My wife has a huge collection of porcelain Limoges boxes that we’ve gathered over our 20-plus years together. I try to gift her one every month accompanied by a poem. Some of those poems are admittedly very corny. I try to keep an inventory of what we have, especially because we don’t have room to display them all at once. As a result, there is a traditionally a wall-mounted box on the living room wall with twenty cubby-holes. As each holiday or special event comes along, she decorates the box with season-appropriate Limoges. 

On a couple of occasions I have bought her duplicates that might be painted differently. For Halloween I bought her a haunted house with green ghosts, for example. Ten years ago I purchased the same design with white ghosts. Once she caught the mistake, I shipped it back to my Austin dealer that is always very cooperative. He claims that I am by far his biggest customer, although I don’t exclusively use him for every order. There are antique dealers and those that specialize in Disney designs that I will work with on occasion. He exchanged the Haunted House with one painted with “Trick or Treat” ghosts. 

The Halloween display has since been replaced with Thanksgiving, and the ghosts went into storage without a poem hidden within its hinged structure. I was cautious about buying one for Thanksgiving, afraid that my list might not be accurate. We therefore shopped together on the website to find one that she would appreciate. Only 15 of the twenty cavities are filled with this particular holiday, since Christmas always seems to be the shopping priority at this time of year. Also, there are limited options for the occasion so we have to get creative. We’ve already got Pilgrims, Indians, Cornucopias, and Pumpkin Pie, along with many varieties of pumpkins and turkeys. She decided on a simple ear of corn, one of her favorite foods any time of the year. It speaks of her Hoosier roots, and living next door to a cornfield. Here’s the poem that I included, along with some make-good thoughts about the rhyme deprived “Trick or Treaters.” 

Born of Corn 

Your Limoges display,
Makes a seasonal change.
So each holiday,
You rearrange.

Twenty squares,
Each month to fill.
Each box still,
A special thrill.

Halloween full,
With “Trick or Treat.”
Thanksgiving sparse,
You’ll have to cheat.

At Christmas time,
You need twenty more.
And extra bins,
In which to store.

Birthday, Easter,
Independence Day.
Happy New Year,
Even the month of May.

Themes like travel,
And even food.
And one to capture,
Nearly every mood.

You have so many,
It’s hard to keep track.
With limited space.
It’s pack and unpack.

I’ve often misordered,
Re-bought the same.
I keep a list,
And take the blame.

To fill-up November,
You requested maize.
Served on the cob,
Among other ways.

Just like me,
You’re Hoosier born.
What that means?
You like your corn.

Copyright 2019 johnstonwrites.com

I’m not sure I’ll get much of a chance to write this weekend with guests in our apartment and all the planned wedding activities.  Daughter #2 gets married tomorrow night in Powell’s Rare Book Room.  For those of you not aware, Powell’s is a Portland icon and the largest independent bookstore in the world. Both my wife’s oldest and her husband-to-be are bookworms, so they planned their vows to be in this unique setting, surrounded by some of their favorite things. The “girls” are currently getting their nails done, and this gives me some private time to write. 

The weekend is packed with private dinners, wedding party receptions, brunch get-togethers, and a karaoke after-party for the night owls. Only 14 people can fit inside the special room, filled with rare publications in glass cases. One is valued at over $350,000 with several others valued at over $25,000. There are also a few bargains at $14,000. I thought the appropriate gift was a leather-bound book of blank pages, custom-made with antique gold lettering commemorating the ceremony. They can hopefully fill in the pages with their own story throughout the years, and make it a valuable personal treasure. I wrote this poem to get them started: 

M&M

You’ll write the book,
On married life.
On what it’s like,
As husband & wife.

A bunch of blank pages.
With a leather cover.
A new life together,
You’ll soon discover.

It’s custom made,
For just you two.
An antique look,
To log what’s new.

Your names and date,
Stamped in Gold.
Where your love story,
Can be told.

There are no lines,
Life’s rule in place.
You can write in pencil,
But can never erase.

You’ll say your vows,
Surrounded by books.
The rarest of which,
Are In glass nooks.

