Month: January 2019

Cholesterol

by Larry Bowers

Read it in the newspaper,

Seen it on T.V.

Cholesterol and fatty foods,

Aren’t good for you and me.

We oughta’ sue the doctors,

Who told us years ago,

“Eat milk and cheese, and beef and eggs,

And cook stuff with Crisco!”

If we thought about it hard,

We would really kick their asses.

Instead we’re paying some of those same Docs,

For quadruple heart bypasses!

COMPUTER TERMINAL

by Larry Bowers

Nowadays electronics have taken over,

And all newfangled gizmos baffle me.

I don’t know what makes the dang things work,

I’m a technocratic amputee.

Worst thing I have found is a computer.

When I touch it, I must catch a germinal.

Or maybe it is just computer virus.

I guess that’s why they call the thing a terminal!

PROCRASTINATION

by Larry Bowers

I would like to write this poem today,

But instead I think I’ll wait until tomorrow.

Or next week………

Or next month………

Or next year……………..

I was walking around inside our local meeting place recently…pushing my buggy to get a few groceries. I rounded a corner and came across an old aquaintence of mine coming the other way. “Howdy” I said “Hey there” they said. “You know, I been meaning to tell you the next time I saw you that you have some really strange ideas” they went on to say.

“Hows that”? said I

“I read some of the stuff you write on Facebook and some of it is really way out there. and kinda’ hard to understand”. they said

I thought about it for a moment. This individual wasn’t even a Facebook friend of mine, and I had never, ever seen a “like” or a comment from them on anything I have ever written. Must have been reading my posts from one of my friend’s accounts….

“Thanks” I said, as I moved on down the aisle with my buggy. “Good to see you”

It just goes to show you that you never know who you are reaching, or how they perceive what you are writing. This is, after all, a written medium. It’s often hard to convey sarcasm, humor, or veiled anger using the “typed” word. For me it’s even harder because I do tend to be wordy.

I guess I should have asked for more specifics, but I had very little time right then for discussion. I had to pick up some food to cook and it was late.

In any case, if you are out there reading this, next time we will have a longer talk.

As for the rest of you, I love you, or at least like you…stay safe.

SAFE FROM THE STORM

by Larry Bowers

Dark clouds out on the horizon start to form.

I pay them no mind, for I am safe from the storm.

The covers I used to use, to keep myself warm.

Lie folded in fourths, for I am safe from the storm.

And all the plans I used to have,

I held so close and dear,

Are left cold and abandoned,

Like this empty vessel here.

And all the words I never said,

That I wanted to express.

Now rest with me forever,

In the stillness of my breast.

Thunder and Lightning do your best,

You can’t do me any harm.

I’m not frightened anymore,

For I am safe from the storm.

I can’t get inside anyone else’s mind to see how they really think. None of us can as of yet…at least I don’t think that technology yet exists. So, we pretty much live our entire lives with our own “monologue” playing in our heads. I personally have several “announcers” who host the events going on in my mind. One is very kind and empathetic. One is cynical and skeptical. One tells me what I believe is logical and what is craziness. One is quick to anger and might resort to violence….if…..the others did not keep him under control. They have done a pretty good job of keeping that one under control all of my life.

We humans read what other people say on social media. We see reports of what famous people say on TV. We hear the politicians and their rantings and ravings. Often I wonder if their inner person is set up like mine, and if he or she is, then which announcer is speaking at the time they are saying hateful things? There are a lot of hateful things being said. I perceive that these people are either acting, or that their other, more kind voices cannot control the angry person who lives inside of each of us.

I hope as humanity progresses forward into the future that more and more people learn to let their loving selves control their actions. If they do not, then I don’t know what’s ultimately going to happen to the human race.

I’ve mentioned before that I used to get a small allowance as a kid. But, my Dad figured that my duty for that small amount of money would be mowing grass.

