rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the tag “Family”

20 Jun 2020
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Dad’s Day, 2020

June 21 is Father’s Day 2020. I am a father. I have been a father since October 1959. Age is not creeping anymore; it is fast tracking. I have three remarkable children, six wonderful grandchildren and five amazing great-grandchildren and lest I forget a delightful stepdaughter. My fatherly life is full. I am so blessed.
Frank Sinatra sang; “regrets, I’ve had a few”. Have I made mistakes, absolutely! During my lifetime, there have been ups and downs, some periods even went sideways, so, yes, one could say “regrets, I ‘ve had a few.”
Being a father is not necessarily the same as being a “dad”. The first is a biological event; the second is an emotional one. I would never regret being a “father” however, I do regret not always being a “dad”. But then, one cannot go back in time and change the past.
So, to all my family, on this Father’s Day, 2020, I will strive to be more of a “Dad.” Please know that I love all of you and am proud to be your “Dad”, your “Stepdad”,  your “Granddad”, and your “Great Grandad!” To all the Dad’s in our family, I hope this “Dad’s Day” is meaningful to you.

And from an era gone by, this about my “Dad”.

Lewis Stewart was my stepfather, entering my life at the brink of my becoming a teenager. But he was more than a stepfather. He became my “Dad”, not necessarily in name but in every other aspect. He was my “Dad”. He went to his heavenly home on June 7th, 1984. My “Pop” was and still is a loving memory for me. I pay tribute to him in this poem I wrote in 1992.

The March of Age

Silver strands of wispy hair adorn
The head of this old man,
His eyes seem tired and he grows weak,
He does the best he can.

Age has caught the life of him
Whom age could never touch.
At least not him who’s big to me,
Whose hand I reach to clutch.

The years have fast raced on to reach
This one who could not fall.
The yesterdays are now but faint,
This fate must touch us all.

When grown men cry so deep inside
That words can ne’er explain,
There’s reason for the tears we hide,
Redeeming love without refrain.

So, age will search for others now,
Not knowing what it had.
For age does not discriminate,
I know, it caught my Dad.

Pete Robertson
© 1992

Posted in Poems, Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , ,
20 May 2020
3 Comments

RIP Sweet Apollo

Today, May 18, 2020, was the passing of King Louie’s Dance of Apollo.Apollo Jennie Pete

Our Sweet Apollo crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. He had a welcoming committee, for sure. There was Denali and Prada and Munchie, all friends from his past. And his long- time buddy, B.J. And I am sure he met new friends, as well. He has given us such joy around the Fuzzy Chicken Farm, and it is so difficult to experience this once again.

Apollo was full of energy and had a very loving demeanor. He would have been 14 years old on July 29th. He is a Standard Poodle and the epitome of a canine that loves his family. And his family loved him.

I recall a few of his antics. For one, he loved to go with me to the post office, protecting me, or so he thought. And if he did not go, then he would wait at the front door until I returned. In fact, many times when we left on errands, he would wait there and bark when we did return. Sadly, the past year he was unable to do that.

He loved company. Furiously, he would bark at the doorbell and then he would introduce himself to the guests, especially the female gender. One could see the excitement in his eyes. When they would sit down, he would promptly raise his paw for assurances that they were welcome.

Apollo Begging forgiveness

His had his moments. Another one was him being unable to come into the kitchen. We never scolded him, I would only ask, “Apollo, are you in the kitchen?” at which he would abruptly turn around and depart the area. Or begging for a bite of our sandwich. He had this habit of laying his chin (?) on the footrest of the recliner at which time I would promptly call him “Despicable”. Apollo despicable (2)

Then the “Rancherette” would take up for him and say, “You’re not Despicable.” And of course, he got his bites of a sandwich. There are many stories about Apollo. These are but a few.

But life itself includes those moments when not all is good news.

For several months Apollo’s health has declined. He struggled to catch his breath, mostly because of a heart condition. Arthritis had set in his hips and his both front legs.  It has caught him in his elder years. His heart was giving out and he could no longer walk. So, we did what was necessary to relieve his pain. And it was bittersweet.