Words are special,
To both of you.
Especially when,
You say “I Do!”

I’ll start you off,
With words of mine.
Then you can add,
Line after line.

Wedding wishes,
From each guest?
Then you and Mitch,
Can write the rest.

Goals and wishes,
Your Bucket List?
Special memories,
You get the gist.

Maybe some pictures?
Mom’s recipes?
Used Ticket Stubs?
And stories please.

As time goes on,
And pages few.
You can always ask,
For Volume Two

To M&M,
This special day.
Let no obstacle,
Get in Love’s Way.

Copyright 2019 johnstonwrites.com

“I Miss You, Benny-Boo-Boo-Boo-Boo-Boo” is a line from a 2003 movie, How to Lose A Guy in 10 Days. My step-daughter’s new husband is named Ben, so she gave him the pet-name of “Benny Boo.” They were just married a few days ago, as discussed in this blog. The hashtag identifier (Hashtagify) for their Instagram wedding photos is #bennybooido. The wedding took place at the historic Presidio Chapel, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge, and the reception at nearby Arguello. Many family members and friends traveled into town for the small ceremony of about 100 guests, with several pre and post get-togethers in and around San Francisco. 

It was my job to paint a poetic picture of the event, as I try to do with all memorable events. My goal is to be humorous, but there is often too much inside information for others to understand. I also try to maintain some sense of anonymity for those involved. The couple just moved cross-country from Washington, D.C. where they met and have an apartment in the Dog Patch Neighborhood, formerly a ship-building hub. There is a hip mixture of industrial and residential properties. They relocated to the Bay Area for career advancement just a few months ago and will honeymoon in Hawaii.

The outdoor wedding ceremony itself involved impressive memorization, custom music, and a unique touch when the rings were passed for each guest to bless or warm in their own private way, while the bride & groom finished their vows. The 88 year-old bell in the chapel tower began to ring as we all moved to the reception. I offer this recap of this unforgettable occasion:

Benny Boo I Do 

A wedding weekend,
By the Bay.
Hoping Karl the Fog,
Would stay away.

Nails were done,
Wine then flowed.
Ben was excited,
Miranda glowed.

The Daniels’ clan,
And Humphrey’s too.
Came cross-country,
To celebrate you.

Exploring the mystery,
Of the fabled “Lum Bum.”
Food trucks galore,
And mini-golf for some.

After wine and beer,
The Sangria even gone.
The first hangovers,
Appeared at dawn.

But blue skies prevailed,
And vows were said.
“Ro” and “Benny Boo,”
Were happily wed.

The cute little flower girl,
Ran scared down the aisle.
Despite a few tears,
There were many a smile.

The rings were passed,
Their bond was blessed.
Ben somehow passed,
His memorization test.

The Presidio bell,
Tolled after “I dos.”
As family and friends,
Shared the good news.

The dinner reception,
Was a short walk away.
The margaritas flowed,
And music began to play.

A Spanish theme,
At a historic site.
Arguello setting,
In the sunset light.

The father of the bride,
Toasted his new son.
Then sister Megan,
Praised and poked fun.

Mom stood by,
As she has all along.
And should have joined,
Her girls in song.

The party broke up,
At nearly eleven.
But the Dorian nightcap,
Rumored till seven.

It was Labor Day,
When all was done.
City View brunch,
With Lum Dim Sum.

Beautiful gowns,
Hugs all around.
The former D.C. couple,
Is Maui-Moon bound.

To their Dogpatch home,
With tans they’ll return.
They have new careers,
And promotions to earn.

Next stop Portland,
For wedding two.
To Megan and Mitch,
We hoist a brew.

Copyright 2019 johnstonwrites.com

The celebration has finally come to an end, as I sit in Denver awaiting our Portland connection. We had lunch at Elway’s, with a healthier twist on steak. It’s been my choice for at least the last four days, including last night’s rib eye and a diet of Tomahawk (or Cowboy) bone-ins that each resembled one of Paul Bunyan’s axes. As you may know, streaks are a big part of my life, as my daily running streak hit day number 3895. In this case, however, I’m talking about a “Steak Streak.” Today, it was part of a practical salad.

