The Pauses and the Cries

The people in the village paused their evening chores,

And watched the autumn haze rise off the fields,

And heard the bird’s songs marking-out their spaces,

Interrupted by a new voice in the world.

The newborn boy had filled his lungs at last

And then proclaimed His advent with a wail.

It was witnessed by the oxen and the sheep

That shared the tiny stable where He slept.

Unnecessary, since His coming had already

Been proclaimed among the shepherds far away.

A chorus of ten thousand angels told them

And they hurried to the place to see the child.

The people by the tomb gave pause to their grieving

And watched the Rabbi coming on the road

They had sent for Him, encouraged that He could save

The one who was His own friend and had loved Him,

But it had been four days, too late for even latent hope.

The Rabbi saw their grief and felt its depth.

Affirmed their sadness in “dakruo”, weeping silent

Tears which ran out freely down His beard.

Unnecessary, for He knew His Father’s power,

And thanked Him for His ear, (so they would know Him).

He promised they would bear witness to God’s glory

Bade them roll aside the stone, and it was so.

The disciples of the Savior paused from traveling

Upon the crest descending into Kidron.

And seeing Jerusalem they suppressed their own joy

Upon seeing Jesus weeping, “Oh Jerusalem!”

He foresaw the fate of those His chosen people.

A torment more than ever He could bear.

He cried aloud, a “klaio”, loud and anguished,

His heart broken for the ones He loved so much.

Unnecessary, for He Knew His great salvation

Would come soon and remove the pain His city

Was to come to as it waited for that day

When the Glory of His Kingdom Manifested.

The people had all paused their daily living

Enraged and watching their demands be met

The one who had proclaimed His deity must suffer,

And put to shame, was crucified by them.

His disciples had all run away and hidden

He suffered sorely, more than what man could bear,

If he were able to effect a ceasing, as Jesus could have done,

But He remained there, and took the suffering in humility.

Unnecessary, for He owed us not and we deserved not.

Then our Savior filled His lungs one final time

And proclaimed His exit from this world He so loved

He, with one final cry, said “it is finished.”

Words and Rakes

I don’t want to be a poet,

The words call to me,

“Take us out of the rack

Where you keep us stowed.

Put us to use

And make something beautiful. ”

I don’t want to own a rake,

Rakes are for working

Pulling through the dried, dead grass

Until blisters form on my palms.

And renewing the lawn,

To make something beautiful.

Words and rakes

Tools that become our master

Reposing in the racks where we stowed them,

Calling to us,

Come, pick me up, there is work to be done!

We must make something beautiful.

Their Window

Dust rimed glass, a rickety old sash,
Inside a broken frame,
With crackled, yellowed peeling paint
That somehow still remains.

The wall that holds this ancient work
Leans southward, quite a bit,
As though some cold, delinquent wind
Has tried to topple it.

But though the child has tried his best
To blow the old borne down,
Some force of nature, Providence?
Has kept it off the ground.

I viewed this rustic, leaning shack
With its single dingy glass,
And pondered on its occupants,
Were they too, of the past?

Or had they left just yesterday,
On some essential trip,
Returning to the window’s light,
To sit and laugh by it?

Perhaps I caught a movement.
Perhaps there was a sound.
A stillness, yet with living breath,
Was someone still around?

Had they never left at all,
Was I too dull to see
The spirits of a distant time
Inside, and watching me?

I stepped inside the dreary shed
And wiped the sullied glass,
To view another person’s view
To see another’s past.

I peered outside upon a world
That others once had know,
And wished, if only for a nod,
That it could be my own.

I Had a Thought, Once

I had a thought, once, a magnificent thought.

As grand as it was glorious, as profound as it was insightful.

A thought to be proud of, as intelligent as it was truthful.

A thought to be kept in the heart, and yet, to be shared with the world.

And I lost it.

Through some sad neglect, I lost it.

Through years of disuse, forgetfulness, denial.

Escape, distraction, confusion, rejection, I lost it.

