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Pothole Season

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016


Winter is almost over and while we await the appearance of our illusions of spring, we have begun that annoying little in between time-pothole season. Anyone who successfully makes it through this season is ready to tackle any slalom competition. Some years, the city is better than others in dealing with this annual phenomenon of potholes popping up (or sinking in) like a rash of inverted mushrooms through the pavement, asphalt eating car killer spores. One year they were so bad at a major intersection near my home, I referred to them as a series of recreational finger lakes, the largest of which I named Lake ——–(insert the name of the mayor of your city here).

Maybe a local radio station could host a contest to find the largest pothole in the city, offering a huge $$$ prize. But since this is one of the places in Murica that hasn’t had a booming financial recovery yet, and if you happened to have had a mayor that diverted municipal funds to frivolous projects constructed by his campaign contributing cronies instead of spending it on neighborhood improvement and educational and real economic and job creation opportunities, some of the good citizens might just make the holes bigger in order to win the prize. Well, there you go. Anyway, I wrote a little song, sung to the tune of “Springtime in the Rockies”.

Pothole Season


Well, it’s springtime in my city, 


Potholes dot every road again. 


I tried to steer around them,


But I think my car fell in. 


The axle’s bent, broken, and mangled.


And so is every rim.


Yes, it’s spring time in my city. 


I need to be towed, again.
Pothole Sign


© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016


We had been snuggled in a quiet snow over night, winter stepping quietly back in to softly cover us. We awoke to a winter world flocked in gentle white.  The SSB Drever and I went for our walk this morning. At one point, a slight wind whipped the flocking of snow off a tree from across the street. It landed on us and on the pavement like dainty dollops of cream. We paused our steps to just to be and to enjoy this beautiful offering.

I don’t know if March came in like a lion or a lamb. We had experienced temperatures near 70* last week, (single digits the week before that) and now it was cold again. Yesterday was blue sky and cold sunshine. Today, more of an early February feel with big flaked snow. In a few days it will be back in the 60’s and close to 70 again.

It is almost as though winter has a passive-aggressive relationship with us, maybe not unlike some of our relationships with people, relationships with the seasons of our lives. Somehow, you know that, no matter what it was-passionate, intense, violent, calm, serene, disengaged- there are subtle signs it is coming to an end.  Even though today is blanketed in snow, spring is peeping through in the change of light and tips of green poking through the thinning layer of dead leaves. There are signs when other relationships-people, places, and our place in time- in our lives are coming to an end and change is on the way. We see them, but we don’t. We just keep going on thinking whatever is will always be.

Not unlike a person taking the significant one out for dinner to soften the blow of ending a relationship, or to deliver any bad news, maybe winter wanted to leave with a soft memory today. A gentle day to obliterate the memories of harshness and cold. Maybe at the end of it all, all the memories we have will have softened like this gentle winter day.

Whispered Winter Farewell



Snow Covered Tables At Henry's

Snow Covered Tables At Henry’s -© Jo Hewitt 2016

Soft fluffy flocking 


Freely falling off, downward, 


Soft, whispered farewell.

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016

Last week my grandchildren’s school held their annual Grandparents’ Day Program.  After the program we were invited to spend time with our grandchildren in their classes. Each class has a special name. This year Asher is one of the Bears. Pari is a Shark with Miss Amy. Asher was a Shark two years ago.

They were working on the letter S that week. Each classroom has a list of all the words they could think of that began with the letter S. I thought of some more words. Then my brain wanted to work on a poem.



S Is for Sharks 

Sammy and Sal, some silly sharks
Sat in satin seats to dine
At  a swanky place this time.
They each sloppily slurped,
With a gurgley burp,
Spicy, so nicey, saucy soup from a silver spoon.
Hearing a sweet sea song,
They stayed not long, 
Returning to the sea,  
Where they should be 
To swoop and swoon,  
To a siren softly singing her so sultry sea tune. 
With a shimmy and a slink
From tail to fin, they jumped right in,
Began to sink, submerged in the salty sea.
They swam swiftly, from sea to sandy land shore,
Then back out, again, one time more
Before four, 
So soon before snoozing sleep in the afternoon.


