The first poem

Like I promised here's the first poem from my Thanksgiving trip -- and not too upbeat at that. I get all excited about traveling, and then get turned off pretty quickly. I think the bottom line is I'm just more comfortable at home.

Flight to Portland

I’m squooshed in the middle seat.
The man to my left keeps
poking his elbow into my side
as he taps on his laptop.
The girl on my right snoozes
after gorging herself
on salted peanuts and chocolate chip cookies.

I’m bummed. One of my Bose earbuds
lost its cushion,
my book is in the overhead bin
along with my computer,
so, I’m using the address side of a magazine
advertisement to write this poem
of flying woes.
At least the baby has stopped screaming
my seatmate’s o.j. didn’t spill into my lap,
and I can still enjoy Neil Young
sing about his old guitar.

Only an hour left to go
on this miserable flight,
that’s getting more and more bumpy
by the second.
I knew I should have stayed home.

But, more than about this trip I want to write about lunch with Shirley yesterday. We really have only known each other peripherally – she’s a good friend of Carole's and the mother of one of Ben’s high school buddies. But, every time we see each other we know we want to get together and talk. We finally made it yesterday, and it was like being with an old long lost friend. Shirley is a psychotherapist, so she knows how to delve down deep. She knows just how to ask why and what do you mean and what does that look like. And I being just as inquisitive got her to talk about herself as well. Never mind what we talked about, it was just a great feeling to have the day off, go to the gym in the morning, run to the shoemaker and post office, and then shower and dress leisurely to get ready in time to drive to Santa Monica for our date. That I could even take the time to go to Santa Monica is almost unheard of for me. What a luxury.
We ate at her son, Josh’s, restaurant, called Rustic Canyon, named for the area of Los Angeles where he grew up. There she is called The Mom. I can relate. I’m always being called Ben’s mom. In fact, one of Shirley’s friends came up to her to say hello and when she heard my name she knew me as Ben’s mom as well.
And the food was delicious – I had a fresh beet salad with hazelnuts, mixed greens and seared ahi tuna. How absolutely decadent.