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I want not,
not one little thing,
except to be near you
to feel your warmth
and hear your heart beat.
The slowness of your breath
remembering when I would caress
your lovely shoulders,
lying next to thee.
I miss you my darling,
your lovely smile and glow.
Yearning for days, now gone,
when conversation was a joy.
Not the same on this day.
No! Not anymore.

It was after WWII was over,
when I was quite young.
I remember that my teen
years were in play.

My father worked for Todd's shipyards
on the Duwamish, in West Seattle.
After the war was over, he was laid off
and purchased a bar, The Looking Glass Tavern,
on 45th, West of the Blue Moon.
It was quite the watering hole for the returning
Veterans. Wine and beer could be purchased
but beer was the beverage of choice.
A small place that was close to UW.

On Sunday mornings, after church,
I would go with my father to help clean up.
I can still smell the sourness of spilt beer.
and the stale smell of tobacco.
I wasn't very helpful but my father would
let me sit at the bar. Closed on Sunday due to the
"Blue Laws" in effect in the City.
My father would pour me a Coke and I could have
a pickled Polish Sausage. I remember how that tasted
when washed down with a Coke.
I do remember the good time with my father,
when he owned The Looking Glass Tavern.

At some time that next year my mother decided
she wanted to move back to the Ellensburg area
where many of her sisters were as was her mother
and father. My Grandpa worked for the Kittitas Valley
Reclamation District, East of Ellensburg, but that
is a different story.

Many years later, I was on an adult soccer team
and we were playing at the Soccer pitch by Green Lake.
I told my two friends that were riding with me
about stopping there for nostalgic reasons.
It was no longer The Looking Glass Tavern but had a
different name.
I approached the door and it was exactly like I
remembered, Bar to the left, Booths to the right.
No Coke this time so I ordered a beer and a Pickled
Polish Sausage.
The sausage tasted like it was all grease. One bite
and then I washed it down with beer.
The taste? Yuck. Maybe I needed a Coke.

Standing by the campfire,
so many years ago.
Trying to stay warm,
when it began to snow.
The hiss of snowflakes
into the flaming fire.
The flickering shadows,
across the ground
so white with snow.
Smelling the smoke,
now on our clothes.
Banking the fire,
going to our tent,
into our sleeping bag,
trying to sleep
until dawn
of a Winter morn.

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Out to dinner last night.
She ordered a Caesar Salad.
When it came, She said,
"What is this?"
Her memory is no longer there.
After we had finished
She said, "Did you know my Mom?
Did you know my Dad?"
I replied, Yes I did and
they were very nice people.
Then she said to me,
"Tell me about your family?"
I told her about what I knew,
Realizing she no longer knows
Who I am.
Her memory loss continues to
to slip away, much to my dismay.

Our life is a shamble,
at least it is to me,
for we no longer talk freely.
You speak words, yes you do,
but there the same words,
that you say, over and over again.
Every few minutes you will say,
"I liked that place,
what was it called?",
not recalling anything
I'd told you before.
My patience has become strained,
as I repeat my answer again.
I do not say I told you that before.
Reminding myself, it's not
her fault, not in any way,
while I continue to see you,
slowly slipping, slipping away.

I'm incredibly humbled to have been included in this series on Honest Chatter.

I'd been following Melody on Instagram for some time before we finally met at an event. She's as beautiful on the inside as she is in her photos.

To be surrounded by people like this fills my heart with such joy.

Writing can be hard,
so what can I say.
I had a stroke
on Martin King Day.
A minor one, he spoke
as I listened readily.
I saw half a word
in the paper I read.
The diagnosis was a TIA,
no damage, on this day.
When I asked about
what should be done
if another one came?
He said call Nine, one, one.

We had Liberty in a foreign port
and had to be back to ship by
12 Midnight, or Cinderella Liberty.
Returning to our ship prior to
2400 hours, or 12 midnight,
you would approach the ship
and do a hand salute to the stern
or rear of the ship, then a hand salute
to the Officer of the Deck, saying
"Requesting permission to come
aboard, Sir". Salute returned.
Then to your bunk, quietly undress,
clothes placed in your foot locker.
Climb into the suspended cot,
on to your mattress covered
by enclosing into a bag or as
we lovingly referred to as a
"Fart Sack." Pull the woolen
blanket over you and go to sleep.
Another day in Paradise,
courtesy of our Uncle Sam.

Looking out the window,
on this snowy, Winter day,
wondering if my writing skills
have gone away.
My mind is in fuzzy blur,
I need to go and look after her.

I get into bed;
you're already there.
Moving close,
you say to me,
"I love you".
Those words that
I hear are precious,
to me for I
hear them, not often.
It is great
when you say that
to me,
for then, what
I hear is
all it can be.
An expression of love
between man and wife,
who have been together
almost all our life.
I love you
my precious one
and will do so
until our life is done.

Long will I wonder.
Long will I care,
for you, in this life,
strange as it is.
To be with you always,
being your friend,
my love for you;
just you alone.
That's the way it
should be now,
in this day and age.
Just you and me
on the Worlds largest stage.