Abelson

Leukemia Virus

ABL gene

BCR-ABL

CML

Targeted treatment

Many people

Made a big difference

 

 

What a Waste

 

One cup of coffee in the morning.

The sweetener comes in a packet.

I don’t use a spoon.

This isn’t an existential exercise.

 

Living the life of

one tiny cosmic element,

I rarely protest and never too much.

 

Personally gentle no, though

it is a virtue, going gently not,

a generation’s best minds cried out

for clarity, equality, generosity.

 

Our responses were often muted,

more of a whimper,

almost a groveling.

How can it be that

beauty belies truth, but

truth can be twisted,

manipulated into hate,

hate into intolerance,

intolerance into action,

action into death?

 

Only the dead don’t remember war.

Over their graves zealots proclaim

righteousness, clarity of vision—

salvation.

 

Do we have to grow old to understand

the folly?

 

 

 

Ahead Full

 

It pisses me off when people get

personal about can do or not.

Yes, I’ve lost flexibility,

strength, probably mental ability.

So have other old farts—maybe

worse!

 

Who am I kidding; I can’t compete with the

young lions—some yesterday,

not today.

 

I still have my hair.

People remark about it—you gotta full head of

     hair.

The lady who cuts it tells me, good hair except for

     two cow-licks.

I haven’t gained too much weight.

People say, you look great.

     You’re in shape;

     you don’t look your age.

 

Is it just making conversation?

Are young guys that much more virile?

Could I have low T?

Those ads are stupid.

Fuck it, I really don’t care.

I’m just trying to understand almost anything.

 

The events of life and living are so random.

That Siberian town almost hit by a

meteor–could have wiped out the people.

Just like the dinosaurs,

next my 401K.

Maybe this sheds light

on why you dare to eat a peach—

living, loving, striving, caring

beg the pardon of concession

demanding stand up and do better,

It’s hard; it takes time and

gumption.

 

To hell with aches and pains and

forgetting where I left my keys.

These could be my best years.

I’ll know at the end.

 

 

 

 

Aging—the big SNAFU

 

  

 

I.

 

Eyes have lens curved that react,

but age makes them stiff so they can’t refract

light accurately meaning we can’t see clear,

so blurred vision results both far and near.

 

For older coots the near problem means cheaters,

arms too short and we do need strong readers.

Presbyopia, old man plus eye from Greek,

so common in fact you don’t look like a geek.

 

The little half-moons on the tip of your nose,

just like your friends with a pair like those,

but some have readers in wild colors and stripes,

requiring real confidence to wear them alright.

 

II.

 

Let’s turn to our ears, speak up I can’t hear,

just turn up the volume, and now I hear clear.

When I know who is speaking with words I do doubt,

I turn down the volume and just blot them out.

 

Some ears you have noticed elongate with time,

growing hair in profusion, stop pointing at mine.

 

III.

 

Next check our noses, with more blasted hair,

that should be transported to pates for good wear.

Our noses make noises like snorting and snoring,

Which drive spouses crazy and loosen our moorings.

 

If it’s really sleep apnea, you better take time,

find  helpful treatment for your heart and your mind.

 

IV.

 

Keep your brain healthy with puzzles and games,

you’ll stay vibrant longer, even garner acclaim.

When thinking gets muddled, decisions are hard,

if it’s dementia, sorry to tell ‘ya, it’s the end of the bard.

 

Our brain so mysterious closed in a hard shell,

with workings so special, they seem magical.

 

 

V.

 

 

Our gut is the seat of so much we love,

we should be more careful what we add from above.

Consuming more calories and drinking our fill,

leads to bad outcomes by making us ill.

 

So use some restraint as you tip, nip and dine,

to try to ensure you’ll survive a long time.

 

 

VI.

 

Those nether parts for men and women folk

are more than we can handle here, you get it okeydok.

 

 

VII.

 

Skin a big canvas, moles, lesions, wrinkles all,

we may need a careful look over, a derm doctor is the call.

