Oculus

Suppose some day, some later time, I stand

In the eternal Roma, beneath, you know,

The Parthenon. No. Get it right. No.

The other one. The. Palladium. No. No.

Pantheon. Yes. That’s it. That’s it. Pantheon.

 

Beneath the Pantheon I shall stand, gazing

At the gods and goddesses. (Are they

Still there? I believe they are.) And stand

Gazing. How will I feel? In that ancient

place? Amongst that Pantheon of old.

 

Old. But not eternal. Is how. I.

They return my gaze with timeless eye.

Copyright

© Copyright 2018 Stephen Evans

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A Few Random Thoughts During the Holiday Season...

...that don't particularly have anything to do with the Holidays. Or, perhaps more correctly, Holidaze. 

Do you remember the signs in practically every car on the road - or so it seemed- that read BABY ON BOARD? What? Like it's okay to hit a car with GROWN-UPS ON BOARD?  Adults don't count? Please don't hit this car because it has a baby in it whose life is obviously more precious than yours. Perhaps that was closer to the beginning of all of this "Politically Correct" nonsense that has gone so far that we are losing our Freedom of Speech. But I digress. 

The Holidays are For The Children.  Well, adults appreciate being thought of as well.  However, considering the economy we'd be better off going back to basics and making something if we can. I'm perfectly satisfied with an e-card. Just knowing someone has thought of me long enough to send one of those makes me happy. I'm not forgotten. As writers we live a pretty solitary life. As a single writer, mine is particularly solitary. My cat is a Chartreux. b2ap3_thumbnail_aimee--me.JPG 

She has a silent meow. As a migraineur, I appreciate that. It would be nice, however, if through some flight of fancy, she could say something, preferably in English, every now and then.

The thing that has been really irritating me (you knew I'd get to it, didn't you?) is Make a Wish. Before you start screaming at me for being mean or cruel, please hear me out. Have you ever heard of Make a Wish for Grown-ups? No?  Of course not. That's because there isn't one. My question is: why not? Do only children who are fatally ill deserve to have a wish fulfilled? Do people who have lived longer and had a difficult life not deserve to have a wish fulfilled?

I remember interviewing Tony Bennett many years ago. Some interviews stay with you. At one point, while discussing why he gives everything to each performance, and his performances are long, he told me he just wants to bring some happiness to people, an escape for a little while. He said some people are born under a lucky star, and some people, dammit, no matter how hard they work, nothing goes right. He has not forgotten those people. Apparently, everyone else has. If you've seen someone struggle with cancer, you know how debilitating it is, how barbaric the treatment. Some people have worked hard all their life, can't really afford to retire and haven't even taken a vacation, and then they're hit with a debilitating or fatal illness. What about them? Are they like the ones who aren't a BABY ON BOARD? They've lived "x" number of years, therefore no one needs to think of them, they've had their chance.

How many people have friends drift away when they're ill because it has gone on too long. I have had, and still have, many friends with chronic, but invisible, disabilities. One had a "close friend" tell her that she was lying when she was too sick to go out for dinner. I pointed out that she wasn't a real friend. This is the time of year when people are alone.  Some are healthy enough to go and help others, to be with friends. Others are incapacitated and completely alone. What of them?

What of older people? They have so much to share but people shy away from them. They have feelings. They still want to see people, have conversations, travel. They're not dead. Why can't people stop treating them as if they were?

I have no answers. Just questions and some food for thought for anyone who is reading this.

Copyright

© Darlene Arden

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Fifty and Three-fourths

Not that anyone is counting; my age just came to mind.

Having my beer, my thoughts started to wander off.

Young girls like to say, “I’m fifteen and a half.”

That matters considering that turning sixteen is a big deal.

Ripe for a license application!

 

It doesn’t follow when one is older.

What’s the big deal if I said I’m fifty and a half?

There’s no impact.

I have everything, well, almost everything a young girl dreams of right?

At fifty, there craving for things differs.

 

Assuming that one has had a good journey turning fifty, of course!

So I’m turning fifty-one and I’m very grateful for what I have accomplished.

I gave up good opportunities for even better ones!

I’ve slowed my pace down so I can live my moments better.

I don’t really pine for anything more except to have a healthy life.

 

Growing old, things start to give.

Like the blender in the kitchen that suddenly won’t work.

Or the washing machine that’s beginning to sound funny.

Growing old, I’m a little more careful about myself.

I avoid jumping out of bed!

 

And I certainly try to remember things.

I have to admit; my mind sometimes forgets names.

I’m not sure if that’s because I’m fifty and three-fourths.

Or simply because I have too many things in mind.

Whatever the reason, I try to keep my mind active and well oiled.

 

So it really is no big deal turning fifty-one.

I think it’s a bigger deal when one says, “fifty nine and a half.”

The rest sounds flat; no umph whatsoever.

Fifty-three and two thirds or fifty-six and one fourth?

Blah sounding!