On this trip, it will not be steak that causes my weight gain, but rather cake and ice cream. I’ve had the sugary duo for breakfast, lunch, supper, and late night snacks for the last four days – more like a “Sweet Streak.” I even found a slice of chocolate cake hidden inside a cabinet as part of our Crooked Key Escape Adventure. We got out successfully in just under the one-hour time limit after solving clues to unlock our jail cell and two other exit doors. I couldn’t have possibly run enough high-altitude miles to counter this excessive calorie overload of birthday chocolate and vanilla. We also had to play detective in trying to solve the mysterious disappearance of the last piece of coveted lava cake, with crumbs in the sink as the only clue.

We reunited with three other couples from Decatur, Illinois, where we all once resided. One pair now owns a home in Steamboat, Colorado and hosted our get together. I think we may have invited ourselves? We did joint and individual activities that included dining, the local farmer’s market, hiking to Fish Creek Falls, backgammon, bridge, a concert with the California Honeydrops, poetry, rides on an electric bike, TV sports, target shooting, cocktails, and the Strawberry Hills Hot Springs. Our other companion was Sage, an aging Lab who welcomed a porcupine into the back yard. More likely, it was the smell of steak on the grill that brought us all together.

It was a great time, but we ate and drank like teenagers. It’s now time to settle in for a few days of therapeutic home life. Unfortunately, my wife has to go to work tomorrow, as we prepare for her daughter’s Labor Day weekend activities. She’s one of the few “youngsters” in our group that has yet to retire. As we reluctantly head back to Portland, I’m including the follow-up poem that I traditionally send to those involved. To understand it, you probably “had to have been there.” Hopefully, I’ve provided enough background information for you to get the gist:

Piece of Cake 

Summer in Steamboat,
Thanks to Kit and Pete.
A Decatur reunion,
At 6000 feet.

They had little choice,
We begged to come.
To drink every drop,
And eat every crumb.

Some might see us,
As an “Old Timers” bunch.
But treated with respect,
With a welcome brunch.

Cindy and Pat,
Jan and Jack,
Plus, my wife and I,
The invading pack.

We hiked and biked,
Some shot guns.
And one of us,
Did daily runs.

We shopped and dined,
Had Hot Springs fun.
Clear blue skies,
And lots of sun.

Fish Creek Falls,
In working off meals.
Golf on T.V,
And Big Bridge deals.

Aurum dinner,
Creekside Café.
“Pocket Chicken,”
The song of the day.*

We tried to avoid,
A dreaded “Jackgammon.”
And hoped not to drool,
Over Tomahawks & Salmon.

An Early morning,
Cake “mistake.”
Devoured long before,
Birthday Boy’s awake.

“Someone left the cake,
Out In the Sink.”
The crumb remains,
Made quite a stink.

“I don’t think that I can take it
‘Cause it took so long to bake it.
And I’ll never have
that recipe again, Oh, no” **

After gourmet leftovers,
And expensive wine.
Sage encountered,
A hungry Porcupine.

Jack’s farewell poem,
Confessed his greed.
But more was found,
Though hidden, indeed.

E3 celebration,
Near a babbling stream.
But no time,
For cake or ice cream.

The Great Escape,
Was filled with twists.
It’s hard to find,
Where the exit exists.

But the cake discovery,
Was a Paulin surprise.
We left with the remnants,
As a consolation prize.

I’m sure we’re all having,
A frosting hangover.
And glad the birthday,
Is finally over.

Then Pete summed up,
As a last take.
Our time together,
Was a “Piece of Cake.”

*Courtesy of The California Honeydrops

**Courtesy of MacArthur Park and Richard Harris. I understand that Jan gave us the recipe. Oh, Yes!

Copyright 2019 johnstonwrites.com

To me, Colorado has always been about skiing and Coors Beer. It’s actually quite amazing that I ever got into the downhill sport considering my aversion to the great outdoors. I’m more of an inside kind of guy that struggles with the inconveniences of being outside. However, here I am in Steamboat Colorado without my skis, and lots of friends asking me why? What is there to do in that cow town without snow? Here’s my poetic answer: 

Rocky Mountain Why?

