Santa Monica 3/24

All Poems, Family, Humor, Miracles, Santa Monica 3/24, Spouses, Trips and Places, Worry

It Was Early

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It was early, the morning of departure from LA.

I, out walking in Palisades Park.

Committing each plant to memory.

Bob, asleep, awakened by a ringing phone.

A call from the pharmacy.

Three hours ahead in Philadelphia.

To discuss a long awaited script for me, not him.

Requiring a prior authorization and an interview.

Still groggy, he grabbed his favorite reading glasses.

The tortoise shell ones.

Dialed to merge me in, transfer the call.

Then jumped out of bed, rushing to make farewells.

To children, grandchildren.

But, in haste, he couldn’t find his glasses.

He searched the room.

Sheets, pillows, blankets.

No luck.

Later, I, too, scoured the space.

Closet, dresser drawers, desk.

Completely gone.

Bob moaned off and on, my best glasses.

But, miracle of miracles, they reappeared.

The next morning in the dryer!

Having been washed with underwear.

Bob texted me the good news.

Incredulous, he found his glasses,

lenses cleaned and shining bright.

Once he popped them on his face,

voilà, clear, limitless hindsight!

Lynn Benjamin

April 2, 2024

Adult Children, All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Natural Beauty, Pleasure, Santa Monica 3/24, Stories, Trips and Places, Wisdom

One Last Hike in California

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It was our last full day in Santa Monica.

Dan proposed a hike at Will Rogers State Park.

So, all of us piled into the Lincoln Aviator.

Set out for the trail.

Samantha carrying Arthur on her back.

Dan, Solly.

Only Ezra, five, and the grandparents ascended unencumbered.

Able to savor wild purple flowers.

Yellow daisies, white Catalina lilacs.

Views of Los Angeles, the beach, the Pacific.

Catalina Island, hazy, in the distance.

We made it to the top.

Where exhausted parents rested.

Children snacked.

Grandparents marveled at scenes below.

And the family all around them.

Endurance, capability, strength.

Joie de vivre.

But we had to leave.

To get home in time for Ezra’s math lesson.

Briskly, we descended.

Passing stables, children learning to ride.

A barn full of early twentieth century farm equipment.

To the house of Will Rogers.

Built on land bought in 1922.

And a small museum in homage to his legacy.

We only had ten minutes.

To fill our heads with a lifetime of accomplishments.

Philosopher cowboy, stage and movie star, radio personality.

Newspaper columnist, world traveler, humorist.

Descendent of Cherokees.

Whose family predated the pilgrims.

Celebrity to our grandparents.

Will Rogers was a citizen

who honored what is right.

Who cared for human dignity,

could inspire and shine light.

The hike in Pacific Palisades

animated each one’s pace.

Who knew we’d run into Will Rogers

in this wondrous meeting place?

Lynn Benjamin

March 31, 2024

 

 

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Holidays, Purim, Santa Monica 3/24, Seasons, Trips and Places

March Winds Blow Purim Into Santa Monica

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March winds blow Purim into Santa Monica.

In time to recount the story of Esther.

Prepare to bake Hamentashen.

With three boys at the counter.

Setting out ingredients.

Utensils, bowls, pans, parchment paper.

Wishes for a joyful time.

Then starting to make dough.

Creaming butter, sugar.

Cracking eggs.

Adding vanilla, orange juice, salt, flour.

Tiny hands taking turns stirring, then kneading.

Deciding against a rolling pin.

Rather, shaping balls in palms.

Placing them on a pan.

Imprinting each with a thumb.

Shaping it into a triangle.

For Hamen’s hat or pocket,

whichever tale you prefer.

Filling with Nutella.

Each boy, cookie connoisseur.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 30, 2024

 

 

All Poems, Family, Grandchildren, Santa Monica 3/24, Siblings, Trips and Places

Seagulls and Pigeons

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Seagulls and pigeons on Santa Monica’s pier watch people.

As much as people watch them.

Just like I watch the grandchildren on 14th Street.

They watch me.

Ask about my age.

Flowers on my shirt, my hat.

My furrowed face.

But, I think I have the better deal.

Watching a sibling group coalescence.

Without being sibling or mother.

A step away as grandparent.

Seeing rivalry for a parent’s attention.

For equal time, rights.

Sometimes one getting another into trouble.

To provoke disapproval on a parent’s face.

Or showing tenderness, one toward the other.

Offering to help.

Sometimes wanting to be the other.

The eldest or the baby.

Or even the middle.

To achieve a gymnastic feat.

Or solve a problem.

Or, act as helpless as the toddler.

Push, pull of needing, not needing.

Squabbling, sharing.

Teaching, learning.

Thousands of stitches each day.

Producing a unique pattern.

Tight, taut, colorful.

Enduring longer than the parent-child bond.

But, in the day-to-day, who thinks about it?

Only later, at rupture, does the hole become apparent.

Irreparable, tattered, torn.

Early on, threads breathe,

providing an organic net.

