Sunday, Nov.26th

Wow!   Can you believe it is almost December 2017?  Next Sunday begins Advent already.  It is particularly hard for us to believe here in the deep southwest as the weather has been more like early fall.  It is warm and sunny, with cooler nights.  Makes it hard to know what to wear.  This morning when I left for church at 7:15 AM it was not even 40 degrees, but this afternoon it will be at least 75.

My daughter Lara came down from Denver to spend Thanksgiving with me.  We had a good time together, as always.  Her visits are always much too short.

I will be starting a round of physical therapy this coming week.  This time I’ve been given a very experienced therapist. If he cannot help me with the back pain, then no one can.  He explained to me that because of my long history of disk deterioration, I will likely never be pain free.  I knew that, really, as I have been through just about every therapy known….shots, surgery, etc. and still it continues to worsen.  I deal with it by resting a lot, using ice or heat, and my TENS unit.  I hate that I can only walk short distances or stand for short periods of time, but that is my lot.

I guess I’ll start my Christmas card list this afternoon.  I used to have all my cards mailed to Canada right after Thanksgiving.  This year I am dragging.

So…… are 3 more poems that I have written during 2017:

This one was written last January, not recently !


             FAIRY FROST

    This morning was cold and when

I went to my car, ready

to scrape ice off the windshield…


surprise!  no sheet of ice was there.

Instead, a frosty fairy had

painted lace designs of winter flowers,


intricate, ethereal loveliness for me

to marvel at. I wanted to leave it there,

it seemed unfeeling to scrape it away


but Sun was out and his pragmatic rays

would deny the fairy art in time

and  I had to see to drive away.



There is rhythm in the metronome of life,

a swing dance between birth and death,

learning and forgetting,

joy and loss,

comfort and pain.


As music flows in meter

it measures the beat of our lives—

often the steady four-four of day to day,

sometimes the smooth three-four of a waltz,

occasionally the cut time syncopation

of the unexpected,

and we dance to them all.


This next one is all about my bird phobia.  I think it may have begun with my Dad’s chickens.  Birds, alive or dead, give me the creeps.


Oh no!

How did you get in

the house?

Please, please

see the open door.

You can’t be here.


Oh no!

Now you’re behind

the hutch.

My fear is rising,


gasping breaths,



I cannot leave

the room….

you might move

and I wouldn’t

know where you were.

I must stay

and stare.

I shake

and burble.


Hours pass.

I’ve dissolved

into a useless

life form staring,

unable to move.


At last, my

rescuer arrives.

A husband who

chirps cheerfully,

“It’s only a bird!”


ONLY a bird!

and my


state of phobia.




Sunday, November 12

Well….another lovely fall day. Greetings to all my family and friends who bother to read my blog. (I don’t think you are many, but I appreciate the ones who do.
I said I would keep you informed of my health problems this way. I saw my nephrologist last week and the news was good, PTL ! My number (percentage of kidney function) are up from 34 to 41. So I’m breathing a little easier as I don’t feel quite so close to facing transplant or dialysis. I should be able to hold out for perhaps a few years yet if I am strict with my diet.
Actually I’m not literally breathing easier as the last few days I have experienced difficulty breathing. For no good reason. So I don’t know what is causing that. I was to see my cardiologist over a week ago but they changed the appointment so now I don’t see him until the 30th.
Any way….change of subject. I am reading an excellent book called “Being Mortal” by Dr. Atul Gawande. He writes about the way medical science has screwed up how people with terminal illness are treated and how they approach death. Many folks would like to just get on with their lives and live as long as they can, but doctors and families so often insist on radical treatments that only make the patient miserable while not prolonging a life that is satisfying.
I would recommend this book be read by everyone who is getting up in age, as I am, or by anyone who is facing illness or death of a loved one. It is informative and easy to read.
I have written quite a few poems about death and dying and while I am comfortable with the subject, some are not. I don’t find it at all morbid or inappropriate. We are all going to die and it is better to face it while we have our wits about us.
My daughter doesn’t want to think about the fact that I may die and leave her one of these days. As a Christian believer, I have no fear of death, while also knowing that whatever may hit me before I pass on, God will help me get through it.
So, I’ll share a couple of poems on the subject:


When there’s no reason to look back
and no need to plan a future
there comes a certain simplicity
into your days.

Dreams of the past become
the past of dreams,
a place you have and have not been.

Embrace the calm, the slower pace,
no need to rush or fret.


I stop to linger over memories now
and hurry past the memories that bring pain.
I turn my head when grieving grasps my heart
for I must visit happy times again.

I linger over coffee now with you
for this today will soon become tomorrow
and then again that day may never come,
and memories of you bring only sorrow.

And goodbyes often cause me long to linger
for love and friendships do not always last.
But in that long forever that awaits me
all sad and painful memories will be past.


I shall not fight the wrinkles,
nor the age spots, nor the pains.
I’ll sit and wait for sunshine,
‘cause it hurts me when it rains.

When friends say I look good, I smile
for they mean well, I know.
But the mirror shows me someone else
with hair as white as snow.

Oh well, the clock will not turn back;
my youth will not return.
But I have gained some wisdom, so
I’m sure somehow I’ll learn

to just surrender to what is,
not wish for what can’t be.
I’ll entertain my memories
and offer tea to me