I have gone through the happening of having a trusted animal member cross over the Rainbow Bridge too many times in the past. It never gets any easier, but love transcends the life experience, and this is the ultimate life experience. We love all our animals. We want them to live forever. Sadly, they do not. Then, neither do we.

So, Apollo, cross on over that colored bridge. Meet up with your friends, run and bark and spend your days knowing you no longer suffer on this earth. We miss you my friend.

Posted in Retro, Stories and tagged , , , , , ,
15 May 2020
3 Comments

HONEY, I REMEMBERED!

Honey, I remembered!

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10, 11……….12

I remembered that I could count, at least to 12. I promise I did not use Google for any help. So, what do the numbers represent?

Year number one began on May 15, 2009 and was our Wedding day. That was a remarkable day. The first year was a honeymoon that lasted all year and into the next and continues today.

Numbers 1-11 represent the number of years that Jennifer and Pete have been married. Each year was complete and utterly successful. At least to my way of thinking. Each year has been a wonderful sequence of a marriage.

This woman I married has an amazing stamina. She is, of course, the queen of the chicken world. She certainly has the Chicken world of exhibition’s attention. Her office is covered in awards. I am extremely proud of her and her accomplishments. But that’s not why I married her.

She is a super gardener, vegetables in season, flowers in season, indoor plants, tropical and home managed. But, that’s not why I married her.

She is a great cook. She is in the gourmet chef style.She sometimes posts her achievements to the social media world and has them drooling. Cakes, pies, and of course delicacies from the food group. Chocolate being my favorite. But that’s not why I married her.

She has other talents, such as mowing the yard, attending to our retired show dogs, cutting limbs, and I dare not forget the geese. The geese are like her children. But that is a separate issue altogether.

We have our challenges and those continue. Most of our trials have come from health issues. We have faced numerous tests and treatments and she has risen to the occasion. She is a remarkable nurse; however, she has not had the perfect patient. But she has endured. I think it is because she loves me.

We seem to roller coaster our health issues, me then her, her then me. I have been a nurse to her as well. However, I have had a much easier time taking care of her than she of me. She has been a particularly good patient, unlike me.  So, she is a great nurse and a great patient. But, that’s not why I married her.

As I count of the years, I am reminded that love is the key ingredient to a marriage. And that brings me to the year 12.  We start off our next year with uncertainties in the world we know. And while we will adapt to the changes that inevitably will face us, I know that our marriage will survive.

So why did I marry her?  Because, as I said, “love is the key ingredient to a marriage”.

I write this simply to let the world know that God put us together and I thank Him for that. I could not be more blessed at this time in my life. Thank you Jennifer for marrying me.

I love you, Jennifer Robertson, and Happy Anniversary.

Posted in Retro, Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
10 Apr 2020
1 Comment

The Cross

Even during this worldwide calamity, we can take hope that there is peace from the comforter of the universe. This was accomplished through the death, burial and the resurrection of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. The following is my interpretation of those events on the first Easter weekend.

Conversation at the Cross

The suffering unfolds at that ultimate place where the condemned are sent for reckoning. Spread across the hill, three crosses are embedded.  Execution awaits by official decree. The crosses prolong the agony.

An angry mob surrounds the three crosses, gawking at those who await their fate. Covert friends intermingle with thrill-seekers. Conflicting points of view become manifest.  Conversation at the cross begins.

Arrogance remains openly defiant, returning verbal assaults to the hostile masses.The anger and pain notwithstanding, he addresses his cursing to Mercy. In response, Mercy beseeches Unseen.

 Seeking Forgiveness counters to Arrogance, “Your foolish outburst has overcome your sanity. You have no decency! No decency!  Judging of our deeds is truthful. Mercy’s condemnation is undeserved.”

Seeking Forgiveness cries out to Mercy, pleading a sympathetic desire for remembrance. Mercy grants his plea for sanctuary. Desiring a perfect destination for both, Mercy presents Himself finally to Unseen.