Some nicks and knacks need biopsy, maybe even Mohs,

just get it over sooner and not be in the throes,

 

of whether it’s a tumor, most of which are benign,

melanoma the exception, you don’t wan

 

 

VIII.

 

 

Next to our joints, be cool, not the smoking brand,

arthritis a crippler, pay attention to your hands.

When hips and knees get cranky, nasty pain predominates,

replacements can be a godsend, when the pain is great, don’t wait.

 

 

There is so much that can go wrong, it boggles the mind, so let’s be strong.

A sensible diet, watching our weight, can short circuit or head off what could be our fate.

 

 

 

En Route

 

 

Self-induced misery,

in our time-starved world of terrorist

threats,

security lines,

license checks,

computers out,

coats and shoes off,

step into the machine or get a pat down……

Are we safe?

Are we safer?

How do we know?

We were safe until it happened.

It is hard to be confident of negatives—it hasn’t

happened again, yet, so…..

 

Given that we were whelped and suckled on

TV fantasy,

weaned by cynical and mindless advertisers to

biggest losers and endless violence,

it’s not surprising that we are easy marks for

body scanners,

3 oz max,

1 quart bags…

 

So baby pack right,

You got to travel light or,

the costs escalate,

and you’ll surely hate—

baggage fees,

bruised knees,

race for overhead space,

wall-to-wall crowds,

every seat taken,

people who sit in their seat and yours,

arm-rest showdowns,

seats that recline,

fast-food grease,

pesky toilet seats,

ridiculously-priced food,

kids with kids as parents,

non-stop talkers,

bare feet in flip flops,

toe clippers,

people who smell—

AIRLINES straight from Hell.

 

 

 

Are Humans Special?

 

maybe in some things

but surely not most

let’s review the contenders

before we can boast

 

our thumbs are a focus

to grip and to grab

for fine little movements

essential to have

 

brains bigger by far

and very complex

give us thinking and talking

ahead of the rest

 

so let us examine

our limbs and our senses

to get more perspective

if not a consensus

 

eyes are the lenses

to see and be seen

but hawks, flies and geckos

see ever more keen

 

bats are unique

they see with radar

no eyes for the skies

but they can see far

 

our hearing is good

but not close to great

owls and dolphins

make our hearing third rate

 

our noses are sensitive

to a great many smells

but sharks, dogs, and bears

smell really swell

 

as to strength we are varied

but strong we are not

gorillas and tigers

only some of the lot

 

who are so much stronger

than any human can be

bears, snakes and rhinos,

just another three

 

so who is the fastest

whatever the kind

cheetahs, falcons and swordfish

will leave us behind

 

but wonder of wonders

are birds in the air

they seem to have freedom

without any care

 

we don’t need to worry

we’re not really the best

there are so many wonders

among all the rest

 

in the animal kingdom

so vast and so broad

we humans are privileged

but always feel awed

 

at the breath of creation

much to know and to see

it’s a joy to be living

I know you’ll agree.

 

for we are the caretakers

of this vast, grand array

we best remain humble

and give wildlife their day

 

yes humans are special

we know wrong from right

protecting all species

helps us see the light

 

for the animal kingdom

of which we’re a big part

we must be out in front

with very big hearts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can’t See Clearly

 

Vision  limited by old eyes

cataracts, dryness, presbyopia,

hyperopia, compounded by

increasing inattention.

The blurring, halos, tearing, blinking, itching,

switching glasses, smudged lens,

all a crystal clear reminder of

better times past.

 

 

When does a cut need stitches?

 

When the people speak

dissonance masks the message.

Polarizing issues predominate

and the media can become the message.

Regional differences accentuate

agonizing contradictions in the message.

The American people, the will of the people,

the people have spoken is not the message.  

 

On one side of almost any issue,

half the people think

opposite of the other half.

Governing requires compromise, but

there is little give on almost anything.

 

Opinions fly, facts are ignored,

science is denigrated,

people are rude,

all America suffers.

 

 

You didn’t ask for it

 

No hair, don’t care

sip the magic elixir

bald is beautiful.