I started cutting grass when I was 9 years old. My Dad taught me the basics of grass care and lawn mower maintenance. How to carefully fill the mower with gas, check the oil after each use, how to overlap on each pass slightly as to not “miss a spot” Our yard over on Simmons Street seemed the size of Forest lawn to me and it seemed to take forever to cut it. It was boring, so I daydreamed about playing baseball. I was old Mickey Mantle in the 9th inning of the World Series getting the winning hit. In the end the grass got cut.

Down the road a few years later when I was 12, if I wanted money I had to work for it. At the beginning of the Summer in 1962, my Dad said “Go out and get you a few yards to mow.” So I went out and asked. I got Mr and Mrs Smith’s yard in the two story white house across from the mill. Mr and Mrs Cohran’ s house beside them, and the Smith’s two adult daughters who lived behind them on fifth street. I had a couple of them up on eighth street too, The William’s house and old Mr Crawford’s house. Mr Crawford was a character. He had been in WWI, and had been gassed with Mustard gas. Even though that had given him lung problems he still worked very hard at the Mill as a sweeper. He was quite a talker and I learned a lot from listening to him.

I got so many yards to mow, that I was super busy! The first couple of weeks were not so bad, but then there was ball practice….extra ones even, due to the fact that our coach really wanted to win first place. My client’s yards started getting long and Dad ended up “helping me out” so I could keep my yards and get my money. Dad didn’t complain. That’s just the way he was.

We won first place in little league that year, and I know Dad was proud. Tired from having to help me mow yards, but proud nonetheless. I continued to mow these same yards for years after that because Dad had “saved me” that year. I think my brother Mike Bowers kept on mowing them after I went off to West Georgia. Dad continued to help me if I needed it, and he would always check to make sure I hadn’t missed a spot. He did the same thing when I washed the car too!

I’ve tried to live the same philosophy. Let people work when they can, help when they need it, and tell them when they have “missed a spot”

There are stuffed animals lined up in the hall. Three Teddy bears being taught by a monkey in a green plastic chair. I know this because that is what my three year old Rue told me. She showed me a page with super hero stickers all lined up in a row and told me it was her “lesson plan” I’m sure the monkey can handle it.

Outside next to my storage building is a little pile of rocks of different sizes, shapes and colors. This is Eli’s collection from our hike across the old apartments lot on Park Avenue yesterday. I let him out of the stroller and he picked and chose, throwing the ones he didn’t like as far as his little arm could chunk them.

Paula and I have been keeping these two for over 3 years now, since they are both closer to 4 than 3. When we started, I was still a very sick man. I struggled with heart and chest pains. I was on the verge of diabetes and had very little energy. As these two progressed from helplessness to walking, to running, to talking and thinking….to becoming little humans, I realized that I would like to be around with them a little while longer. I didn’t do much about it at the time though. When I found out last year that Matt and Courtney were finally having a baby, I decided to become more active.

So I started walking. I went to the gym because Paula was doing rehab, and I have kept on going.

I got one of those fitbit things for my birthday back in October and as of today I am nearing a million steps on it. I still am not “healthy” as a normal person by any means, but I think having these youngsters and now a new baby have kept me from going downhill. Instead I have come uphill a bit. I still go to sleep all the time. Rue was poking me this morning while she was sitting in my lap in my chair saying “Wake up Papa…wake up”

I have beautiful teenage granddaughters I want to see graduate from high school, and a young adult granddaughter I want to see get a good start on life. I’m trying to teach Auttie a little guitar too. She’s doing really good.

Not even to mention my three children who are my friends and my dear wife. We have a fiftieth wedding anniversary coming up in a few years, and I got to make plans to be here for that. I think we are going to Disney world.

Yet…my goals are all attainable short range deals. One day at a time, and stack them up like bricks at a kiln.

So, I’ll leave the stuffed animals where they are for now, and the rock pile too. They will remind me of the two who put them there and how much I love them….and how much I love them all.