Familiarity and protection,

spinning yarns to ne’er forget.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 30, 2024

 

All Poems, Change, Children, Family, Grandchildren, Santa Monica 3/24, Trips and Places

Solly Lumbers

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Solly lumbers through that strange space called toddlerhood.

Able to push up from squatting.

Take some steps.

Careen forward.

Not exactly knowing where he’ll end up.

Often tripping, falling.

Understanding simple instructions.

Bring me the ball.

Use the fork.

Dance to the music.

But unable to verbalize wishes.

Except when he calls out mama or dada.

Fulfillers of essential needs.

Then pointing for the rest.

A cup, a block, a book.

Knowing small routines.

Familiar sequences.

Steps for bath, lunch, going to the park.

All pretty ingenious if you think about it.

Especially the other night before bed.

When Solly put his finger in his mouth.

Moved it back and forth along his teeth.

His father thinking he wanted to nurse.

Handing him to his mother.

But, Solly, not interested.

Perking up, smiling when he heard her say,

he wants to brush his teeth!

Living with a toddler

is an ongoing pantomime.

But, once words start flowing,

baby no longer needs to sign.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 22, 2024

 

All Poems, Loss, Santa Monica 3/24, Trips and Places

Santa Monica Pier

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Yesterday, a shopkeeper informed us.

The iconic Santa Monica pier was bought by an investment group.

It would be reformed.

Made more upscale.

So, I went there this morning.

To study it.

Look at its contours.

Shops, eateries, amusement park.

Adjacent beach, buildings across the bay.

The tribute to Robert Waldmire.

Artist and cartographer who celebrated Route 66.

Running from the mid-west, ending at the pier.

Preservationist and environmentalist.

Wanting travelers to stop and enjoy nature along the way.

Rather than driving on a fast interstate.

Disconnected with the place passed through.

I’m glad I made it to the pier,

having been forewarned.

So I could see it in its present state

before it is transformed.

.

Lynn Benjamin

March 21, 2024

All Poems, Family, For Children, Grandchildren, Grandparents, Humor, Santa Monica 3/24, Stories, Trips and Places

Why Do You Always Wear a Hat?

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Why do you always wear a hat? asked Arthur.

As we prepared to walk to the park.

Well, to protect from the sun’s rays, I stated.

Adding, to protect my head from bird poop.

Thinking of the time a pigeon pooped on my hat in Madrid.

As I walked to Corte Inglés.

Arthur said nothing, thinking.

Then, could a bird poop on your hat and your head at the same time?

No, I answered. Not if I wear a hat.

He continued, could it poop on the brim?

It could, I nodded.

What would you do? he asked.

I’d wash the hat.

He went on, how about if it pooped on the flower?

Referring to the faux flower atop my Tilley.

Again, I said, I’d wash it.

What would you do if the bird pooped on your hair?

I answered, I’d wash my hair.

At which point, Arthur turned to his mother.

Requested she please find his cap.

Not for fear of UV rays,

but prevention of poop mishap.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 21, 2024

All Poems, Beaches, Family, For Children, Grandchildren, Santa Monica 3/24, Stories, Trips and Places

The Beach is the Place to Go

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The beach is the place to go.

On Saturday afternoons in Santa Monica.

For singles, couples, families.

Pigeons, seagulls.

So, that’s where we set out.

In the family’s Lincoln Aviator.

Two parents, three boys, two grandparents.

The sun shone, but breezes chilled.

The children, in bathing wear, seemed not to mind at all.

Jumping on play equipment first.

Then zipping to the broad, long beach.

The toddler running to the ocean.

The two older ones toward driftwood.

That other bathers organized into a round fence.

I love it here, said Arthur, three.

Romping with his older brother.

Inside wooden walls.

Picking up long sticks.

Holding them like weapons.

Finding stones of every shape, size.

Multiplying joys of being outdoors.

Free to run in all directions,

move to the beat of waves.

Turn driftwood, stones into castles,

dig holes as big as caves.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 20, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, For Children, Gardens, Natural Beauty, Plants, Santa Monica 3/24, Trees, Trips and Places

Walks in Santa Monica

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Walks in Santa Monica are botanical adventures, said Bob.

The truth is, they don’t disappoint,

Always a new plant or tree in bloom.

Exotic red Erythrina caffra blossoms.

On a bare branched tree.

Mop-like orange soap aloe flowers.

A graceful plant mimicking an elephant’s trunk.

Bright purple Coopers Hardy Ice Plant.

Lighting up the day.

Orange California poppies.

Bushy western fir trees.

Blueish wild banana flowers.

The list goes on.

An abundance of flavor and fragrance.

Hence, the likelihood of spotting hummingbirds.

Again and again.

First on lavender trailing shrubverbenas.

Then on birds of paradise.

Amazingly unafraid of squeaky sneakers.

A clicking camera lens.

Just busily gathering nectar

to store up energy.

Hovering over blossoms

in best feathered finery.

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 19, 2024