 

Fresh and resilient,

inspiration to all but

please, enough.

 

Taking care of kids

soul  always at risk

never underestimate

never be cynical

tears can be a blessing.

 

 

 

  What would Freud say?

 

Trying to see something of the future

reveals stale scenes from the past meaning

stuck on memories–visions

fine but fleeting

with ever changing insight.

Day dreaming is another look involving magical

thinking about how to shape a future

which doesn’t and may never exist but

day dreaming allows becoming temporarily

different, better, stronger, smarter or

a thousand other things.

The future future is clouded in a series of

steps or skips or hops governed by

chance, luck, effort or if you believe, prayer.

Or more like Russian roulette; you pay

your money and take your chance.

Random events dictate so much—the bullet’s

trajectory, an engine fan blade cracking,

a lighting strike—one in a large number means

nothing if it’s your turn. And everyone does get

the ultimate ticket to see deep.

What if the future were accessible now?

Rich or poor, sickness or health, the day of

death and events preceding and the big one–

what happens afterward.

If heaven or hell, people might be willing

to be kinder and gentler.

If just a big nothing, then people might want

to change their ways to foster chaos.

Our nature dictates a new structure would arise based

on whatever to keep a semblance of order to

promote interactions not solely based on jungle law.

Given choices, most people would opt for not

knowing; the mystery lost and anxiety gained by

actually revealing the future would be

too much.

 

 

RIP

 

And silence sounds no worse than cheers

After death has stopped the ears.

A.E. Housman

 

 

what happens when I

die

and experience the

climax

life’s shutter from life

 

it is the big question

with clichés offering

no insight but only

fatalism, faith, or fantasy

 

pick one or more to bring solace

to some while others

blanch, maybe snicker as they

prepare to lie down for the duration

 

i don’t think there is fear so much as

sadness at missing

important milestones and

the wonder of times march

 

memory will be fleeting, even for those

close while accomplishments have

little value past the moment questioning

the striving and driving

 

cemeteries are full of important

indispensable people who may get

a visit now and then but probably

not for long begging the question

why so many felt so privileged

 

 give up the ghost

buy the farm

bite the big one

cash in your chips

it’s a mystery with a

trick ending revealed only

to the chosen few who

know the secret handshake

 

 

 

   We Should Talk

 

 

My father’s death was easy

on him.

Shortly after coming home from a restaurant,

he had one of his root beer drop treats,

got into bed

and died.

No struggle, no mess, no fuss,

no suffering.

 

There was no

premonition.

My mother was stunned,

hysterical at first,

then angry—

there was no good-by

or  I love you,

only empty loneliness—

she felt  abandoned.

This eventually softened to

it wasn’t great for us, but ideal for him

or was it—

he didn’t get his chance to tell loved ones

special things for them

to cherish

or at least remember.

 

 

II.

 

Maybe there is a middle ground for dying.

If so, my mother never knew that soil.

Not that she suffered physically,

but she felt her mind

disintegrating.

 

She slowly became demented,

knew it, hated it,

cried bitterly.

Her loss of dignity, friends, independence

required care givers.

First part,

then full-time.

 

Then a nursing home

when the burden was too much

for those caregivers

and my sister who lived nearby.

My sister was the rock;

I lived far away; was it a

hard place?

Eventually my sister could no longer cut

through the fog

of sights and sounds that become

the altered reality

of a mind dissolving.

 

 

Our mother completely forgot our father,

thought I was her older brother

and my wife one of her sisters.

Time-distorted events best

remembered were from her youth.

She wanted us

to help with her homework.

When my sister said

I love you,

the answer was

I love you too

even though it was never clear

she knew the meaning.

 

 

III.

 

My parent’s deaths were

personal tragedies.

There was no last chance for me

to talk with either about our relationships.

 

There are always things to say.

I blew it.

I could have been more available

but I wasn’t.

 

When there is something to say,

say it now.

Don’t wait, there isn’t a better time,

a less charged moment.

