaking Rules

Posted on

It seems all the rage now to break rules.

Mock speed limits.

Tread on property not your own.

Walk dogs where prohibited.

Modeled by legislators who trespass yet more.

Flout election laws.

Defy official subpoenas.

Take bribes.

Making light of prohibitions, regulations.

Often sliding by without consequences.

Have you ever been tempted to disregard a sign?

For convenience?

Momentary ease?

Out of frustration?

Pulling into a parking space to go shopping?

One, designated for a tenant in an adjacent building?

Like Bob did the other day.

Because the lot looked full.

Telling me he’d park for just a moment.

In the spot marked for apartment 202.

He’d put on his blinkers.

Run in, then run out.

I glared at him.

Superego screaming, no.

Challenged him: What if #202 returns home?

Needs to park, race inside?

What if it were your space?

It only took a moment.

For my scruples to rouse his.

He got back into the car, moved it.

I was glad my restless conscience

could deter his moral lapse.

For obeying signage on the streets,

keeps society from collapse.

Lynn Benjamin

June 8, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness, Humor, Love, Pleasure, Seasons, Spouses

Transformation

Posted on

Bob transforms before my eyes.

Noting new muscles in stomach, thighs.

Increasing weights on machines.

Walking with zip, alacrity.

Signing up for classes to strengthen core.

Watching carbs, losing weight.

Shrinking from pant size forty to thirty-six.

A number he hasn’t worn since his twenties.

Why do people think a man of seventy-five can’t change?

Even become younger?

Stare at himself in the mirror like a seventeen-year-old?

Study his physique?

Buy stylish clothing?

New undergarments, socks?

Hold my hand, rub my back?

Flirt, enchant, allure with passion?

Wax poetic about flowers?

Blooming clematis, daisies, lavender.

Waiting for bee balm, Echinacea to bare petals.

Attract hummingbirds, butterflies.

Notice mating calls of frogs, foxes?

Cardinals, robins, wrens

Luscious sensuality abounds.

June’s vitality makes it easy to be young.

No matter your age.

Passion floats with pollen through the air.

Settling golden on the skin.

Transfigured, we instantly take care.

With vigor, once again smitten.

 

Lynn Benjamin

June 3, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Humor, Pleasure, Spouses, Stories

Rose Scented Body Wash

Posted on

Do you like the rose scented body wash? Bob asked me.

After ordering two bottles of the hard-to-find liquid on line.

Arriving today, I opened one, used it.

Nodding assent, I tell him, I like that scent. But, it became unavailable.

He went on, there are only two more left in stock. Should I order them?

I hesitated, thinking how much I relished the fragrance.

Then, a quick shake of the head, no.

What sense to hoard a bath soap

when I’m seventy-five?

Who knows if in a year or two

I’ll even be alive?

What’s the point of downsizing?

Tossing to make space?

If we purchase extra products.

Likely, we’ll misplace.

No merit now in storing

any more than two.

If I have to switch aromas,

that’s just what I’ll do.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 22, 2024

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Family, Gym/exercise, Holidays, Love, Mother's Day, Spouses

There’s a First Time for Everything

Posted on

There’s a first time for everything.

Like finding yourself in a gym on Mother’s Day.

Instead of a park or familial gathering.

Carrying kettlebells, doing squats.

Lifting weights, crunching.

After a sprinkling of calls.

Texts from children, grandchildren.

Two neat packages for mother at the door.

But, in truth, not a bad way to spend a few hours.

On a damp, showery day.

Not alone, but in concert with an admirer.

Together over fifty years.

A man who woos me daily.

Walking the track with me.

From the window, watching geese shepherd their young.

Protecting, nurturing them.

Sparrows flapping in and out of a pipe in the stucco.

With ingenuity, grace.

Listening to an audio book as we circle round.

Alone on the path.

Then shifting to the studio.

Where Bob ferries equipment for both of us.

The gentleman he is.

Two of each piece of apparatus.

Pipes, bands, half balls for balance.

Finally, the machine room.

Taking turns exercising arms, legs.

Till exiting for a meander in mist.

Elixir for blooming trees, flowers, foliage.

And for us.

