Magazine Posts

Here is a scene from long ago.
Owning a car, so you could go
To visit the relatives in clothes worn.
One's you knew, since they were born.
A great time, as a faded memory
Of what was and what will be.

Up very early, wife's still asleep.
Trying to be quiet, as I keep
An early morning time to run
Through the dark, shadowed streets,
Before the rising of the Sun.
It is very quiet, not much noise
Except for some figures
That appear to be paper boys.
I move up the street; a little hill
As my breathing and pulse increases;
I know it always will.
I push harder now, up this slight rise.
My breath appears white and puffy
Before my sleepy eyes.
At the top I take a left,
Down 148th's long, slight decline.
My breathing back to normal,
Now this run is mine.
I finish this early morning run,
Almost 6 taxing miles.
Returning home, my running clothes I shed,
I go into the shower; my wife is still in bed.
Finish the ritual of bath
And put on a suit and tie.
Out the door, I go to work
Feeling happy and very spry.
I will repeat this daily ritual
Until I feel like a well oiled machine,
Then I will be more ready,
If you know what I mean.

The morning fog, laid on the ground
muffling noise, from all around.
With my coat and sweater zipped up tight,
I start my walk, at Dawn's first light.
Walking early, is the best for me
as I can free my mind, readily.
I review my life, as it is now,
thinking about promises in our wedding vow.
Especially intriguing "In sickness and in health."
My love can't be measured in terms of wealth.
I will do what I must do
and keep taking care of you.

Off we go to what we know well,
As Dementia takes you slowly to Hell.
It's a one way trip, with no return,
Your life is gone, like flash and burn.
No recovery for this disease today,
So you face up, as your life fades away.

If your love for me, today
comes forth and goes away,
I will understand, it will cease;
it's not you, it is the disease.

I love this flower, yet
its name I forget.
It speaks to me,
in bloom today.
While I try to
make it stay
in the garden.

Running hard with lance in hand.
Running toward the promised land.
Dodging rock, stone and shale,
I must hurry, lest I fail,
To reach that pinnacle of this fight,
And be the first to reach the site.
I know that we will win this war
As I have fought this way before.
A victory celebration, that once began
Will be the joy for all of man.

This Soul of mine,
begs of me,
let me go,
set me free.
For I'll fly away
across the mountains
and the World's
shining sea,
if only you
would set me free.

My friend Ed and I had been
training for a marathon, in May.
We did our training runs faithfully,
starting in January until we were
averaging 50 miles a week.
We ran the Vancouver B. C. Marathon, in
May 1990. It took it's toll as when we
went shopping with our wife's the next
day, we had to back down the stairs, as
our quads, were hurting.
A few days later, Ed said, "We should run
the Goodwill Games" an International
competition. My response was, " Your
crazy". Ed explained that the marathon
was open to all runners, even "slugs" like
us.
We decided that would be cool as
we would receive a Commemorative T shirt
and a Medal, if we finished.
We had many more training runs and finally,
in July, it was race day.
We started at the UW Stadium, ran up
through the Arboretum, along Leschi to
Seward Park. We looped the Park and then
up the hill and down to 1st Ave S., turned right
and ran out to Ballard; left to the Locks,
another loop, then East on the Burke-Gillman
Trail. It was very hot and many of the "water stations"
didn't have any water. Finally, as we struggled to keep
a pace, we heard the crowd at the Stadium's
South Parking lot. As we approached we could see
hoses spraying water into the air.
Crossing the finish line, we headed for the spray, clutching
are shirts and medals.
Great experience and many memories, as we can
say we competed in the 1990 Goodwill Games Marathon.

I'm alone. Eighteen years young.
Standing in water, up to my knees.
The rippling sound of water over stone
Is relaxing me. I am surrounded by trees.
I let my barbed hook go downstream
As I watch the Sun, slowly appease
The darkened shadows of this mountain creek,
For it is opening day; ice cold and has tweaked
My nose and my young cheek.
A little tug on my fishing line,
Set the hook and it will be fine.
If my luck holds I will limit by Nine.

Is there love within the limbs of trees?
When the wind blows and branches quake,
While leaf's are all a flutter
As seed pods, spin to the ground.
Now I see new sprouts growing
And the sign of new life is here.
I must weed; removing this offer
Of new trees.

Gone are the days,
Gone far away.
A simpler life then,
Running and to play,
Kick the Can.
Fun at twilight
As the Sun descended,
Into the darkest of night.
Playing hard; do it again,
Running fast towards,
Kicking the Can.