Not with a single, great blow was it batted away,

But with a thousand insignificant, out of hand sleights,

I dismissed it.

And I am ashamed it is missing.

But it isn’t lost for good, great thoughts never are.

I will find it again, I know. I must look diligently,

Keep searching, among all the great thoughts.

Forbearing distractions, expelling confusion.

I cannot give up.

Because then, I know I will find it.

If I simply persist, with the help of the author

Of all the great thoughts, I will, again find it.

And renew the joy that once filled my soul,

And caused it to join with my heart and mind.

They rejoiced in a truth

Somewhere in the pages of my Bible.

Dreams of Riding

Remember the stories our Grandmothers tell,

Of the years gone by and the fear of Hell,

Of a young man courting a pretty belle,

And of ladies riding ponies?

I can picture those times so easily,

When a young boy bounced on his daddy’s knee,

And children played so innocently,

And nature ruled the forces,

While gentlemen rode horses.

But then came the age of industry

On the heels of winged technology,

And it saddened my heart eternally,

When they changed wild rivers courses,

And the people rode iron horses.

And even yet, that mighty steed

Has been cast aside for a newer breed

That soars with greater ease and speed,

And conveys us through our courses,

While we dream of riding horses.

The Lesser Ketchup Disaster of 89

The Lesser Ketchup Disaster of 89

For those who have read my story: The Great Ketchup Disaster of 89, an explanation regarding my college roommate Dave is not necessary. For those who are unfamiliar with the tail, let me just say that Dave had a gift for performing amazing feats that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Not that he had an actual act or anything. Things just happened to and around Dave that do not happen to other people.  The lesser ketchup disaster of 89 is a perfect example.

The school cafeteria had a ketchup dispenser which was mounted on the wall. The dispenser was basically a plastic box that held about a three gallon bag of ketchup with a press-to-dispense valve on the bottom. When the box was closed, the bag was held securely inside, and the valve was essentially clamped into the port through which it protruded. To get some ketchup, all you had to do was to depress a small projection on the valve while holding a plate, or other container under it. A simple and nearly foolproof device that had worked to perfection for as long as it was in place. Enter Dave:

 Dave had gotten his dinner; I believe it was a hamburger, and proceeded to the dispenser for some ketchup. He held the burger under the dispenser and depressed the valve. This was nothing that had not been done before, multiple times, by virtually every student and staff member at the school, then, or since the building was erected, and done neatly and safely, as you would usually expect. But with Dave the only constant was the occurrence of the unusual and unexpected. As soon as he pressed on the valve, I heard Dave shout, “ooh”! He then followed that exclamation with something like, “Oh…whoa…whah…whohohohohowah”. I looked over and could see that the valve, the very… no, strike that, extremely secure valve had come right off the dispenser, had, in fact, torn right off the bag, and now, to Dave’s utter dismay, was topping his burger while the ketchup dispenser was doing what it was designed to do, dispensing Ketchup, in spades.

 There was a pile of ketchup on the edge of Dave’s tray that had built to a height that shouldn’t be possible when you consider the viscosity of your typical ketchup. From there, it was cascading down the pile and into a shallow pool on the base of the tray, looking very much like an ornamental garden waterfall, done in red. It then continued on, pouring over the edge of the tray and onto the cafeteria floor, where, once more, there was a blob of ketchup that belied a capacity which the dispenser could not possibly contain.

 Dave made one valiant attempt at redemption by grabbing a glass off of the tray of a passing student and holding it under the escaping condiment, but it was way too little, and way, way too late. The crowd of people in the cafeteria was all watching in stunned silence, like a group of Buddhist monks watching the Dali Llama levitate. All that is, except the cafeteria manager; he was holding a dustpan out toward Dave and making scooping motions with it. 

