Contributor Posts

I am not very good
at what I do,
but know that I need
to do it for you.

I've come to understand,
somethings driving you
to behave strangely,
as you often do.

Having a choice seems
to create this refrain,
so I must simplify now,
to reduce the pain
and to spare you from
having that discussion again.

I started High School in Seattle at O'Dea.
My Mother wanted to return to her roots,
to be close to her Mom and Dad.
We packed up our furniture, shoes
clothing and books into a small truck.
We headed East to Ellensburg.
My Father had attended a small High School,
West of Ellensburg. He was going to build
a house and so we moved in with his
parents and great grandpa May.
I enrolled at Thorp or THS, a
High School, of approximately 41 students.
There were 14 in my class which at the time
was a large class but a shock to me after
being at O'Dea, an all boy school of
approximately 200 students.
My English Composition teacher, had
also taught my Dad. I recall that she was
a stern but a fair taskmaster.
Quite different from the stern, Religious
Brothers, teaching at O'Dea.
The enjoyment I had at THS were many.
Many new friends, dances, holding Student
Body Offices and most importantly playing
sports. We did not have a Football team but did
have active teams in Basketball and Baseball.
I lettered for 3 years in Basketball and Baseball.
In those days, I was average height for a Basketball
guard. Baseball, I played 3rd base, 2nd base and
pitched. Not much of a fastball but I could throw
a lot of "junk", screwballs, curve ball and slider.
Great memories, great times with great lifelong
friends.

Many years ago, in another time a friend of mine
was making a trip out of town. He took along an
empty suitcase, a big one.
He flew to Medford to visit some of our units.
He stopped at a Discount Store, where an old
friend was the Manager.
My friend, Harold, I'll call him Hal grabbed a
cart and went down the aisle. He told his friend
we had a toilet paper shortage in Seattle.
He loaded up his cart and as other shoppers
came by, he told them of the TP shortage in Seattle.
Those customers and others, immediately cleared
out all the known supplies of the TP in that store.
My friend arrived home the next day. Took his
suitcase into the bedroom, put it on the bed, opened
it and called to his wife, Donna.
"Donna" he said, "come in here and see what I have."
Donna went into the bedroom and Hal said" Look what I
have." His wife replied, "What's this?"
Hal said "You told me that you couldn't find any toilet paper".
She said to Hal, "I told you I couldn't find any Blue"
And so it is said that it doesn't take too much talk to
start a run, (pardon the pun) on toilet paper.
Not the same as what happened here, but at the time
when Hal told me the story, we laughed.
Keep your chin up, we will get through this terrible period of
time of our life.
Wash your hands.

A hidden smile.
A batting of eyes,
makes me wonder.
I now realize,
the game we played,
when we met,
many years ago.
You were serious
and I didn't know.

Say to me,
my beloved one,
start the day,
in early morn.
Tell me about
your day before.
Remember all words
that come to you,
about the love,
yours to do,
with what's nice,
love for you
matters not the price.

A narrow ditch, perhaps three feet wide,
meanders; through a Rancher's field.
I'm not sure how deep it was
or how fast the water moved.
I remember, years ago, fishing
in this ditch, just a few times each year.
I never told anyone about the location,
until years later.
Generally a fisherman is reluctant to share
fishing locations, not even with close friends.
I was that way. I would tell those that asked
a general location, omitting much detail.
I would catch 3 or 4 Brook Trout,
10 to 14 inches long, fat from the rich
food supply of the irrigation ditch.
A great memory for me.

Playing soccer, in an Over 40 League,
was fun for me and good exercise.
Playing, as a defender, at that time,
I was told, I was good in the air. Or in
layman terms, heading the ball.
High balls were mine.
The ball was passed by an opposing player,
to a space ahead of me. I jumped
to use my head to move the ball out of reach
of the opposing player.
A collision with a teammate's head, happened,
at my eyebrow.
I stood there, dazed, confused and wondered
how come there was blood dripping down my
nose to the ground.
I walked off the field and a teammate took
me across the street to the Steele Lake,
Fire Station, where a EMT put a bandage on
my eye brow. I finished playing the game,
as we were playing shorthanded, with less than
eleven player. I made sure that I did not do
any more head balls.
I was riding with a friend and I dropped him off
at his place and then proceeded to the ER,
at Evergreen Medical Center.
The staff handled me in their usual fine fashion and
after 7 stitches, inside the cut and 8 stitches outside,
I was sent home.
I enjoyed playing soccer and did so until I was in my 50's.

Where do we go?
What will I do
if I cannot
be in bed with you?

To rise in the morning,
to fix your tea
with your breakfast,
what will I be?
For you will be
at another place,
I'll be unable to see
your smiling face.

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.

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.