 

Time is fleeting.

It doesn’t wait for courage or nerve,

it doesn’t respect distance.

The timeline of life is the decay to

death.

There is no escape.

Everyone gets a chance;

make the time to

leave nothing

unsaid.

Pieces of my Father

 

I.

 

A friend can remember conversations

from fifty years ago.

I have trouble with last week.

My memory is shaky,

bad to an extreme.

When I try to reconstruct scenes with my father,

I have only snatches.

 

The time in Forest Park

dad encouraging me to catch

a pigeon by putting salt on its tail.

Running after it shaker in hand,

hearing his encouragement.

I was probably three.

 

My first two-wheeler—

a little yellow number I jumped on

at age five, and could ride straight away.

Dad was cheering.

 

Only a bit older when

dad had to rescue me

from Rader’s pharmacy at the end of our street.

I tried to walk out with a comic book.

The owner nabbed me.

I don’t remember a punishment.

 

I do have a clear memory of running

around the dining room table with my dad in pursuit,

belt in hand. I was never hit with the belt.

The threat was ever present

if mother demanded discipline.

 

I remember my father’s drug store

in a poor section of St. Louis.

I was maybe eight or nine.

I loved to help him make

ice cream— black walnut

was everyone’s favorite.

 

 

 

II.

 

I also remember he had a pistol that he kept in the

safe.

Although he never talked about it,

dad was part of a gun-running caravan

in the middle and late 1940’s.

He drove the stash from St. Louis to

Chicago, ultimate destination Israel.

I don’t know anything else about the pistol.

He said it was for protection if

someone tried to rob the store.

 

 

III.

 

Much later, I learned dad had been busted

for being part of a numbers game during the time he

owned that drug store. It amounted to what

our lotteries are today, but at that time, illegal.

He never spoke about it.

 

In fact, he rarely spoke about anything personal,

especially anything dealing with his early life. His

middle initial was “J”, but he would never tell us what it

stood for. Turns out that “Joseph” was the name of a

sibling who died as an infant. My dad and his older

and younger brothers all took “J” as their middle

initial—only discovered by my wife through genealogy

records many years later.

 

My father would not talk about his relatives

but my wife discovered letters

to a cousin he never spoke of

and we never pursued.

 

 

IV.

 

Dad had only one man to man discussion

with me which consisted entirely of if you ever

get into trouble, tell me, not your mother.

    That was it.

When I was away at college, he sent me food care packages.

So sweet.

 

 

At some point, he gave me a money clip,

a silver dollar with his name engraved.

I kept it for many years, even used it,

then gave it to our oldest son.

I suspect he will give it to his son.

 

 

 

V.

 

I do remember an episode in 1965,

my mother called to say

dad wasn’t feeling well,

didn’t look good.

I was a third year medical student

feeling pretty confident.

I went to our house to see him.

He was pale, sweating, had a weak pulse and

difficulty breathing.

 

One of his doctor cronies (dad was a pharmacist)

had done an electrocardiogram the day before.

He told him it was normal—it wasn’t.

It showed an acute myocardial infarction

which was pretty evident from his symptoms. An

ambulance took him to hospital.

I told him his doctor friend

was not trustworthy.

 

 

VI.

 

I intervened one other time in his medical care.

It happened years later. He was admitted to

hospital for acute congestive heart failure.

My parents had just returned home from

the Bar Mitzvoth of our two youngest

identical twin boys.

 

Dad loved lox,

had his fill at the reception then

decided to stop taking

his diuretic on the trip home

so he wouldn’t have to

urinate on the flight.

 

Lots of salt from the lox,

no diuretic, fluid in the

lungs (congestive heart failure),

admitted to hospital.

 

 

The doctors did not take much of a

history, missed the diuretic story

embarking on a myriad of tests.

Speaking with my dad,

I found out what happened,

called his cardiologist and told him to

back off.

He wasn’t happy with me.

I was even less happy with him.

Dad did fine.

 

 

VII.