Under Sea Illustration By Manoj Kureel

Under Sea Illustration By Manoj Kureel



Uzbeki Traveling Band

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016

My  neighbor is in and out. I keep an eye on her house for her. Sometimes she tells me when she will be gone, and sometimes she forgets. One time I kidded her, in a most random fashion, that I was concerned she had been kidnapped by a band of Uzbekis.  She was out again and this word play came to mind.

The Uzbeki Traveling Band 

She left the ole’ homestead land
To take up, so they say, as I understand,
To ramble with an Uzbeki balalaika,
Tanbur, an’ tambour traveling band.


Each member wore a matching cumber band,
Rosey cheeks and skin well tanned.
With dancing feet and waving hands,
They whirled and twirled; the music outward fanned .


To the music both humble and grand, 
She danced with her heart on worn out rands,
On rock and sand and village meadowland.
Such their music journey spanned.


Watchers watched, drinking tea with gha’nd.
And when hearts melted by music strands,
Singing souls began to understand,
Why she traveled with the Uzbeki band.


They traveled the earth,-silk, sea, and sand.
Then, the day was done; it was time to disband.
They loaded the caravan well manned.
And she returned again to the ole’ homestead land.
Klavdy Lebedev Plyaska 1916

Klavdy Lebedev Plyaska 1916

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

My daughter had picked up the kids from pre-school the other day. While in the car, little Parisa had some gas which made its exit with noisy exuberance. She told her mother she had Minions in her tushie. I wrote this for her and her brother.


Looking around.
What was that sound?
It’s Minions in my tushie.
It’a hard to stop ’em
Once they start.
I ‘ll feel much better  
Once they depart.
Minions in my tushie.
I can’t control them
Or make them go away.
They are getting louder!
What do they want to say?
Bplrrrrr. Bplrrrrrr. Bplrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Bplrrrrr. Bplrrrrrr. Bplrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Looking around.
What was that sound?
(It’ s only sound.
Nothing squishy.)
Minions in my tushie.
© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

An historic vibrant neighborhood is precious, glittering golden in autumn light. It is not just the sights, the sounds, but the smells. The SSB Drever and I walked in such a neighborhood today, the arms of the changing air wrapping around us, the falling leaves flitting down, waving before our eyes, flirting before dancing with our feet. The dusty, musty smells, fingers of earthy musk reaching up to us, inviting us into Autumn’s spell. Even the remains of vibrant Summer’s green succumb to the heady musk, numb to that which is to come.

 Redolent D’or


Woodruff in Autumn-© Jo Hewitt 2015

Woodruff in Autumn-© Jo Hewitt 2015

D’or Redolent 
Delicious Scent
Days Diminish to
Dusty Debris

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

The SSB Drever and I were walking yesterday. It has been a lovely autumn with the middle of October feeling more like early September. Most of the summer flowers are long gone, but Asters are blooming abundantly. And they are covered with bees! We are so lucky to enjoy their beauty and the bees are so lucky to have nectar for a little longer. They looked so happy hopping from aster blossom to aster blossom.

Asher and Parisa, well especially Parisa, love insects. Parisa holds her fingers close to her eyes, holding them together to indicate somethong very small, and using a tiny voice, tells me they are little, tiny and cute. I thought Asher and Parisa would like this little ditty. (Sung to: We’re In The Money)

Bee Boppin’

The bees are happy.
Their flight so snappy.
They’re just buzzin’ along
Boppin’ to their ‘lil bee song
Autumn Aster with Honey Bee-© Jo Hewitt 2015

Autumn Aster with Honey Bee-© Jo Hewitt 2015


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