Conversation at the cross is ended. Apprehension envelops the onlookers. Fear is rampant, anxiety builds, remorse sets in.  Innocence is proclaimed by centurions. Mercy is sacrificed, the Cross-is finished.

Imagine if you were an actual witness to the crucifixion of Christ. 

Witness

Sounds of cursing and anger fill the air.
And yet, He groans quietly.
The burden on His shoulders grows heavy
As He walks, stooped over slightly.

The flesh on His back… lay bare by the whip,
And His feet have swollen as well.
His vision is blurred by sweat mixed with blood.
He stumbled…and He fell.

The soldiers’ authority commands fear.
One man is conscripted for use.
“Carry the beam!” they directed the man.
For the young one is weak from abuse.

The young man moves slowly, climbing the hill.
His condition prevents a fast pace.
People are gathering to witness this scene,
For there’s something peculiar about this place.

I sense something special about this young man.
He seems so confident in His fate.
But others about Him don’t seem to care,
For they scorn Him and verbalize hate.

The instrument of death is placed on the ground.
The young man is secured to the post.
Spikes penetrate His hands… and His feet…
The soldiers stand back and boast.

clouds grow dark and they cover the sun,
Thunder breaks loudly and clear.
The ground begins cracking and groaning,
And the people who’ve gathered begin to fear.

In a loud voice, I hear Him cry out
In a language, I don’t understand.
Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,*
There’s something unusual about this man…

His death is complete and His body’s removed,
He’s placed in a borrowed tomb.
Grief and sadness overcome His friends
As they endure this period of gloom.

And now! It’s the third day! His body isn’t here!
The story He told, really is true!
He died for atonement, was buried for sin,
Resurrected… for life anew.

I witness this scene as though I were there,
For it’s embedded completely in mind.
How Jesus… suffered and died,
Was raised, giving life for His kind.

Pete Robertson
© 1992

*Mark 15:34 NASB      

 

I hope you have an amazing Easter celebration. May God bless your family during this crisis.                     

 

Posted in Poems, Retro and tagged , , , , , , , ,
23 Dec 2019
1 Comment

Christmas, 1948

Christmas wasn’t going to be like all our Christmases before.

For eighty years, I have been celebrating Christmas. At my age, don’t expect me to remember all of them, but one I especially remember is Christmas, 1948. I was nine years old and we were living in tough times, not that I knew anything about that. It was said that Santa Claus was not likely to visit our house that year. Because of the divorce of my adoptive parents and the illness of my grandfather, my mother and I lived with my grandparents.

My grandfather, Papa, was suffering with cancer and many believed would not live until Christmas. My mother told me he had a disease that was infectious. That was to keep me from bothering him. I wasn’t allowed to go in his room; but I did stand at the door and talk to him. I remember Papa smiling at me between his coughing and wheezing. I always thought he would get well. Once, during that Christmas time, I sneaked into his bedroom, even though it was off-limits to me, and I told him Merry Christmas. He motioned for me to lean over closely, so I could hear him better. He told me that better times were coming, both for him and for me. I wasn’t sure what he meant, after all, I was only nine.

Now, in hindsight, I know that Christmas 1948 was a memorable one for me. I’m sure you have an unforgettable Christmas in your memory.  Christmases are supposed to be a joyous time, a time for family to come together and share the joys, to celebrate the birth of Christ, and to remember the good things. Sometimes it doesn’t quite turn out that way, but then again…

You See… I Remember…

My folks didn’t want to celebrate Christmas… in nineteen forty-eight.
We had no money…, and my  Papa, was so sick… he didn’t even know the date.
My Granny Mama wasn’t feeling well…, seems like Christmas might have to wait.
And if old Santa even came at all…, he’d probably show up late.

No…, Christmas wasn’t going to be like all our Christmases before.

No one much wanted … to decorate that year
Wasn’t going be like Christmas… wasn’t much Christmas cheer.
Then my Mama set about… to proudly trim a little tree
Thankful for the neighbor who cut and gave it to us free.

Mama wrapped her little tree… with gold and silver rope.
placed her special angel on the top!… she said, “to give us hope”,
like the angel from the Bible announcing Jesus’ birth
telling all the shepherds of Good News that’s come to earth.