 I ‘m not saying that this incident was measurably more, or less spectacular than any other on the growing list of incidents for which Dave was gaining an infamous reputation, but it was a turning point. I noticed that, after this day, those who knew Dave well, avoided travelling with him in cars, trains, and planes, and gave him lots of personal space during tornado and thunderstorm alerts. And whenever Dave came into a room and attempted to do anything involving operating even the simplest device, from buying a pop from the vending machine to sharpening a pencil, people would quietly gather and begin to watch. Like a crowd of tourists at Yellowstone, waiting for Old Faithful.

The Great Ketchup Disaster of 89

The Great Ketchup Disaster of 89

by Michael Swarms on Sunday, April 24, 2011 at 1:10am

There are some people who are just natural catastrophe-magnets. Sure, there are always those individuals who, through carelessness or thoughtlessness, can bring the world crashing down around them, but a select few people in this world attract disaster on levels that leave observers gaping in awe, like a group of Alaskan cruise ship tourists watching giant icebergs calve from the local glaciers. My college roommate Dave was their leader. It wasn’t just the frequency of accidents that made Dave unique, it was the scope; Dave did to the laws of physics what a magnifying glass does to light waves. Oh, he never worked at it or anything like that; it was just that, in his proximity things would happen that would be difficult to explain for an advanced race of aliens, let alone us mere Earthlings.

A good example of this happened in the dorm room one evening. We had a small refrigerator in our cubicle and we had placed it on top of a chest of drawers. The chest functioned as a cupboard so that, together with the fridge, they comprised our pantry. Dave came into the dorm and headed for the fridge to find a drink and something to snack on. When he opened the door, a bottle of ketchup fell out and hit the floor. Now that scene, in and of itself is neither unusual, nor even particularly noteworthy, except for a few oddities. The first is that, as the bottle fell, I remember thinking “That’s odd.” because I had personally opened that same door several times, quite recently, much more quickly and forcefully than Dave, and the ketchup bottle never budged. I can promise you that it did not move, slide, wiggle, wobble, quiver, quake, or scoot. It remained, each and every time, as still and upright as a Beefeater Guard at Buckingham Palace. Then Dave comes along and, almost daintily opens the very same door, and the Hines 57 brand suddenly, inexplicably decides to jump to its death! Impossible, but where Dave was concerned not entirely unexpected. The second oddity was that, upon hitting the floor, the carpeted floor, the bottle burst, that was unexpected.

I have dropped my share of condiments in my time; I have cleaned up the pickle juice, mustard, mayonnaise, whatever, but this was a plastic bottle; the benevolent act of a loving God to those of his children who are Klutzes was to give us plastic containers. I have also dropped these, and then picked them up and put them away… numerous times. The one time I actually did have a plastic Ketchup bottle break, it got about a two inch split; I wiped up a very small spill and transferred the remaining contents to another container, no harm, no foul. Enter Dave. As I said previously, the bottle burst. By burst I mean to say ruptured; make no mistake, it didn’t just split or crack, oh no, Kempenian physics took over and this baby exploded! It was one of the most remarkable things I had ever witnessed. A panel, yes a panel, sort of like the cover on a fuse box, broke right out of the side of the bottle. There on the floor where it had hit, inexplicably, lay a pile of ketchup that appeared two times as big as the volume of the bottle. Moreover, there was an equal amount of Ketchup splattered across the room. The stuff was all over the ceiling, there were gobs of it up there, which would lead one to believe that ketchup somehow has the same potential energy as a superball. It was all over three walls to the half-way mark (which was now marked quite well, thank you) with a diminishing pattern as it approached the ceiling, It was on the furniture, the TV, the blinds…it even somehow made it around a corner (another technically, physical impossibility, if you’re counting) and landed on the sink in the bathroom. The cleanup began with the act of scooping up wads of ketchup with a dustpan, and involved lots of soapy water and washrags. Therefore, I left it up to Dave and diligently returned to studies I had been neglecting before he came home.

To this day I marvel when I think about what I have come to call “The Great Ketchup Disaster of 89”. I have reached one conclusion though. I’m not an expert in applied physics, so maybe my astonishment is misplaced, but I think if Einstein and Oppenheimer had been around to study Dave in action, we might be traveling at light speed today.