 

After he died and events had time to settle, I

wanted to have some of his clothes which my mother

was happy to part with. A couple of sweaters, some

socks, bathrobes, and sport coats came home with me.

The socks and sweaters just didn’t work. I tried the

bathrobes for a time, but they weren’t right either. The

sport coats were too big and dated, but I wanted

a lasting reminder, so a tailor worked on them but to

no avail; they didn’t look right, didn’t fit, and

were out of style.

I gave up on the clothes.

 

 

VIII.

 

But I do have pictures and some good memories.

I do have a sense of his gentleness and generosity.

He cherished his wife and children.

He was loyal to his friends and

always ready to help his family.

He was never mean-spirited.

He believed in God and supported his synagogue.

 

I know my memories are sketchy and incomplete, but

I have a very strong feeling

my life and character were shaped

in significant ways and

to a great degree

by my father.

Not so much by what he said

but by the life he led.

It is a good feeling, a warm feeling,

something I will always have.

 

I hope my children feel the same way about me.

The Candidate

 

Having to answer the

inquiries

from each

interviewer

in every city

is exhausting and

can be intimidating.

The relentless sniffing,

prying,

posing,

posturing,

pestering,

can create doubt and erode

confidence.

 

Is the process easier for those who try

to choose between souls without ever

knowing them?

A perfect process,

no–but better than–no

face.

Committees read vitas,

letters,

telephone colleagues and friends,

argue with each other about reliability, potential, virtue,

but rarely

do they ask directly of their

prey,

pray tell us, who are you;

what do you love?

                                               The Pharos/Summer 2010

 

 

 

Reno Casino

 

 

Take a walk through a

typical Reno casino, a town where public smoking

is banned in all places except—

casinos.

 

Subdued lighting highlighting the restaurants,

both high end and all you can eat–all sabotaged

by the stale smell of cigarettes

overwhelming the air filters

and the universally-helpful employees

ready to teach how to play craps or keno.

 

And of course the slots are everywhere, at any

ante and any motif—you like Star Wars, they got it,

your favorite TV program, they got it—and if they don’t got it,

they got something close.

 

Players mechanically pushing buttons

for another spin;

bored, pale,

hooked-up to oxygen,

still smoking,

canes and walkers nearby.

 

Where are the beautiful people in the ads?

the laughter and gaiety?

maybe another night

another season

another casino

maybe a different town.

Maybe a different life.

 

 

 

Rock and Roll

 

I get off balance and

teeter like a tot not

fully myelinated

blaming this on weak leg muscles

after my hip replacement–

it is more than that—a balance

bogey residual from middle ear canal rocks

resulting in vertigo, more precisely,

Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo—

BPPV

treated by some weird head movements

moving (rolling) the rocks (otoliths) to a better place

 

the vertigo permanently  goes away (I hope)

leaving a cautious reluctance to

make rapid head movements

 

bending forward is one of my off balance triggers

got to be careful flushing or bending down

to tie shoes—the business of everyday

is not benign.

 

 

Roll Them Bones

 

 

That comfort of remembering old times,

past places, quirky stuff— requires

trust and sharing as a basic

grubstake.

 

Later the confluence of

remembered images,

scraps of comments,

evolving faces,

changing shapes,

legacy challenge to misty echoes.

 

The catch-up,

work, spouse, kids, grandkids, house,

pension, health—do you exercise, diet, care?

 

Reconnecting is easy,

but reconciling aging

with aging memories,

maybe not.

We move in many directions;

change is constant,

its direction not so.

 

 

What are the odds of remembering accurately

when our brains

process and reprocess

old memories?

What was real?

Is it possible to know?

Maybe chance, just a roll of the dice

becomes reality.

 

If patience and understanding

were joyful underpinnings,

and laughter survives,

that is eight the easy way.

 

Unfortunately, connections can be

short circuited by

the cruel, tangled mess

of plaques and protein

clouding our odds of comprehension.

 

Even best friends with best

intensions,

and every advantage

become strangers and behavior

becomes stranger

when the dice go cold.