I remember helping Mama… decorate our little Christmas tree.
And I remember especially…, all those joys it brought to me.
It had loads of shiny lights… that glimmered all around.
And Papa’s homemade ornaments… that almost touched the ground.

Our decorated Christmas tree… stood in its usual place.
Over by the window…‘cause we didn’t have much space
We had no chimney in our home… that Santa could come down
So I hung my cotton stocking by the door… just in case he came around.

But Christmas wasn’t going to be like all our Christmases before

I remember Mama… made her breakfast Mac and cheese
It was her specialty… we all were very pleased
I remember Papa peeking out his bedroom door
And saying maybe… Maybe Christmas might be like before

But, No, this Christmas wasn’t meant to be… like all our Christmases before

I remember Mickey Mouse… and the watch I got that year
And my cotton stocking… packed with Christmas cheer,
crammed with apples and oranges and walnuts and stuff
And good hard ribbon candy, plenty sticky… sure enough.

It must have been old Santa… who left those gifts for me,
‘cause no one had no money… and stuff like that’s not free.
But sometimes… like at Christmas… miracles do take place
And seems like miracles always put a smile on a little boy’s face.

But Christmas ‘forty-eight wasn’t like all our Christmases before.

So many years have passed since that Christmas ‘forty eight
But Miracles still happen…and that’s cause to celebrate
I remember Mama… telling… the wonder of Jesus’ birth
And Papa listening closely, his last few days on earth.

Ahhh.. Christmas ‘Forty-Eight…it came and went so quick
And Papa kept us laughing just like he wasn’t sick
Then February nineteen forty-nine, his cancer staked its claim
Christmases… ever after… would never be the same.

No…, Christmas wasn’t going to be like all our Christmases before.

Just a side note, one Christmas when our family celebrated together, I bought some cotton stockings like my Granny Mama used to wear, and I fixed each grandchild a stocking with the same fruits and nuts and stuff I got when I was a child. They thought it was funny… I smiled at the memory.
You see… I Remember… Christmas ‘forty-eight…

christmas-card-sayings-remember-when

I’m pretty sure I know what my Papa meant when he said better times are coming.

Thank you for allowing me to share some of my thoughts with you.
From me and all my family,
I hope you have a very miraculously, and memorable Christmas.

Posted in Poems, Retro and tagged , , , , , , , , ,
28 Nov 2019
1 Comment

Thanks, for Giving

Thanksgiving!

 

Today we  celebrate Thanksgiving. It seems that the early focus on commercial Christmas has removed  the true meaning of Thanksgiving. but look around you, there is someone who would appreciate a word of thanks. The grocery clerk, the construction worker, the bank teller, the pastor; there are many individuals you may consider in your world. Seeing a smile on another person’s face will bring a smile to your own. Do we really understand the significance of this word? Breaking it down, we know what the word, “Thanks”, means.  “A word of appreciation for something received or for an act of kindness”. It is an expression of gratitude. But, does it come with sincerity or is it just another word in our vocabulary?

The word, “Giving”, means to make a gift of material value or perform an act of kindness. So “Thanks” and “Giving” are combined to form not just a word, but also, an act of expression.  However, it seems to me to be more fitting to say, “Thanks, for Giving.” In the true sense of poetry, a list can be a poem. So too, can the alphabet. Here is my list of the ABC’s:   

The Alphabet of Thanks

Thanks, for giving…

Apples, I love apple pies,

Babies, for the twinkling in their eyes,

Car horns, to sound a warning noise,

Dogs, for fetching sticks and squeaky toys.

Elbows to bend and wash my face,

Fathers, for showing children grace

Golf, a senseless sport that doth confound,

Hamsters, for making little wheels go round.

Thanks, for giving…

Ice cream, the special homemade kind,

Jello, a spineless gel that quivers the mind,

Kindergarten, for learning all I ever need,

Limousines, and drivers who don’t know how to speed.

Maple Syrup, a tonic for the tooth,

Noses that grow considerably after youth,

Onions, a noxious kind of root,

Pajamas, not your usual, business suit.