Robbie and Doris

Robbie and Doris

by Michael Swarms on Thursday, April 21, 2011 at 12:45pm

When I was young there was a neighborhood kid called Robbie. Robbie didn’t hang-out with us, but he would come and go, and we all liked his personality; he was funny and engaging. We had a girl in the neighborhood named Doris, and Robbie had it bad for her. He didn’t mind if anyone knew it either. Robbie would almost daily confess his deep and undying love for Doris and Doris would casually reject his advances. The ritual had gone on for so long that it was fairly formulaic. It was entertaining to watch though, because Robbie had this unlimited capacity for deflecting the rejection. And somehow, Doris had an enduring patience and an ability, refined by time and experience, to dish it out. One time I asked Robbie why he was so persistent when it was clear that Doris had zero interest in him. He just smiled and said “It would be just my luck to give up on the very day she changes her mind.” You had to feel bad for Doris; she was destined to be pestered forever. But I also kind of admired Robbie’s undaunted persistence. Unlike Tracy and Hepburn, Robbie was ultimately disappointed.

I don’t know where Robbie is today, but if he took even a small measure of that persistence into his career, I am sure he was successful. And though she never said so, I suspect Doris secretly enjoyed, at least in some small way, having an admirer who was so devoted. The only real sad part of this story, to my knowledge, is that if it happened today, the only written account of it would be in the form of a court ordered therapist’s notes.

Another Infamous Fan Incident

Another Infamous Fan Incident

by Michael Swarms on Friday, April 22, 2011 at 10:47pm

There was another infamous fan incident involving Paul and me. The small fan was not a window fan, but a room fan. Designed to sit on a table and to blow the air either across the room, or up toward the ceiling when it was laid on its back. Paul had gone to the kitchen and returned with a package of saltine crackers. We were having a few when Paul got the inspiration to feed a cracker into the fan blades. The first one shot out of his hand and was dashed to chunks against the table. He reached for another, mumbling “Too hard, have to go real easy”. The second cracker was carefully fed into the whirling blades and was slowly ground into a fine dust. “Hey, that was cool” I said, “Let me try one.” So for the next fifteen minutes or so, we happily fed crackers into our new, insatiable, grinding machine, which chewed them up and spat them out with an efficiency that would have impressed a team of German engineers.

The thing you have to appreciate is that when children do things like this they become so focused on the process that they tend to be oblivious to the product. Paul and I were completely absorbed with the action occurring right at the point of impact. The very neat and somewhat amazing job the fan blades were doing with each cracker was the acme of precision workmanship. We never even bothered to look up, let alone foresee, the absolutely obvious results. Finally after the last cracker in the package had sacrificed itself in the name of… science, entertainment, the general increase of human knowledge… In any event we finally beheld the consequence of our activity. The Mohave Desert never held as much dust as our mother’s living room did right then. I looked over at Paul; he was frozen in place with a permanent expression of "oooh" locked on his face. The dust was everywhere. There was a coating on the windows, the walls, the tables, chairs, sofa… even the edges of the pictures on the walls. The entire room looked like a reenactment from the opening scenes of The Grapes of Wrath. Wrath being the operative word.

Mom had an uncanny timing when it came to Paul and me. There she was walking up the steps to the front door just as Paul was telling me I was nuts if I thought we could clean it up before she got home. Mom had been to the neighbor’s house to enjoy a visit and a cup of coffee or tea. She was returning home to start cooking supper. Mom was never really surprised by anything Paul or I did. I mean, hey she might have teetered on the edge of sanity more times than Edmund Hillary teetered on Everest, but she was smart, and a realist. Whenever she returned to the house after having left us there she knew that it wasn’t a matter or “if” we had done something, but more a matter of “to what extent” we had done something. It’s the biggest reason she’s my hero today. My mom is the domestic equivalent of a GI who fought the entire Pacific campaign armed only with a pan and a bag of clothespins (okay, admittedly she did posses a larger arsenal than I have portrayed here: wooden spoons, yard sticks, coat hangers… but I digress) and only succumbed to shell-shock twice.

