Category: POEMS (Page 16 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

Retirement is not without Hassles: Christmas Recap #789

December 31, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

The Mary Poppins Returns movie was really the start of our holiday this year. I even sent my grand kids on Christmas morning. Travel back to Indiana included overnight stays in Hammond, Indianapolis, Mishawaka, and Chicago, plus brief stops in Rochester, Elkhart, and Scipio. Every year I try to do a poetic recap of the week, after posting “you had to be there” details in previous blog articles. Unfortunately, my 97-year old mother in law bears the brunt of some of my inside humor. We’re lucky to still have her in our lives, but she requires a lot of special care. My wife’s daughters each traveled with a male companion for the first time ever, while I continued to unlock some of the mysteries of my adoption. Here’s this year’s version, if you’re interested?

Christmas Recap

In and out,
Through O’Hare.
The weather gods,
Were very fair.

Midnight landing,
Infiniti to drive.
Hammond sleep.
Flick High Five.

A Merry Ninety-Eighth,
For the “Big Z.”
Cole and Nora’s first,
Twenty – you and me.

Fancy wallet and phone,
Your Opal ring.
And some extra,
Wine to bring.

Megan and Miranda,
Bring Mitch and Ben.
We’ll see next year,
If they come again?

Half-Sister saga,
Genealogy chart.
New uses for,
A shopping cart.

Scipio cabin,
A few tears,
Finally an answer,
After 67 years

Harry and Izzy’s,
District Tap.
Puccini’s pizza,
After a nap.

Freddy’s Finale,
Zanna crumbs.
A touch of snow,
Finally comes.

Main Street Grille.
Ten-year streak.
And all those Depends,
Should stop any leak.

Texas Roadhouse,
Zoe’s smile.
I hadn’t seen Judy,
For a while.

I can’t believe,
It’s been a week.
And wife speak,
Should not seem Greek.

We’ve spread a lot,
Of Holiday cheer.
So, Mary Poppins,
And A Happy New Year.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Lombard Street #783

December 23, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

With plans to be out of town for Christmas, we decided to unwrap our gifts early rather than pack them in our suitcases. One of the traditional gifts for my wife is a Limoges box, dating back to when we first got together 20 years ago. Normally, she has a Christmas display of them, but they’ve been stowed away for a couple of months while some interior painting was being completed in our condo. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago before she finally was able to get the “12 Days of Christmas” porcelain figurines out of storage. This was long after I bought her gifts. As I result, I did not buy a Holiday-oriented box, but rather something for her travel collection.

My wife’s youngest daughter is moving from Washington D.C. to San Francisco in March for a position at Stanford hospital. Everyone is excited about the move, including her Portland-based sister and our aging schnauzer Tinker who developed a special bond with her as a young pup. We’ll be in driving range of her new home, and Tinker may just get to go for a visit.

I thought that it would be appropriate to gift my wife this year an artist’s rendition of Lombard Street, the most famous crooked street in the Bay area. Included in the intricate details is a tiny trolley positioned at the top of the street, affording tourists a view of its twisting curves below. Naturally, I included a poem hidden inside the hinged box:

The Streets of San Francisco

The San Francisco,
Crooked Streets.
Golden Gate views,
And Ghirardelli treats.

We’ve been there,
Together five times.
Twice it’s included,
Tasting Napa wines.

But in the future,
We’ll be there more.
Knocking On,
Miranda’s door.

The Stanford job,
Brings her West.
Closer to her,
Mama’s nest.

Sisters nearer,
Tinker thrilled.
A California.
Dream fulfilled.

Miranda’s moving,
Near The Bay.
But it’s our Limoges,
That’s packed away.

It didn’t appear,
Christmas would come.
So a Santa Limoges,
Seemed rather dumb.

This crooked idea,
Resulted from that.
When you weren’t sure,
Where “12 Days” were at?

Think of your daughter,
Closer next year.
I thought this might bring,
Some Christmas Cheer.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Sick Days #770

December 12, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

My wife is taking a sick day today from work, so I guess I’m having one, too. The dogs are excited because they know that when she doesn’t get dressed for work, they typically get a long walk (Schnauzerthon). They’ll be disappointed when she doesn’t get up at all, but are currently content with her company in our bed. They certainly haven’t been in to see me. I think I understand how she feels, I was having the same symptoms that caused her to come home early from work yesterday.

I rarely missed a day of work in my career. In fact, I can only remember one occasion where I stayed home to work the phones instead. I think it stems from missing out on a perfect attendance certificate in the first grade. I just didn’t know until then that there were incentives for being perfect. Plus, I didn’t like having to explain my absence or the thought of calling in. As a result, I always tried to make an appearance at the office, even though I might end up in the Emergency Room later. This happened at least twice with kidney stone problems. Although these are not contagious.

