Contributor Posts

I start to stumble.
I start to fall,
down the stairs,
out in the hall.
Why can't I walk,
with an unsteady leg?
Must I fall down
and then have to beg?
My balance, was once my pride,
now it is almost all gone
away from my right side.
My mind is a mess,
of this I am sure,
for I now have duress;
of that I do know.
Good God please help me
for I've no place to go.

You rise in the morning.
I say, "How are you?"
You say, "I don't know,
What I should do?"
Don the slippers,
Put on a robe,
Go downstairs
To the family room.
Open the garage door
To retrieve the Times.
Sit down on the couch,
Tell me, "I'm cold
And so tired."
Read the paper,
And remark to me,
"Do you know this person?"
I say, "I know who it is,
But don't know him."
That is our morning start,
Almost every day.

As the dew, leaves the Rose,
when the Sun passes by,
deepening the shadows,
beneath the blue gossamer sky.
It is there I will meet you
under the Wisteria, growing anew.
For all the plans that didn't come true
and the promises made
at our last goodbye
said with a whisper and a long sigh,

You seem fine in the day time,
during the rain or sunlight.
What happens to you in the evening,
where does your mind go at night?

I ran a lot when I was young and would do so, after work.
Running down my favorite route, on 148th Ave NE. as
it was well lit and I could see ahead.
I had my Sony Walkman on my hip and was listening to
an FM station. Probably rock and roll as the beat was,
for me, easier to make my run with the beat of the
music.
As I tired, the tendency was for me to not lift my feet
as high as a normal stride. Apparently I was doing a
little shuffle and my toe caught a raised slab of the
sidewalk. At the time, I also played Soccer and had a
defense mechanism when hit or losing your balance.
I tripped and automatically went into a "tuck and roll"
and came back up to me feet. I quickly looked around
to see if I had been noticed. I wasn't.
Checked myself out, no damage and the Sony was still
cranking out a tune.
The next day at work I was relating my accident to a fellow
runner. He asked I had hurt myself. I said no, but as I
reached for the spot where my Walkman had been, I felt
a slight pain. Shortly after that I had acquired a small
bruise, that I swear had the word Sony, in my skin.
The moral of the story is to keep running, no matter what, as you
never know what is chasing you.

I want to travel. I want to go
to the land where the Wild Iris grows.
A peaceful place, with seas of blue.
I need to escape the thoughts of you.
You with brown eyes, silver wavy hair,
who's a joy in life is no longer there.
Dementia caused this change, I see.
You will soon no longer be with me.
The lung cancer was treated, cured just fine
but the Chemo treatment, took away your mind.
No memories of our past life and friends.
No longer the love as our life together, ends.

Your random thoughts, in early evening
are like scattering birds in a field.
There is little logic in your discussion;
nothing I understand nor can yield.
As stated before; in daytime your fine,
but when evening draws nigh, your mind
seems to wander; no place to go.
The questions you ask; are answers I don't know.

Someone I worked with
almost every day,
would come in asking of me,
a question or two.
My usual answer,
I would say "I don't remember,
but I'll look on my desk."
This happened many times,
not just a few.
She said to me with a very nice
smile, "I'll call you Al, short for
Alzheimer, if you keep saying
that.
In my defense I would find the
item we discussed, providing
the answer, that was my stead.
A long time ago. Now an old
friend. I'm the old one.
Thank you for your patience
over the years and thank
you for resuming the
friendship.

Difficult times can bring out the best in people—and as the coronavirus spreads across the nation, an epidemic of kindness has followed in its wake. Despite the challenge of social distancing, people are finding creative ways to stand by each other, even while standing apart.

Shortly after the “stay home” order, Kristan McCary of Ajax Café sprang into action. Her Port Hadlock restaurant announced free meals for curbside pickup on social media: “For as long as we are able, the Ajax will be serving no cost meals for those in need.” Soon thereafter, she offered free delivery to the housebound.