Anyway, Mom hit the door, saw the mess, hit us, hit the door again, came back and hit us some more, back to the door, back to us, shouted that we were going to clean up every grain of dust, realized we were abjectly incompetent, and would only make things worse if we tried. She then changed her mind and sent us to our room, following us all the way with threats of death, shame and beatings, not only from her and my dad, but even a few neighbors she promised to invite over for the ceremonies. By this time though, Paul and I had spent enough time in the Japanese P.O.W. camp that we were desensitized to it all.

Flying the Three Speed

Flying the Three Speed

When Paul and I were young, we spent many hours in our room exercising our imaginations. It wasn’t that our room was anything special, it was more that we were often grounded to it and, as all kids do, adapted. One day we were playing in front of the window fan and decided to turn it around, and thereby turn it into an airplane.

Logically we determined that the three speeds should be applied to represent the airplane in a climb, flying level, or in a dive. Pretty soon we were terrorizing the skies over Europe and the Pacific, alternately, as well as simultaneously (don’t criticize two kids, if historical accuracy and geographical possibility counted Hollywood would immediately vaporize into a cloud of dust). We couldn’t be satisfied for long just turning the switch on the fan every ten seconds; soon we were tipping the fan to represent the motions of the plane. We were making a full diving left turn, preparing for a machine gun burst into the wide open underbelly of a Nip Zero when it happened. We were hit. Smoke started pouring from the motor as sparks jumped and flames burst out of it! Not the pretend airplane motor, the fan was on fire! Paul jerked the plug out of the wall (he was normally a pretty quick thinker when he bothered to think) and we might have attempted to perform some damage control, but when he jerked the plug end of the cord, Paul also pulled hard enough to jerk the other end as well; we were going down, and there was nothing we could do. The fan fell off the windowsill and hit the floor with a resounding crash.

We wanted to bail out but it was too late, Mom was already halfway up the stairs, asking us what was going on up there. It was in the few seconds between her question and her opening the bedroom door that I noticed the cloud of black electric smoke hanging all along the ceiling, and the smell of ozone and burnt plastic in the air. Paul was frozen in place with a permanent expression of "oooh" locked on his face. When she entered the room, I expected her to have a look of shock and horror, followed by anger and frustration. But Mom was a battle tried Vet. She did have a look of quiet resignation; she wanted to yell, but caught herself, and then having played the game for years, pulled her trump card. “When your Father gets home He’s going to kill you.” That was all, she left the room.

Paul and I sat in the midst of a cold reality. We were confident that Dad was physically completely capable of killing us, and he often left enough doubt about the extent of any emotional bond to keep us guessing. So every time we found ourselves in this position, and this was a position with which we were totally familiar, we were compelled to question if this was indeed the straw that broke the camel’s back. Had we finally pushed him beyond the point of no return? To add to the complexity of our predicament, we had to consider the Mom factor too. Might she add her personal slant to Dad’s own judgment? Maybe he would be on the verge of giving us just one more chance when Mom would pipe up. “I don’t know Chuck, this might be the time, you know, they could have burned the house down. We keep trying, but they’re not getting any better.

We had by then exhausted our capacity for worry and had once again adapted our circumstance to a more kid friendly activity. We knew we were in too deep to actually have fun, so we spent the rest of the day in quiet captivity in a Japanese P. O.W. camp, waiting for the Commandant to arrive with our sentence.

While we were flying that day, we shot down scores of enemy aircraft. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many Krauts and Japs we got, but I can tell you this, when dad got home, and came up to the room, we both got our tails flamed in dramatic fashion. He had left us alive, and relatively safe, but with injuries just severe enough to end our flying careers.

A small selection from a largely incomplete story.