 

Random events, a crap shoot.

When the easy eight becomes

seven,

we have crapped out.

 

 

 

 

 

Road Rudeness

 

Aggressive drivers really

piss me off.

Who do they think they are

messing with me?

Tailgate jockeys, jerks but the

speeding weavers really scare me.

Appearing suddenly as they chicane

across lanes almost clipping your butt.

Could chase, but can’t race while

ticker is racing with sympathetic fibers hot.

So you shout fucker, alarm your

passengers, grip the wheel tighter,

stay in your lane, glare, quiet down the

anger and stupid behavior that leads to

road rage.

 

 

You Do What?

 

You take care of kids with cancer;

that must be totally depressing.

 

Like the refrain,

only the good die young.

Maybe we secretly like to debunk

the perceived horror.

Most kids with cancer do well,

a great improvement over the

last fifty years.

Of course, late complications are

someone else’s problem.

It was always easy to garner support.

No one likes to see bald, pale kids.

 

 

WEATHER

 

 

when a low meets a high

no matter the sky,

it rotates and sucks upwards

counter-clockwise.

 

the action-reaction

is up and down drafts

rain, sleet and turbulence

a mix to the max.

 

thunder and lightening

produce a great show

if the temperature’s low

there will also be snow.

 

put down your golf clubs

stay away from tall trees

else lightening will find you

and charred you will be.

 

common sense dictates

a pattern of caution

when thunderstorms rumble

and threaten destruction.

 

 

 

VERITAS

 

What I believe changes

often since I am not always

sure what I believe and

what I think I know changes

often as I learn more, so truth can be

confusing and contradictory in

equal parts.

Well not really equal parts, since

what I don’t know or I am confused

about greatly exceeds what I do know.

I am not giving up.

 

 

Vaccines

 

What do you do

with people

clueless, opinionated,

wrong facts,

wrongheaded,

resistant to reason,

anti-science

yet totally confident

and assured of

salvation?

 

Smile, be gracious,

change the subject

or tell them to

fuck-off.

 

 

 

Trying to keep it real

 

I use to be somebody

maybe I still am

to me

if I could be an island

no issue

being greyer, slower, wrinkled

means invisible

getting trampled could still happen

always keep my head up

letters and emails

don’t get answered

I try to be relevant

contribute in a meaningful way

proud to be involved

but power is inversely related

to age

if no benefit is perceived and

no downside is evident

fu-k-off bud

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our little Group

 

 

Free-flowing rhetoric and metaphor galore

Labor consummate of minions

Organized as the FPS sworn

Responsive to pros and neophyte

Efforts at capturing and even understanding

Nuances inherent in good verse where

Cadence, meter and rhyme

Evoke stylistic wonder and excitement

 

Putting too much emphasis on form

Overwhelms aspects of creative norm

Each feels might do great harm

Tainting their brainstorm submitted to

Silkworm that year

 

 

Pay Dirt

 

This is the quest

the mother lode

discovery the game, an obsession,

searching for the prize,

the shinning bright approach to

eureka

 

don’t be fooled by

fool’s gold

apply the acid test—

you must be certain

pay dirt is not enough

 

a nugget can be exposed

or sublimely hidden

until rendered and marked

pure

proofed by sluicing the stream of

pretenders

shake the mix

carefully analyze

separate the chaff

avoid another duffer

 

a bounder goes to the

prepared, the persistent,

the lucky

who are homeward bound with

color

 

 

Parts List

 

Are you putting me on

is there a take-out menu

a progressive maintenance program–

like new parts every few years?

 

There is, you may know, an easy to use

Parts Renewal Calculator to take the guess work

out of replacements.

Just fill-in your numbers,

calculate,

use the Table to select and order—

we make it easy-breezy

in a jiffy you’ll be like new.