Maryland teenagers Matt Casertano and Dhruv Pai organized a grocery delivery service for senior citizens. After volunteering to shop for their own elderly neighbors, they realized they could help on a larger scale. Now seniors in their community can email shopping lists, and a nearby volunteer gets the groceries and leaves them at the front door.

Citizens nationwide have stepped up to feed our frontline healthcare providers. In D.C., Elena Tompkins and Sarah Cannova collect donations to buy meals for delivery to hospital workers, which also helps struggling restaurants. In Bremerton, Ed Van Gil started making large batches of home-cooked meals and personally delivering them to healthcare facilities—and when word of his good deed spread, a group of community volunteers joined in.

Many people also rely on spiritual sustenance, and churches have adapted by holding services inspired by drive-in theatres. The congregation assembles in cars, and the sermon—often delivered from “pulpits” designed for maximum visibility—is broadcast to their radios. In Ohio, Pastor Frank Carl stands 25 feet high in a scissor lift, while in Wisconsin, Pastor John Hanson preaches from atop a dump truck.

As countless celebrations for graduations, weddings, and birthdays have been cancelled, drive-by parades of family and friends have become the new norm. New Jersey native Charles Swody’s 100th birthday was no exception. The World War II veteran and retired local Fire Chief was honored with a festive motorcade through his neighborhood, complete with a fire engine in the lead—and his wife of 78 years at his side.

Such is the generosity and resilience of the human spirit. We’ve learned how to stay close, even from a safe distance. We’ve learned to spread love, not fear. And we’ve learned that no matter how far apart we are, we’re all in this together.

My grandfather worked for the Kittitas County,
Reclamation District. His responsibility was
managing the water flow at the Whipple Creek
Pumping Plant, in Badger Pocket.
There were a series of ditches and canals
carrying water to the farming country, East
of Kittitas.
The Highline Canal, moved water from Lake
Easton through Kittitas County.
My grandfather and grandmother lived in a large
house, near the pumping plant.
My cousins and I would spend many a Summer,
when we were younger; pre teen.
The Highline Canal was up the hill from the
house. There was a spillway that brought
water down to a basin, the water moved via a
short canal to the pumping plant, where it
was pumped up another hill to a ditch that
was East of the pumping plants.
Surplus water would pass through the
pumping plant and was distributed to the flatter
land South.
My cousins and I would fish from the ditch
or swim in the water, below the pumping plant.
Great memories from so long ago.
We would go east of the house and gather
petrified wood. We put that around the flower beds.
I wonder if it is still there?

She was sweet, with manners refine.
She was my first love,
My Adeline.

Mind your manners, when out to dine.
Stay on the outside, when with ladies,
then you will be divine.
She taught me well
My Adeline.

Treat people with respect,
do that all the time,
she said to me,
my Adeline.

She raised me well;
my manners did shine,
Thank you Mother,
my favorite Adeline.

Long ago, some TV Programs the
Ponderosa, Quick Draw McGraw,
and Have Gun Will Travel. Paladin with
Richard Boone; Adult cowboy stuff.
My friend and I were enamored
with these "Western Adventures, so
we both purchased replicas of
the Colt revolver. He bought
a Colt Single Shot Revolver and
I bought a Ruger Single Six.
Both were caliber .22 Long Rifle.
We made our own holsters and
would practice "fast drawing", daily.
Not face to face but side by side.
We were young and dumb, not stupid.
I remember one day, on the RR Tracks,
by the River. No one present except the
two of us. This time we had "live" ammo.
I must admit that, as we stood side by side,
ready to "draw" that I was a tad
faster than my friend. On this occasion ,
we drew and he beat me. I looked
at my friend and his gun hadn't
cleared his holster. There was a
wisp of smoke coming from his holster.
We saw a small circle in the fine grit,
near the track, along side his foot,
where the bullet had struck.
I recall that being the last day
we had a "fast draw" event.
I miss my friend. He's been gone
quite a few years, but when I think
of that time, it brings a smile.
Farewell my friend, for it may be soon
when I join you in the proverbial
room, sharing these stories
from our past. Miss you Gary.