I walked around town in the mist and drizzle yesterday. It was one of my better walks in a long while, despite the weather. I felt strong and the lungs and heart were good, so I did almost five miles.

I always long to be outside. I started out yesterday going down towards the river, but then reversed my course and went down the sidewalk on Park Avenue. (It’s always better to walk with the wind at your back!) That old sidewalk along Park avenue is the same one which has been there all of my life. It is a bedrock of memories for me. I remember walking to school down that concrete path when I was as young as eight years old. I continued to walk that way until we moved in 1962 up to eigth street and then I walked from there to school. There was very little danger in a young kid walking to school back in 1958. We didn’t think a thing about it.

I also remember going that way on Saturdays down to the old theatre to sit all afternoon watching some Cowboy movie, or a rare Science fiction fare. Dad always told me to just stay on that path and not wander off, and I would be fine. I always was.

I remember going towards school that way one terrible morning when my Mom had her first nervous breakdown, and how she ran after me that day…scared that something was going to happen to her. So much sorrow yet to come, and as that day unfolded and I had not the least idea of how to handle what was taking place. I had no idea that I would soon be staying with my Grandparents for a few months while Mom was in the State hospital. How I wish we had the treatments available back then that we have today.

But I love the outdoors, in all places, but especially familiar places.

I remember my friend who lived on that street who passed away much too young. I remember that he wanted to be outside as he was dying. He sat in his front yard, bundled up in coats and blankets looking at the wonderful world around him. The sky and the clouds. The rain and the sun. I know he did not wish to leave it, and my heart broke for him.

If I had a choice, which I know that few of us do, I would choose to die outside under the full moon and a sky quilted with billions of stars, on warm summer’s night…..gazing up into the Universe beyond where we exist and wondering what lies ahead.

I remember very well when I lost the majority of my voice. It was in 1982, and I was working for Zee Medical Service selling first aid supplies. It was July, and the company was having an “event” in Atlanta at a hotel. I got an unusual sore throat which quickly developed into the worst pain I had ever had in the throat. Felt like I was being stabbed in the vocal cords with a needle. I got hoarse and then totally lost my voice. The pain lasted a couple of weeks, but the hoarseness in my voice lasted months. I didn’t think it would ever get back to normal. I could talk, but if I tried to sing it was terrible. No higher register, and cracking all the time.

I couldn’t sing, so I started writing songs. I worked out a melody on the guitar and recorded it on a little cassette player so I would not forget them. Words once written are in stone, but melodies are as elusive as butterflies on the wing. So I “netted” them and once the song was finished I kept the hope in my heart that I could find someone to sing them on a demo for me. My daughter was really coming along on her singing and I had an idea that she could do it.

One day early in 1985, I was riding down the road singing along with the radio, and I was able to carry a tune again. Gradually I regained part of my voice. I was able to sing again and went on to sing on some of the demos I occasionally post here. What you hear is about half of what I once could do.

I finally went to a specialist in 1999 when my voice started bothering me again. He found a big lump on one vocal cord, and was pretty sure it might be cancerous. I had surgery, and he found that it was a big lump of scar tissue. Having messed with it again caused me almost another year of being unable to sing, but I eventually got my singing voice back…but again further diminished. I am convinced that whatever I had in 1982 caused that scar.

Nowadays, if I talk a lot or sing a lot it’s somewhat painful and it takes several days to make a comeback. Back when I was going to Church they always wanted me in the choir, and I would sometimes go…but I guess nobody realized the problem I had even though I made it known. I have some days or weeks now when the old singing voice is ok, and some weeks when it is weak.

Much as I wanted to be a singer and still love it, I just couldn’t take the strain of a run at “America’s Got Talent” even assuming I was good enough. Quite honestly I give thanks for the ability to sing along with old Bing Crosby, or Keith Whitley from time to time. That’s still a pleasure and I’m danged happy with that as things stand.