Hello from Colorado,
A Rocky Mountain Hi!
Steamboat in summer?
I’ll tell you why.

The sky’s just as blue,
Sun’s equally bright.
And not everything,
Is covered in white.

Lift tickets are less,
Because there’s no snow.
Fields of wild flowers,
While rivers freely flow.

No bundling up,
Or skis to tow.
Without all the ice,
The foliage can grow.

Few puffy coats,
No clunky boots.
Less need to pack,
Those bulky snow suits.

No gloves to remove,
To eat your dinner.
Without all those layers,
I feel much thinner.

Still twinkly lights,
And fun in the air.
Less likely to slip,
When you run from a bear.

Fewer people in casts,
From nasty falls.
Your pee-pee won’t freeze,
When nature calls.

Biking, Hiking,
A fish on the hook.
Or sit in the sun,
With a good book.

The roads are clear,
And flights on time.
And smoking pot’s,
No longer a crime.

You can dine outside,
See snow capped peaks.
Don’t have to worry,
About wind-chilled cheeks.

No snow boarders,
Zipping recklessly by.
To me this is,
The main reason Why?

Copyright 2019 johnstonwrites.com

There is a line in the T.V. series Yellowstone starring Kevin Costner that struck a chord with me. “You do something you enjoy your entire life, and it takes only one man to f*ck it up.” This pretty much sums up my entire career, that I often reflect upon in retirement. It soured the entire experience, knowing that I had been so successful until one egomaniac changed everything. He tried to impose his management style on me that I couldn’t wear comfortably. I know several others that are going through this struggle now, as “old age extermination” will eventually lead my friends to join me in retirement. It’s a process that starts with a younger manager, anxious to make a name for himself or herself and to modernize what they’ve determined to be “old school.” It begins to affect those of us over fifty, but particularly those in their sixties. Whether you’re a cowboy or an executive, it only takes one person with a new agenda to tear down what it’s taken you years to build. 

“Age Extermination” is a rather dark subject, but perhaps a necessary evil in the workplace. There’s always one “old guy or gal” in the way of a promotion. Too often, they try to hang on to their job in fear of what they’ll do in retirement. It’s a genuine concern especially considering that studies have shown too many people who have died within five years of retirement. Personally, I’m going on three and feel pretty good. In fact, I’m truly sorry for those that can’t or won’t retire and spend their twilight years being climbed over on the corporate ladder. As government officials continue to raise the age to claim Social Security, I’m troubled that we’ll see more and more of this discriminatory practice. Please, if you have the means to retire, get out of the way. If not, you’ll go through the demeaning process of being forced out by someone the same age as your oldest grandchild.

It’s difficult to simply simply fire a sixty-year-plus employee, so instead they make you miserable, hoping that you quit. If you quit too soon, you’ll have trouble finding another job because of your age. Also, you won’t have health insurance when you need it most. It’s that Catch-22 that you read about in high school, as members of the aging workforce painfully tolerate those final miserable years. The sad thing is that it’s the job you always dreamed of and studied years to get, but they’ve now made you hate it. You no longer look forward to going to work, but you can’t afford to stay home. This is the very definition of “Age Extermination,” that final stage of work before retirement. It’s this that eventually kills you – not retirement. 

Age Extermination 

When I was young,
I dreamt of success.
What I’d do for a living?
Was my best guess.

I went to school,
Made the grade.
Found my passion,
Learned its trade.

Found a job,
Won awards.
Earned respect,
Served on boards.

Climbed the ladder,
Led the way.
But someone younger,
Took it all away.

Their qualifications,
Weren’t that clear.
But they took the job,
That I held dear.

What had been right,
For all this time.
I suddenly heard,
The “Old School” line.

It wasn’t long after,
I was out the door.
Without many options,
To even explore.

Too young to retire,
But too old to work.
Thanks to the opinion,
Of one frickin’ jerk.

My fall from grace,
A clear indication.
I’m another victim,
Of age extermination.

Copyright 2019 johnstonwrites.com