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I am now alone,
unlike the past.
No flowing discussion,
just wordy chaff.
No recollection of our daily drive.
No memory, stripped clear of thought.
She couldn't recall the food I bought
only minutes before,
but when I told her a fact,
she would come back
to the subject, asking about who
so I begin guessing, it's what I do.

Why do I keep buying sketch pads?
A good question, I've said to me,
for I do not have the time
to draw figures or things
having the satisfaction, which it brings.
Don't give up; a talent is there.
In the beginning, I'm told your art
will be fair, as you progress,
after your fresh start.
Appreciate your part.

Time to shake loose
all these words in my head.
Without trepidation,
but with courage instead.
Words that will tumble,
as if from a jar,
landing on paper
by aching wrist.
Don't stop now;
my mind does insist.
Write all you can.
Do it right now,
stopping not to think,
just do it.
You do know how
surprisingly the "spring
has run dry."
I'll ask you later.
Please tell me why.


Posted by MFish Posted on 04/25/2020 at 09:44PM Other See more by MFish

Across the barren land, he strode,
searching for a place to build.
Up he went, into the trees
of Douglas Fir, Cedar too,
when he came to a spot
among the Ponderosa Pines.
There was a running stream,
flowing below the crest.
A flat piece of ground
with a view of the land below.
Down the stream was a dam,
built by Beavers.
A pond had formed, quite large,
with Cattails and rush, near the shore.
The plot of land; I'll build my home
for I roam no more, to a foreign land.
I will stay here until the end of time
and with that statement
this line will rhyme.

A conversation begins with a single word
mingling with others and is heard.
A string of thoughts, in the air,
a strong discussion in the World, everywhere.
No matter the language that is spoke;
spinning a story or telling a joke.
The words in the string can convey
what happened in life, every day.
When a chain of words, becomes broken
there is no discussion or even a token
of a hearty discourse; a complete thought
a frustration of what life has wrought.
Words not together, become a real mess,
causing both parties to suffer undue duress.
How to fix this, I am unsure
for with Dementia there is no cure.

A simplistic soul, you have become,
Intelligence and beauty was your foray.
Why did this nasty disease overcome
what happened to you? The dismay,
your kindness and thoughtful way,
the loss of memory, not good we knew,
for now I see you're no longer you.
Trapped inside that beautiful mind
is someone I know, in this life unkind.

Many years ago, while on vacation, in California, I purchased a Sourdough cook book.
Sourdough Jack, was the name of the book and of the author.
The book came with a packet of dried Sourdough Starter. I followed the instructions and
the starter began to work. I would start by removing the Sourdough Starter from the glass
jar in the refrigerator, add warm water and 2 cups of flour. Put it in a warm spot with a towel
over the bowl. I would do this at night so the starter could do it's work, overnight.
The next morning that lumpy mess that I had left covered was silky smooth and ready to
get with the process. First things first. I removed one cup of the starter and put it back into
the glass jar and place in the refrigerator.
Now bear in mind that the remaining concoction was still working, so if I was making Sourdough
Pancakes, I would add a little baking soda and sugar. It would foam and was ready.
I'll spare you the details, in this writing.
I have given a cup of Sourdough Starter to many friends over the years. It was good that
I did as I was making a batch and the bowl broke and was not useable, so I called my friend
and she made a batch and returned a cup to me..
Recently, because of the quarantine many people are taking up baking. Try finding flour
in the grocery stores.
I brewed a batch of Sourdough and removed a cup for a friend and a cup for my jar.
She is anxious to begin baking bread.
Remarkable, when I think back to when I purchased the book and Starter, 50 years ago.

The problem with running and going far;
you have to return where you left your car.
An old friend and I would run out to
Bothell from Redmond, on the Sammamish Trail,
when training for the Seattle Marathon.
It was our long run for the week.
I don't remember the length but estimate
it was about 14 miles, out and back.
After we returned, we would put on
our Sweats, pants and jacket and go
to Blazes Broiler for a Sunday breakfast.
Bacon or ham and eggs with hash browns,
toast and a few Bloody Mary's.
Our kind of training back in those days.
Some schedule I would say.