Thanks, for giving…

Quilts, pieced together with spirited devotion,

Romance, passionate love set in motion,

Salt, crystallized preservative to suit the taste,

Texas, homeland, native born and God placed.

Ukuleles, a miniature of tuneful sound,

Valleys, and the mountains that surround,

Waltzes, my favorite kind of dance,

Xylophones, instruments of chance,

Yankees even, but I’m thankful still,

And lastly,

Zenith, the high point in God’s perfect will.

 

These words have no special or significant meaning. Your words may be different, write your own alphabet of thanks. Start with the Gift of God, His only begotten Son, Jesus. I am thankful He thought about me. I hope you are as well.

Posted in Poems, Poems, Retro and tagged , , , , , , , , , ,
11 Nov 2019
1 Comment

My Flag is Still Flying

Memories can evoke a wide variety of thoughts. They have a way of inducing our mind back to a time when life was simpler, or so we believe. A statement by an old friend or an old photo can stir emotions and reverberate up and down your spine, from the bottom to the top, eventually reaching the frontal lobe. It is this part of the brain that suggests we look back on our life and of those who made it possible. Thus, it is very appropriate on this Veteran’s Day that we remind ourselves of those events of years past and of those who still serve.

None could have made it more possible than the veterans of military service. I think of my father, J.C. Morrison, who did not enter military service in WWII, but served in a civilian capacity at Dow Chemical in Freeport, Texas. I think of my Father-in-Law, Lucious Maddux, serving in a construction battalion in the South Pacific, better known as SeaBees. I think of my uncle Homer Morrison, who served in the U.S. Army in the European forces. He served throughout the war effort without a scratch only to be killed in a tornado six months after the war’s end. These three individuals served in different parts of the world yet with the same goals in mind. Freedom! There are countless numbers of veterans who served and many lost their lives. You know someone who did. I pay tribute to your friends, acquaintances, family members and to you for that service.

And I think of those from my home town who served and those who lost their lives during the Vietnam War. From Palestine, Tx:

1LT JAMES CHRISTOPHER BECKER, CAPT TONIE LEE ENGLAND Jr., PFC JAMES AUBREY HULSEY, PFC DONALD RAY JOHNSON, PFC EARL DAWSON LAWRENCE, PO3 AMON FRANKLIN MOORE Jr., CWO TERRELL LEE RAWLINSON, 2LT JAMES TUCKER STOVALL, LCPL ROGER ALLEN THOMPSON, SP4 THOMAS DARRELL WILLIAMSON.

“Young men, most around my age or younger, who fought for our freedoms and as I have said in “My Flag is Flying, is Yours?” took my place. Had I been born only a few years later, I would have been in Vietnam. With each news report of casualties, I hurt. I lost shipmates, classmates and family members. My country was at war.

Today, I feel humbled each time I see or hear of any veteran who passes from this life. Yet, Vietnam holds a special place in my heart, not because I served, but because someone else did and I know that person took my place.”

Take a moment today and remind yourselves of the heroic actions of our military men and women. They deserve the honor and respect. And to those who are serving today, my hat’s off to you. God Bless and thank you.

Posted in Retro, Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,
14 Jul 2019

Born on the 15th of July

Your birthday is special. However, it is not yours alone. It is not uncommon to share your birthday with others. Do you ever wonder how many people share your birthday? Research tells me that 1/365 in any population (approximately 0.274%) share your birthdate. Research also tells me that percentage equates to over 19 million people around the world.

I happen to share my birthday with a few celebrity individuals. For example, Clement Moore was born on July 15, 1779. Obviously, we do not share the same year. You are, of course, familiar with him. He wrote “Twas The Night Before Christmas. Here in Texas we have our own version:               

‘Twas the night before Christmas, in Texas, you know.
Way out on the prairie, without any snow.
Asleep in their cabin, were Buddy and Sue,
A dreamin’ of Christmas, like me and you.

  Then there is Linda Ronstadt, also born on July 15, 1946. She sang “Don’t Know Much”.