A small selection from a largely incomplete story.

by Michael Swarms on Tuesday, April 5, 2011 at 3:28pm

DeMarcus didn’t get it and he said so, “I don’t get it, Painter.” he cried with exasperation, “If what your sayin is true, then facts don’t count for nuthin.” Painter let out a deep long sigh of his own. “Then it appears you finally do get it, Noggin.” “Get what,” shouted DeMarcus, “that education, whatever it’s all about, ain’t about the truth? Then if not the truth, what? Tell me Painter, what’s it about, and why should I even care?”

Painter lifted the lid off the barrel he was leaning on and pulled out an apple. He replaced the lid and hoisted himself up on the barrel. Letting his legs hang and his feet swing freely, he drew the long dagger from its home on his hip and, cleaving the apple in two, heaved another great sigh as he wiped the knife on the knee of his nankeen trousers, and threw half the apple to DeMarcus. DeMarcus caught the offering and placed himself gently down on the large end of a log where the shade had made its way.

He watched as Painter bit into his half of the apple, its juice trickled down his beard and DeMarcus could almost palpitate the relaxation that came over Painter, as it comes over one whose deepest needs are all about to be met. DeMarcus took a bite of his own and waited patiently for him to continue. Painter swallowed, sheathed the knife, took another deep breath, and then motioned toward DeMarcus with the apple. “You see Noggin,” he said, The truth is nobbut a tool in the hands of those that seeks to sculpt their own reality, They use it to carve away pieces of the scenery so as to leave other pieces in more, what you might call prominent and noticeable positions. That way, their audience (these high flung academians are much more like your actors on a stage, than so much members of the community, you see. They don’t so much interact with others as they play to them) is guided to see what they wants them to see. Yeah, Noggin, the truth ain’t the point, never has been with them types. The aim, now there’s the point, ain’t it though? The aim is the whole point, don’t you see?” DeMarcus replayed the words several times before responding. “Go on Painter,” he said, “what about the aim?” Painter tossed the apple remains into the brush, hopped off the barrel and began to walk along the path to the woodpile. As DeMarcus joined him, he continued. “The aim is always to get people to see things your way, to gather support for your purpose, whatever that purpose is.”

“Then what’s the point of the whole thing?” DeMarcus cried. Why try at all if some corrupt scholars are just going to twist it all up to serve some evil purpose?”

“The point of everything, DeMarcus,” (the gentle sincerity of Painter’s voice punctuated the first time he had called DeMarcus by his actual name since his arrival on the Island) is that the truth is not universal, the truth is, in fact, pre-universal, as well, it is all-universal. The truth created the universe, and everything in it, and, in the end, everything in the universe will bear witness to the truth. So you see, Noggin, the truth will withstand any and all trials. Maybe not in our lifetimes, but ultimately it will. The truth doesn’t happen in the world, Noggin, It happens in the hearts of men, one man at-a-time, one heart at-a-time. It witnesses to the world, though, and that through the hearts of those what’s found and kept it. Every generation requires that someone bear witness. And that, my friend noggin, is why you should care.

Painter stood up with the armload of wood he had been collecting, turned to DeMarcus, who had done likewise, and said “But I suppose our aim for the moment is to keep the fire stocked and stoked as ordered,” and with that he headed back down the trail to the camp.

Birthday Thoughts

As I look back on fifty- four years in this world, it seems that I should have learned more than I have.  If the human brain is really a pattern- seeking device, and I assure you that it is, then my brain is responsible for potentially millions, if not billions, of bits of information, some of which ought to be noteworthy, and yet, I feel less assured that I really know anything of value with every year that passes.

 I once heard that when a person goes to college and studies until he is quite sure that he can demonstrate that he knows everything there is to know about a subject, they award him with a Bachelor’s degree. If he then continues to study until he admits that he really knows almost nothing about that subject, they give him his Master’s degree. If he continues to study, he will one day discover that it is perfectly acceptable to know so little about his chosen field because neither does anyone else, and at that moment he has achieved his PhD. Maybe this is what I am experiencing sans the academic setting.