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Happy to Be Home from the Hospital

As one of the Red Room refugees seeking a home in Green Room, I decided I would re-post last Sunday's blog created in blogspot, where I have blogged since July 2005 even before I discovered RR.  Green Room seems to be a welcoming community with familiar faces, and I look forward to continuing friendships here.  Below is last Sunday's entry:
 
After six days of being poked, pricked, and prodded, it was wonderful to wake up in my own bed this morning.  I had slept for 11 hours when Gerald came in to wake me so we would have time for him to give me the scheduled Lovenox shot before the home health nurse would be at our house right after lunch. 
 
Gerald built me a little box for my feet under the computer to shift my legs onto, and I tried to remember to get up and walk around once in awhile.  However, the truth is that one reason I enjoy writing and surfing is that I go into some kind of brain zone that blocks out the world. The concentration is very pleasant to me, and when I could, I often sat for hours without realizing how much time had passed.
 
I continued taking warfarin, but after a few years, my primary doctor assured me I could go off the drug if I wanted.  We were getting ready to take a trip to Oklahoma City for the softball world series and on to my sister’s in Amarillo, so I turned down the offer to go off.  From then on, at my annual check-up, my primary doctor would tell me I really would not have to continue taking warfarin. I would sheepishly answer that I must be psychologically addicted to it to give me a sense of security. 
 
But as our daughter Katherine’s health worsened and I spent more time with her, I found it more difficult to make time for the regular INR check-ups that warfarin requires.  I began to feel silly that I was choosing to take a drug I was told I did not need.  So at this year’s annual check up, when the doctor told me I could go off, I hesitated wondering what would result if we took a trip (which we probably cannot do).  She assured me I could temporarily take a new drug and have that security for the trip.  I went off warfarin and felt free as a bird.  No more trips to get my blood checked.  No feeling bad when I got home so late it was really the next day before I actually took my supper pills including the warfarin, Taking only three pills (two of which were over-the-counter) instead of five made me feel so healthy!  
 
However, I continued to feel (as I had for a year or so) tired after 9 or l0 hours of sleep when I was able to get that much, but I figured that was part of being 80.  So the week before last, when I felt a bit more tired than usual, I did not think much about it.  It was not until the weekend that climbing the stairs was making me extremely breathless.  Fearing something was wrong with my heart, I decided last Sunday to call my primary doctor the very next morning.  Since I had taken no trips and I did not need warfarin any more, I did not worry about blood clots.  
 
With Gerald’s help, I made it to my appointment.  For the first time in our lives, he went in and met my long-time doctor and listened for me.  I was glad he was there because I was not thinking well and did realize that my doctor meant me to go directly from her office to the hospital for the CT scan.
 
All is well that ends well, I’ve heard, and all is essentially well here at the farm. Tests showed no heart damage.  The second CT scan (which was actually only over the lower half of my body although I did not realize it) was not to see if the clots were gone as I supposed, but rather to make sure I did not have the kind of cancer that could cause clots in the lungs.  The hospitalist, whom I liked very much, had already arranged for an oncologist to come if the tests showed cancer.  They did not. All this had taken place, and I had no knowledge or worry about it.  Isn’t that great?   The doctor was puzzled since there were no clots in my legs.  He asked, “Where did the clots come from?”  Blood tests sent off and already returned have so far given no answer, but I believe he said some were still out.  He did not want to expose me to an unnecessary CT scan since the thinner blood will eventually be at the right balance and the body will destroy the clots. 
 
Katherine was released from the hospital on Friday.  Her aide Katie, who lost her brother in a tragic accident so recently, is helping Katherine again.  Am I worried about her?  Terribly, but I cannot do much about it.  In fact I never could. Advanced multiple sclerosis progresses as it chooses weakening and destroying the body of the one it inhabits.   Do I believe in prayer?  Yes, and I am grateful that all over the nation people have and do pray for Katherine.  Long ago her friend in Nashville became angry when a prayer meeting she arranged did not stop the disease.  My cousin rode his motorcycle all the way from California to apply oil and pray for her recovery. I am grateful.  We allowed him to come if he promised not to get angry.  I really believed his prayers might bring about a remission or recovery.  Instead the disease continued to grow worse.   Many believing praying cancer victims die of their disease.  I did not even know I might have cancer causing the clots and uttered no prayer against cancer, and I got the wonderful news I was cancer free.  Life is not fair by human understanding. The writer of Hebrews tells us some get their promises fulfilled here on earth and some do not, but all are fulfilled.
 
That is where faith is helpful. Faith helps you to know when the answers you want are not given to you, perhaps there are reasons beyond human understanding.  Things that are seen are not the evidence of faith.  Rather faith is the evidence of things not seen.  So I believe and ask God to help my unbelief. 
 
Jesus taught us that pain is redemptive.  The two young girls hurt in same accident as the one that took Chris Williams’ life are recovering. The orange ribbons still deck the nearby church yard fence beside the highway. Hundreds (perhaps thousands) have prayed; and  just like the girls’ parents, the community is so grateful for the prayers and for the continued healing. Will something good come from the awful pain the wreck brought?  I believe so.
 
So right now I am home bound.  I am feeling pretty good, and I think the Vitamin B-12 shots given me are helping me with the fatigue I’ve had for a year or so.  Maybe being 80 is not the cause. That too is good news!
 
 
 
 
 
 

Copyright

© Copyright 2014 by Sue Glasco

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