 

PARTS RENEWAL CALCULATOR

 

age X stress level(1-5 being highest)/[serum cholesterol

 

+ systolic blood pressure] X

 

[average number of hours sleep per night/number of alcoholic

drinks per day] X

 

diastolic blood pressure/BMI X

 

number of servings of fruit and vegetables per day/resting

pulse rate /

 

time to walk one mile X 1/year of last colonoscopy X

 

the square root of the combined ages of parents at the time of

death.

 

This results in a fraction to be plugged into the following

 

Table.

 

TABLE FOR INTERPRETATION OF THE CALCULATION

 

Range

<0.1-0.3        Select from Column A

0.31-0.5         Select from Column B

0.51-0.7+       Select from Column C

 

Column A                     Column B                    Column C

Stents                          Knees, Hips                 Rods, nails,

Defibrillators                 Shoulders                   Screws, staples

Heart Valves                 Bone and vein grafts     Plates, clips

Heart by-pass grafts      Skin, nerves                 Prostheses

Hearts, lungs, livers       Teeth                           Tendons

Kidneys, pancreas,                                            Cartilage

Bone marrow, stem cells

Intestine, thymus

 

 

Don’t be cowed; this is a studied, scientific approach

to quantify the need for scheduling

new(some refurbished) parts

while simultaneously improving your bionic index.

 

You ask for supporting evidence and references

to which we say look in the mirror

be shocked and simultaneously

grateful

someone is trying to cover your backside

alternatively, use two mirrors.

 

Just about anything can be swapped out–

our motto is Responsible Replacements

backed by the best in the West repo system.

 

The queue is far flung

so don’t be long

or late or hate your fate

so much in play

this is the day

to get it done, don’t delay.

 

Do it now, or pay more later (thanks BRAM oil filter)

 

Whether from column A, B or C

choose a nip or tuck

        maybe a knee

 

Remember, the Parts Renewal Calculator is scientifically

valid so don’t let fear or parts anxiety

keep you from fulfilling destiny’s call—

get a new part or two or eureka, go for them all

 

new organs and joints

serve well into the future

you could be a poet

 

Order from:

 

Part with that Part

78 Reconstruction Drive

Take-Out, TN  00000

 

 

 

Getting Along

 

It’s almost impossible not to

bullshit some,

sometimes a lot–arguing, even

nice talk

can be draining–it’s easier easier

to spread your wings and splash

down easy.

So much talk is uninformed,

downright stupid or the bluster of

mean spirits.

You want your own opinions–okay,

your own facts–not okay.

So people dig in, rarely recanting;

the more off center, the deeper the dig.

Egging them on with sarcasm or

openly antagonistic snark will not

change anything or make you

feel good about it later.

Practice deep breathing,

counting, visualization,

suck it up, smile, nod,

keep blood pressure normal,

live another day.

 

Just A Little Respect Please  

 

Being ignored hurts

whether you are deemed old and invisible or

uninformed and irrelevant.

Not the snobbish patois

smacking of privilege and distinction

more the power posturing of arrogance.

Even knowing contributions exist

doesn’t invite exchange with minds

cluttered with extraneous chatter.

Grey or white, stooped,

wrinkled loose skin is

not a reflection of cortical activity.

 

Talk, Talk, Talk  

 

yak, yak, yak, yak, like yak,

nervous chortles,

more yada, yada, yada

 

if you listen, you learn nothing

all about me, me, me

like yak, yak, and yada, whatever

 

implausible, impersonal, impossible

falsetto whispers to intimate  importance

more yada, laughter, cackles

 

making small talk, nonsense

passes time without thought or commitment

anonymous almost, not leading anywhere

no course, recourse, change course

 

we are done, leave me alone

 

SLO Train

 

took the train from SLO

to Los Altos

not a bad time

to sit and dine

read and snooze

a bit of booze

and just like that

we skinned the cat

 

 

 

 

Truth

 

Can you tell a friend the truth?

not so often if you

want to remain friends.

Can you tell a child the truth?

we could but rarely

instead we tend to tell tall tales.

Can you tell a spouse the truth?

most of the time, but

be ready for the consequences.

Can you tell yourself the truth?

in small doses only

to maintain composure and equilibrium.