So what have I learned? As I ask myself this question, I believe I should be able to name one significant lesson for each year of my life. So, here goes:  

1.       If you want something, scream, 2. Not everything you can put in your mouth tastes good; people will feed you pickles just to see you make faces, 3. The world isn’t nearly as scary when Mom is there, 4. For some reason, knowing why is really important, 5. If you escape from kindergarten, they just bring you back, 6. Nuns don’t fool around. 7. New babies are exciting and stinky, on several levels.  8. No one knows more about the world than my dad, 9. Putting your head down and running is not the best way to cross the street (that guy’s fender was hard), 10. Girls might be yucky, but that one who sits in front of me smells kind of nice, 11. summer camp stinks when you’re too homesick to enjoy it, 12. I don’t want to become a hippie; I don’t like the smell of patchouli oil, 13. Best friends, Tarzan movies, and Mom’s Sunday dinner prove the world is in order, 14. High School is exciting and stinky, on several levels, 15. I wouldn’t argue with God about religion, but I do have a few questions, 16. That girl who sits in front of me still smells nice, mighty nice, 17. My Dad doesn’t know anything about the world, 18. Just when you think you’ve arrived, it’s time to leave, 19. apparently, it is possible to miss High School 20. Self-confidence is a commodity, you have to risk something to get it, but the payoff is exponential, 21. A young adult can be made to feel like a complete ass by almost any older, more experienced adult. 22. There is a learning curve to every human endeavor; it’s okay to make mistakes, 23. If you want something, quit screaming and work for it, 24. For some reason knowing why is still important, 25. Maybe Dad knew more about the world than I gave him credit for,  26. a lot of satisfaction can be derived from a good day’s work, 27. Other people cannot define who you are, they can only interpret what you show them. 28. The worst experiences you have will always pass; you have to decide whether they are your teachers or torturers, 29. You will always have one absolute friend; He created you and He won’t give-up on you,30. It is never too late to take up your mantle and change your destiny, 31. This girl beside me is the nicest smelling one I’ve ever met, 32. It’s all right to have questions for God, He always honors an honest doubter, 33 New babies are exciting and stinky, on several levels, 34. you can see across the universe if you stare into your baby’s eyes, 35. Understanding is more of a spiritual act than an intellectual one; I have met many developmentally disabled adults who possess better understanding than some geniuses, 36. Happiness is not a condition, it’s a choice, 37. I learned this from a friend, I’ll just pass it along; it’s never a good idea to point the President out to your nephew with your pocket laser pointer. 38. If you affirm the good in others, the one’s worthy of your friendship will always reciprocate, 39. God indwells all time: past, present, and future. That means He can heal any mistake you have made in the past, if only you will give it to Him and move on without looking back. 40. If old is a relative concept, why do my younger relatives keep giving me crap about being old? 41. Every moment I ever missed out on was replaced with a moment I was meant to cherish. 42. Marriage is exciting and stinky, on several levels, 43. Love costs more than all the major purchases you ever have or ever will make. It is subject to the same abuse, wear and tear, and scratches dents and dings of those worldly objects and requires intense, daily maintenance, but in the end, it is worth trading for everything you own, or have owned, or will own. It is the single most important commitment a person can make, never give up on love, 44. It is far more important to be kind than it is to be right. 45.Unless you’re meaning a local event with animals and a midway, quit looking for fair, 46. Life presents you with three options: what is, what ought to be and what works; go with what works whenever you can. 47. Your children are going to live according to what you teach them, so please, please teach them to admit mistakes and fix them. If you come unraveled, pull up a chair and a crochet hook, this might take some time,  48. Sometimes other girls start to smell nice, when this happens, go home, inhale deeply, and remind yourself why you chose the one you did. 49 I know that no man is an island, Because, if I were an island people would be sticking beach umbrellas in my belly, 50. Age isn’t a relative concept, I went from 20/20 vision to requiring reading glasses in one week, 51. People are important, not things, 52. If you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, a step forward is not necessarily progress.  53. Humor should never be a slap in the face for those to whom it is directed, but a cooling mist that lands upon the cheeks and makes them open their eyes and smile at the rainbow they’ve discovered.