A natural steam bath,

opening ears and pores.

Mother’s Day music serenades

from avian troubadours.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 15, 2024

All Poems, Family, Gardens, People Traits, Plants, Spouses, Stories

Once a Farmer, Always a Farmer

Posted on

Once a farmer, always a farmer, said a friend.

Scanning all the pots.

Some on the deck.

Others below to the rear of the house.

Dill, basil, peas, eggplants, cucumbers.

Out front, a lemon tree.

In floral glory.

Flourishing inside a barrel on wheels.

Reigning over a flower garden.

A crush of bee balm, salvia, Echinacea, ajuga.

Gerber daisies, Peruvian lilies, potted on a ledge.

Clematis scaling two walls.

Lavender, thyme, oregano.

Bursting purple, white, pink.

Who’s this farmer? you wonder.

Bringing tiny spaces to life?

Like he used to do in more extensive terrain.

With raised beds.

Fruit trees, berry bushes, vegetables.

Enough to can, freeze, entertain.

Now limited, defined.

So, when he came home with six pepper plants, I asked,

Where will they fit?

His answer, alongside the eggplants. In the same pots.

The rationale, to hide them from deer.

Who eat pepper leaves, dislike eggplants.

Well, Farmer Bob, does it again,

makes teeny pockets thrive.

Tills hard, cold, dry earth,

cajoles it come alive.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 14, 2024

   

 

All Poems, Emotions, Family, Humor, Pleasure, Prose/memoir, Spouses, Stories

Tickling Conversation

Posted on

It was a conversation tickling me inside.

Making me open my mouth, giggle.

In short bursts.

Listening to Bob make a pronouncement.

I’m making an executive decision, he said with solemnity.

Referring to some old packages of farro.

Deciding to toss them into the trash.

I paid attention, amused.

Wasn’t he the guy who didn’t part with things?

Kept berries in the freezer for years?

Disregarded expiration dates on pill bottles?

Making sure there was not one last use for something?

Now talking about farro?

Telling me whole grains could go rancid?

Excellent decision, I agreed, laughing again.

Enjoying the little peals escaping in waves.

Feeling lighter with each one.

Hands rising as though filled with helium.

Lips curling upwards at the corners.

A delight I was wishing

would never cease.

Would go on forever,

only increase.

 

Lynn Benjamin

May 9, 2024

Aging, All Poems, Change, Family, Gym/exercise, Miracles, Spouses

It’s A Miracle

Posted on

It’s a miracle! said Bob. We were just at Independence Hall, now in Elkins Park.

As we traversed streets from train station back to our house.

A twenty-minute walk uphill.

I, struggling to match him.

Looking his way as we marched apace.

No, I countered, the miracle is that you’re walking, not driving, to and from the train.

Well, he answered, it was seeing Barbara do it.

Barbara, the eighty-nine-year-old neighbor.

A woman we run into at the gym.

Once, waving to her on the train platform.

Returning from a class in the city.

No, no, no, I insisted.

It’s your new stamina, resolve, determination to exercise.

He turned to me, maybe you’re right.

Having resisted this trek before commitment to strengthening.

Grumbling, it bothered his hip.

Now looking energized, healthy.

Nary a complaint.

Moving forward with alacrity.

Complete unrestraint.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 29, 2024

All Poems, Family, Gardens, Gym/exercise, Health/Illness, Seasons, Spouses

Gardener’s Carry

Posted on

I’m doing the gardener’s carry, said Bob.

Hauling a twenty-pound bag of top soil.

From the front of the house to the back.

To cover peas.

The first crop of the season.

Planted three weeks late.

But, announcing the true arrival of spring.

Two afternoons of work in three blue pots.

Ready to catch cool mornings, sunshine, rainy days.

Necessary to sprout.

Grow strong shoots.

Just like the gardener.

Daily working out.

To vitalize muscles.

Lose excess weight.

Stand straight, tall.

Develop stamina.

Fulfill tasks like transporting soil.

Mimicking exercises in the gym.

The gardener was gleeful.

His first spring sowing done.

In a mere three weeks or so,

snap pea germination.

 

Lynn Benjamin

April 17, 2024