“I don’t know much
But I know, I love you
And that may be
All I need to know,

Then there are numerous events that took place on July 15 in history. Did you know that Paul McCartney once was fined on July 15th, 17 pounds (that’s British for dollars) in 1963 for speeding? Apologies to Paul, it wasn’t “Band on the Run” it was “Man on the Run!”

“Man on the run, Man on the run.
And the jailer man and sailor Sam
Were searching every one
For the Man on the run,
Man on the run
Man on the run,
Man on the run”.

And just for all you “soap opera” fans, “One Life to Live” debuted in 1968, lasting some 45 years. There is talk about it possibly returning to the airways. I won’t hold my breath (wasn’t planning on that either). When I was in the prime of my construction career, my employees were called, “All My Children” or was it “As the World Turns”? Just sayin’! These are but a few examples of persons or events concerning July 15.  You could say that I am only a little fish in a giant pond.

And if you are into astrology, (not to be confused with astronomy) then this sort of thing may appeal to you. According to that stream of thought, we Cancerians are influenced by the planetary position of the Moon. That position of the Moon rules the Zodiacal group of Cancer and Venus and together they determine the features and differences of July 15 natives from others. I hope that makes sense to you, doesn’t do much for me, though. I can, however, associate with “the Crab”. As Crabs, our strengths are described as a strong sixth sense, subjective, gentle, swift, imaginative, careful, dedicated, perseverant, kind, caring. This is considered Western Astrology. Some prefer Eastern Astrology. You know Dogs and pigs and rabbits, etc. Here in Texas I practice Doris Day astrology.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be, will be,
The future’s not ours, to see, yeah
Que Sera, Que Sera, Que Sera

So if you were born on July 15, it is a special day. Having a birthday alone is great but sharing one’s birthday is an awesome feeling. And my day is even more special for I share it with the “Rancherette”. When we were first getting acquainted in the early days, I once asked her the date of her birthday. She replied, July 15. I said, no, that is my birthday, when is yours? And again she replied, July 15. So we share the same birthday. From that moment on, it was fate. There is one thing I am reluctant to share and that would be the year we were born. That is classified and only on a need to know basis. Suffice it to say we both qualify for the senior discount at most restaurants, hotels, grocery chains, etc. I did get asked for my ID once when I purchased a can of spray paint. The cashier was confusing me with a teenager. I told her that dirt and I are approximately the same age.

Not only do the “Rancherette” and I share the same birthday; we share a great love with each other. We have an amazing intuition and insight about our lives together. We share a mutual love for animals also. It is not uncommon for our thoughts and minds to come together about most any subject. She qualifies it by saying “great minds think alike”. We have our pet phrases and qualities. We sometimes say the same thing at the same time. Intuition! She is very creative; I like to build. She is so very good at crafting and I like to put in my two cents worth. There so many ways in which we are alike, yet we each have our own personalities. Having a birthday alone is great but sharing one’s birthday is an awesome feeling. I can think of no other way to express Happy Birthday than to share it with my soul mate. And I love you more!

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24 May 2019
2 Comments

Buddy Poppy

 

BuddyPoppy_COB_Rotated

In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

That poem reminds me of my youth. Growing up in East Texas, we observed most all things patriotic. I had many small town “little boy” jobs. Mowing lawns (with a boy-powered push mower), selling newspapers, you name it, I did it. One job I remember was selling Buddy Poppies, the paper replica flowers that the Veterans of Foreign Wars sell to raise money for disabled veterans. These were to honor our fallen soldiers. And at that time the focus was on WWII men and women.

Somehow I cannot visualize myself being in a war. I did spend a few years in the U.S. Navy; however, it was not during a period of American involvement in conflict. Honorably discharged in 1960, I spent the bulk of my military service aboard the USS Oriskany and the USS Hornet, both aircraft carriers. I married in 1959 and made the transition to civilian life upon my discharge. A few years later, America became involved in the Vietnam War.

But raising a family was my first concern and while my allegiance was to my family, I have always been conflicted about not serving during that period of time. Even today, I feel a deep regret for not stepping up to the plate. I feel sorrow for those who had the unpopular task in the Vietnam era.