54. the best birthday is not celebrated with cake and gifts, but by a careful counting of all of life’s blessings followed by the well wishes of loved ones.

Thanks to all who sent me happy birthday greetings.

A Visit to the Home for Rare and Retired Words

A Visit to the Home for Rare and Retired Words

by Michael Swarms on Saturday, April 9, 2011 at 1:42am

To: The Office of Ombudsmen

Dear Sir,

Pursuant to your directive regarding the inspection of elderly care facilities in this area, I am submitting the following report:

Facility: The Bower Home for Rare and Retired Words

As Ombudsman for this region, I Visited with the residents of the above named Facility. The following report addresses the residents, leaving facility condition and maintenance to the auspices of the Bureau of Elderly Services. As with all reports, first names only are mentioned and titles are omitted to protect the privacy of the residents.

Upon arrival I found Loath sitting on the porch, I attempted to initiate a conversation, but found her entirely unwilling. Gongoozler was nearby, and appeared to observe me closely, but also would not engage in conversation. Several residents were out on the lawn; I spoke briefly with Tomnoddy, but was unable to get an intelligible response. Wellnigh almost approached me, but then, did call out from across the lawn to tell me of her late brother Tarry’s passing.

Once inside, I observed that Tenterhooks was quite stressed by Widershins, who was completely turned around and displaying the opposite of his normal, easy disposition. Codger was enjoying a cup of tea and a visit with his favorite couple, Gaffer and Gammer; they are all looking very old. Fetching and Comely, who are both very lovely, still exuded the charms of their youth.

Discommode was proving to be of great annoyance to Donnybrook, who was ready to come to blows. Galluses seemed to be holding up well, as was Hale, who moved briskly down the corridor to lend a hand to Succor, who was trying to help Halt get to his room, as he no longer walks very well. Wan appeared peaked, and Sallow might have a touch of jaundice. Slubberdegullion was in desperate need of a bath, I did offer him some tissue to address his drooling problem. Mulligrubs is still battling with depression; Trove was digging into his treasury of humor in an attempt to cheer him up. Unfortunately, like his friend Agelast, he wasn’t laughing; Abderain on the other hand, couldn’t stop.

 Bade called me into the cafeteria because Awry and Askance were convinced, as was Amiss, that there was something suspicious going on at the next table. When I inquired, I was told that Provender was in the kitchen and dinner was always late when she helped out. They explained that they were all close to Famished (indeed they were, she was seated at the head of the table and looked very hungry), and that Purloined had suggested that someone slip into the kitchen and sneak out some food. Aghast was shocked by the thought of such an act, and Shan’t refused to take part, but in fact, Farctate had done so already and said he couldn’t eat another bite. Finally, Nowise said he absolutely forbade them from doing any such thing. Unsated complained bitterly until Apace came hurrying with their food.

Repair retired to the salon and I followed. A large group was gathered there. I asked Abide how he was doing; he replied “well, I’m living, and at my age that’s a lot”. Hither, Thither, and Yon had made the rounds of the room; and were now making conversation with Thee and Thou. Whencesoever appeared from somewhere just as Whithersoever was departing; Whichsoever just sort of melded anonymously into the crowd. I smiled when Thrice waved at me (We had already spoken two times), Having also visited with Afore earlier, I merely gave him a nod. Peradventure asked me if mine was a chance visit. When I explained that it was official, but that I was enjoying myself, Howbeit told me that I was welcome in any event. I did spot Yonside on the far wall, and Betwixt was somewhere in the middle of the group, but regrettably, I did not get to visit with them, as my time was up.

In Conclusion, I should state that all was pretty much as you might expect, given the individual dispositions of the residents. Their greatest need seems to be for more word lovers to give them a little attention; they don't get out as often as they should.