Back To School

It’s finally here,

the end of snow days.

Nothing sums up where we are at

more succinctly than this.

I remember my snow days distinctly,

that moment of light bulb going off realization

of the exhilaration of freedom,

the pause in homework

and then getting on the land line

to make a plan.

I remember sledding on the 72^nd Street hill

in Central Park,

on the hemline of Fifth Avenue.

My mind scrapes the barrel of my memory

for this day

every time I pass it,

which is often.

I can still feel the weight

of soaking wet denim

sticking to my watermelon pink

frozen thighs,

and the very human shade of red

on pale thin skin.

I did not have snow pants

but made sure that my 3 daughters

always did.

I do not recall

who brought the splintering wooden sled

with chipped steel glides.

My family was not the kind of family

that owned and stored one.

As soon as Lexie could sit up

we bought a plastic sled.

In retrospect,

part of the thrill

was swooshing past

my comfort zone.

I was not a daredevil by nature

and speed, rocks and crowds to navigate

were obstacles

I tried not to pass down.

Today New York City

has declared the death of the snow day.

The culmination of climate change

and magical remote capabilities

has snuffed out any potential

for waking up

to news of the elation

of the unexpected.

There will be no more

bright rosy cheeks, knees and noses,

no more waiting

for the numbness to subside

just enough to clutch

the Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate.

There will be no more

disappearing gelatinous marshmallows

dissolving into stretches

of serendipitous days off.

that stick sweetly in your gut

well into middle age.

Instead when the snow drops and wallops

come December,

that day will become

yet another forgettable Wedneday,

experienced on a screen

while on a phone

and in ratty pajamas,

triggering the pandemic

that put an end

to the great snowball fight

and slaughtered the snow angels

on weekdays in Central Park.

~Nicole Freezer Rubens, author of “The Long Pause and the Short Breathe”

What does it mean to have it all?
Do those words mean I walk straight and tall,
Even though, at the moment, I have hit a wall?
Sometimes I have to rise up after a bruising fall ,

What do I do when frightened and in pain?
The reasons for this might sound hollow or inane,
As I put up a brave, secure image that’s not true,
Since I do not accept feeling sad or blue,

Having it all includes making mistakes ,
Or how do we know without risking high stakes?
Is it alright to fail, start over again once more?
Does everything follow a pattern for sure?

The answer is, there’s no answer for all of us,
Taking a wrong road can be turned into a plus,
Just get on with life and stop making a fuss,

Feeling alive means having everything!

~ Carol Ostrow, author of Poems from My Pandemic Pen

Two Priests Walk Into a Pizza Joint

May sound like the start of a joke

But it really happened.

Last night at the Four Bros

so dubbed by my niece

We noticed them as they entered

they did stand out

And declared it a blessing

We must have been there awhile

Because upon their exit, they stopped at our table

it pays to be open

A lively conversation ensued

Though we told them we were not of their persuasion

They offered us a blessing

yes, by all means yes,

you can’t have too many of those these days

Would you believe

That Father John had a Jewish music teacher

At seminary school?

hence the rousing rendition of Hava Nagila!

~Stephanie Sloane, author “Dear Me”