With paper towels and a spray,
I cleaned the window panes today.
It’s not a chore I like, but hey –
It’s what you’ve gotta do.
I wiped the window sills, as well,
Though, at a glance, you couldn’t tell,
But those who in Manhattan dwell
Know schmutz likes to accrue.
Of course, once cleaning had begun,
I dusted all the frames, each one
Just waiting ‘til they all were done
And propped back up to view.
Assorted bowls and vases, plus
Some tchotchkes that belong to us
Required, too, a little fuss
So they would look brand-new.
At last, my windows, nice and clear,
Caused my apartment to appear
Like it’s all good until next year
When guilt will bubble through.
In people’s front yards
(That is, if they’re allowed),
They can have a display
Which will make them feel proud.
Some have flowers and banners
Or bushes and hedges
Or humorous statues
Lined up on the edges.
A spinner or whirligig
Might add some fun
Or a sculpture or wind sock
When not overdone.
Now, my personal taste
May be different from yours,
But some people have yards
No one ever ignores
For they’re filled with such tchotchkes
They make my head swim;
Yet although my opinion
Of this might be dim
To those owners, such plenty
Brings joy and such pride
It’s a wonder they ever
Come in from outside.
I look around at all the stuff
I’ve purchased or created
To fill my home; it’s quite enough
That I’ve accumulated.
My husband lets my choices rule,
Especially my quilt work,
For he would have to be a fool
To share if some critiques lurk.
I never used to think about
Where all of it will go when
I’m gone, because, without a doubt,
There’s no way I will know then.
My children will not give a hoot
About my works of stitching.
My efforts they will not dispute,
Though that won’t stop them ditching
The pillows, hangings, tchotchkes, art,
Plus photo books and keepsakes;
All these tucked inside my heart
Will win the dumpster sweepstakes.
Since I will not observe it, there
Will be no tears or clashes,
But in my mind, it isn’t fair
To turn my stuff to ashes.
Kensington Market...
vendor in a Blue Jays cap
hawking tchotchkes
There isn’t one thing that I need
But so much I could buy,
Though contemplating purchases,
It pays to question why.
I’m at the age when I will try
To spend a little less,
For I have lots of jewelry
And tchotchkes, I confess.
Yet here’s my rule of thumb when I
Find something that appeals –
I picture leaving it behind
To see the way that feels.
If never seeing it again
Begins to make me sad,
I know that once it’s mine, I’ll be
Relieved and more than glad.
An object that brings joy
And is a splurge I can afford
Makes me give in to temptation
With each smile as my reward.
Today I cleaned for hours
Getting rid of mostly dust.
If I did this more often,
I’d feel less worn out, I trust.
Yet unlike many others,
Who have homes that sparkly shine,
No one would ever use that phrase
About this place of mine.
My husband vacuums every day
And I scrub when I must,
But I don’t have the patience
To move tchotchkes* just to dust.
We all decide how much we care
About how clean or neat
Our living quarters need to be
To make us feel complete.
*a Yiddish word meaning decorative objects
A news reporter used the word,
And ended it with “keys,”
But I have always said it
With a schwa sound, if you please.
Derived from Yiddish, tchotchkes are
Small knickknacks you can buy,
Like trinkets bought as souvenirs.
(You’ll later wonder why.)
Some homes are filled, on shelves and sills
With tchotchkes overflowing.
The word’s pronunciation, though,
Not everyone is knowing.
Transliterations rarely do
Agree on sound or spelling,
So if it’s “chotchkas” or “chotchkeys”
Is your choice for the telling.
Frida and Diego’s house
Had walls of cobalt blue.
Today it’s a museum and
Their paintings are on view.
I didn’t go to Mexico
To visit their collection,
But at the Garden, got to see
A limited selection.
The cactus plants in ochre pots
Arranged in artful ways
Allowed me to imagine Frida
Living out her days.
Some paintings rounded out the show
And photographs as well,
To place the artists at the site
Where both did work and dwell.
The highlight of the whole display,
Which made me crave much more,
Was all the Frida tchotchkes*
In the Garden’s lovely store.
An orange pot and purple plant
Now grace my windowsill,
Reminding me of Frida –
Very un-run-of-the-mill.
*trinkets, knickknacks
(The New York Botanical Garden
currently has an exhibit about Frida Kahlo
and Diego Rivera’s house, Casa Azul.)
The clutter expert made remarks,
When giving her advice,
That if no joy an item sparks,
Then ditch it – don’t think twice.
That goes for clothes or books or art
Or tchotchkes on a shelf,
For once this method gets its start,
You’ll lighten up yourself.
Although I am intrigued, this brings
A plan I can’t employ,
‘Cause I own way too many things
That aren’t sparking joy.
Still, I am more attuned to what
The expert had to say
And so my ancient jeans (which sparketh not)
I gave away.
Catalogues are filled with things
That no one really needs,
But flipping through the pages
Well, we all know where that leads:
To buying some ephemera
For gifts or for ourselves;
Like we don’t have sufficient tchotchkes
Cluttering our shelves.
It may be jewelry or clothes
Or toys we find enticing;
And if there is a coupon code,
Then that becomes the icing.
The holidays approach and thus,
The mailbox overflows.
The need to purchase presents
Is conditioned, I suppose.
And so I sit and browse on through,
A giving-gifts supporter,
While wondering if I’m prepared
To call and place my order.
What really makes me happy, though,
And always yields a smile,
Is when I add a catalogue
On to the reject pile!
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