 

On a Mission

 

Let me tell you something,

I am more involved than ever,

more relevant

Now it’s personal, family and

compressed attitude that

I can’t waste energy, effort, psyche–

not enough time to fool around,

so out of my way

I don’t mean to be testy, but

it’s not happening if I don’t

make it

Trying is everything

 

Security Blanket

 

Blanket or binky,

stuffed animal toy,

thumbs can be yummy,

toes are a joy.

But out of that age range,

for succor or savor,

a cell phone will do,

mouths too if it’s flavored.

 

Seventy-Four

 

Not yet fourscore

no field of dreams

or lack of love

work mostly done

except for this

and the compounded joy of

 kids so grand

 

 

Grey squirrels, sciurus carolinensis, can be a breed of trouble, especially when they are studying on your backyard bird feeders. In general, if you feed birds, you feed squirrels. In the abstract, I have nothing against squirrels; specifically however, when they are feasting at my bird feeders, birds can’t find a seat and I feel like a nut.

I suspect most birders have tried every kind of hair-brained idea to fight back against these cute diabolical tormentors. I have tried baffles to block them; greased feeder poles to thwart climbing; hanging feeders from high limbs, moth balls, cayenne pepper–the bottom line, none of it works. The devious critters sit on their hind quarters, study the problem and test alternatives. Given that they are persistent, inventive, tough, acrobatic and hungry, and also have it out for me, they defeat all of my efforts. Furthermore, when I wave my arms at them and yell, I feel like an idiot, and I am positive they have come to the same conclusion. Just to rub it in, they scold me from heights I don’t dare even dream of.

After serious, dense thought and calculation, I hung a feeder from a high limb with twenty feet of #16 gauge galvanized steel wire. The feeder is far enough from the tree trunk that a lateral jump is not feasible and more than six feet off the ground making a vertical jump questionable. It is far enough from the bird bath to discourage taking off from there. So the question is whether they can negotiate almost twenty feet of very thin wire; the answer is no for most squirrels, but one did the high wire act, so I am keeping my money in my pocket.

I thought I had hit on the ultimate strategy; I call it T&T–trap and transport. I could borrow our neighbor’s Havahart trap which would allow me to catch, transport and release my little adversaries for a bon appetite elsewhere. I had a great wooded paradise picked out for the whole lot of them. Then I discovered that trapping and transporting is illegal, so it is just one more idea gone to ground.

I am now trying long cylindrical tubes, closed at the top end, which fit around the feeder poles. The nursery and feed store guys assure me this is the ticket to make the birds happy and the squirrels look for other pickings. I remain wary however, since I believe the squirrels are at least as clever as I think I am and whoever designed this latest gadget. However, I don’t want to harm them, so I have to find a way to convince them to eat other offerings–a bon appetite for both fur and feather. I wish myself luck.

 

He did say, Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth. Gehrig was 36 years old.

That was either denial or chutzpah. He had ALS or Lou Gehrig Disease (in his case Lou Gehrig’s Disease).

It was July 4, 1939; Yankee Stadium was full of first-hand eye-witnesses. There was news- reel with audio, yet, it isn’t clear what Gehrig said; the audio was faulty and only four sentences survive. The speech was pieced together from various newspaper accounts by Jonathan Eig in his book, The Luckiest Man: The Life and Death of Lou Gehrig.

Gehrig was the original iron man, playing in 2130 consecutive games. He hit 493 home runs, batted a life-time .340 and drove in 1995 runs over 17 years–incredible statistics for any era.

Even with iron in his veins, he was shy and humble in public saving his ferocity for the playing field. In his speech, he thanked everyone, even the groundskeepers and stadium ushers. He must have been a good man.

He apparently used the word lucky three times suggesting maybe it was all going to work out for him, but was dead within two years. A more cynical person may have said unlucky, since all the love and adulation of the fans could not save him.

But whatever he really said, it would not have been like Lou Gehrig to complain. He was one of the most talented, nicest men ever to play the game of baseball.