My father-in-law was a combat veteran during WWII, serving in the SeaBees and among the first to venture onto the islands of the South Pacific, fighting battles and building airstrips. He was very private about his time in the service, but was among the many who received accolades for his time in the military, unlike the Vietnam veterans. I suppose this is one reason I feel a kinship with those who did.

Many returned home to an unpopular welcome. Derided and made to feel ashamed of their service. No other service to our country has ever been placed in that reasoning. Over 58,000 American men and women lost their lives during that conflict, and at the time those who survived were made to feel ashamed. That was a disgrace then and now.

Monday, May 27th is the day we observe Memorial Day this year. It is a day of remembering and honoring persons who have died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. The burden is upon you, the America citizen, to remember and honor those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in the service of our country. Don’t disappoint me. Remember and respect all who did so. They served with distinction. And to the Vietnam veterans, I especially thank you for your service. I apologize for you taking my place.

Maybe I can find a Buddy Poppy to wear this Memorial Day. I do remember.

Posted in Poems, Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
01 Jan 2019

Update to “The Ice Cream Scoop” and other stuff

Update to “Ice Cream Scoop”. The “Rancherette” went above and beyond the call of duty in loading the dish drainer yesterday and she took a picture of it. Obviously, this is not censored in any way since she shared the photo with me.

Drainer

And while the drainer was piled about as high as usual, she did make a special effort to place the “scoop” in a favorable location. But observe the height restriction of the overhead cabinet; I suppose I could remove the overhead cabinet to give her more stacking room. As I said in “The Ice Cream Scoop”, the Rancherette is an expert at loading a dish drainer. Notice how her little round ball scoop is positioned conspicuously in the flatware compartment. I wasn’t fooled even a little bit. I didn’t take the bait.

Notice also how the “cereal bowl and the ice cream bowl” are partially hidden. She’s still got me. Once again I must at least unload some of the dishes in order to retrieve my bowls. Evidently, this task will require a bit more training.

In “The Ice Cream Scoop” I mentioned that I have an affinity for a particular scoop and bowl. Do you not also have a likeness for something odd or something someone else would describe as quirky  or a “peculiarity of behavior”?

Quirkiness: A peculiarity of behavior; an idiosyncrasy. So says “The Free Dictionary”. To borrow a line from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem, “How Do I Love Thee, Let Me Count the Ways” of quirkiness. In my situation, I will admit to being guilty of these examples  but I am not admitting to being “quirky”.

First, there are the aforementioned articles, i.e. “scoop and bowl”. But there are others. For example; Identical Bread Slices!

bread slices

When I make a sandwich, the bread slices must be exactly alike. You then place them side by side in such a fashion that they match each other. This is called a symmetrical arrangement, exactly similar parts facing each other. In other words balanced. The ingredients are perfectly aligned. Therefore when the sandwich is made it is balanced. This, of course is not quirky in my opinion, however, “some people” consider it quirky. In a perfect world, everything would be balanced. At my age, balance is important. Fortunately, the dish drainer is not involved in this example. No utensils are required (except for a spoon.) Come to think about it, I may have to unload the flatware compartment to get to a spoon.

Crumbled Crackers in milk is another example of what “some” consider as quirky.           You take an antique beer goblet, hopefully from the cabinet and not in the drainer, crumble saltine crackers in the glass, pour milk over the crackers until covered, retrieve spoon from flatware drawer, (if empty check dish drainer flatware compartment) stir concoction and enjoy. Occasionally when I have had a big meal for lunch I resort to this for my dinner in the evening.

 

.3-bartlett-collins-thumbprint-clear-glass-stem-beer-goblets-16-oz-3-737040a841efb91bd085d02206830e48crackers

So there you have a few examples of what “some people” consider quirky.

If you ask the “Rancherette” I am confident she could list several more “quirky” examples, (in her opinion),  but since this is my blog I reserve the right to choose the items that grace these pages. Besides, she has her hands full with loading the dish drainer.

AND since this is New Year’s Day, I wish all my family, friends and readers a very happy start to 2019.

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