Perfect attendance somehow didn’t apply when I went to college. Professors didn’t take attendance and I would often sleep through early classes. I managed to pass the tests but occasionally would get caught missing a pop-quiz. The problem was that I was not necessarily there to learn, but knew that I needed to get a degree (the incentive certificate). Both of my parents earned degrees and expected the same from me and my sister. I never cheated but deprived myself of knowledge and badly misused the hard earned dollars of my folks. I also made a lot of friends, but not in the classroom.

Other than self-esteem, education never played much of a role in my career. I spent many years in sales before naturally evolving into management roles. I suppose I could credit the college experience with my people skills, but my parents deserve the biggest honors for the manner in which they raised me. I don’t ever remember my dad ever staying home from work. He was also a stickler for punctuality, These two basic fundamentals go a long way in achieving success.

My wife is much more practical when it comes to being sick. Admirably, she doesn’t want to spread it to the office. As a responsible manager, she protects their overall welfare. I guess I was just taught to just show up, and in the process probably made others sick, as well. My insensitive philosophy always was that “somebody gave it to me.” I also tended to frown at people that didn’t show up at the office, skeptical of their Ferris Bueller ways. However, in the world of outside sales you can rarely track each activity and the bottom line is always what they deliver in the end.

I’m driven to perfection, as evident in maintaining my daily running streak that reached 3,636 consecutive days this morning. It’s something that I simply have to do every day, and has become a part of my purpose in life. This means that even if I’m sick or injured, I have to find a way to run at least one-mile. On the majority of days, it’s 3.1 miles – 5k a day. To me, it’s the same as “an apple a day. It keeps the doctor away.” Also, I’ve found that if gimpy or sick at the start, I feel much better once it’s done. ‘The Streak” has spanned both my working and retirement days these past ten years and an essential part of my being. There are no sick days on this personal quest!

Sick Day

When I see you,
Suffering in bed.
I’m thinking it should,
Be me instead.

You don’t deserve,
To feel this bad.
And as I watch,
I’m feeling sad.

Cough and cold,
Fever and chills.
Upset stomach,
Doctor bills.

There is no need,
To update the will.
But nursing duties,
I poorly fulfill.

You’d likely starve,
To rely on me.
At least my services,
Are mostly free.

I’ll keep our pets,
From bugging you.
And run some errands,
For you, too.

No, you can’t,
Go out and play.
Because you’re taking,
A paid sick day.

But your boss feels,
You’re trying to fool ‘er.
She thinks your name,
Is Ferris Bueller.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Waking-up #767

December 9, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Getting up each day is by far my biggest hassle in life. Every weekday the alarm goes off at 6 a.m. and it’s rise and shine. Most weekend days we don’t set an alarm, but it’s just as hard to get-up without it. In fact, I’ve found that regardless of what time it is, or how long you’ve been asleep, it’s always a painful experience. To make matters worse, in old age my bladder causes me to roll out of bed at least three or four times every night, but at least there’s that consoling thought of getting back in right away. (Probably more information than you wanted to know!) The only end of it is the end, so I wrote this short humorous poem:

Alarm

Under the covers,
There’s a certain peace.
But with the alarm,
It’s soon to cease.

Snug and warm,
Pillows all around.
But then you hear,
That mournful sound.

Regardless of the time,
It’s hard to rise.
That on-your feet moment,
I truly despise.

Hitting the snooze,
Only prolongs.
One of life’s,
Painful wrongs.

This is why,
In the end.
Death may become,
A welcome friend.

If some morning,
I wake-up dead.
I won’t be forced,
To get-out of bed.

Creature Features: Dogfather #763

December 6, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Mario Puzo wrote The Godfather in 1972 that became a popular string of mafia movies. I’m re-purposing this story under the pseudo name of “Pup”zo (Or “Pug”zo), as a tribute to my life as the dog sitter. As most are aware, GOD spelled backwards is DOG, man’s best friend. I’m trying to be a better “capo” to my dogs, but I’m still struggling to fulfill the role of “The Dogfather” that has uncharacteristically developed into an enjoyable part of my retirement. Honestly, being the owner of two schnauzers was not necessarily by choice, but rather the fact that I married a dog lover. Otherwise, I would have probably never taken on the responsibility. As it is, they are often my sole companions throughout the day until my wife gets home from work. I’m sure they would rather have her by their side all day, as evidenced by their enthusiasm when they hear her car pull in the garage every evening. In the meantime, they are stuck with me, “The Dogfather,” an offer they can’t refuse!

I begrudgingly take them out at least five times a day, but in most cases I’m tempted get them back inside as quickly as possible, often depriving them of the exercise they need. They’ve learned how to stall. Tinker probably appreciates these shorter outings because old age has made her stiff and sore like her master. Tally, on the other hand, cannot get enough walks every day and mopes sadly to her “good bed” as soon as we gets back. She moves only when she hears to the words, “go outside” and reacts with vigor. Tinker is always near me throughout the day and moves only when I do (particularly if I open the refrigerator), while Tally typically remains stoic and in a state of mild depression. I used to walk them occasionally down to the neighborhood Starbuck’s, but Tinker basically drags herself along while Tally leads the charge. As a result, it’s no longer part of “The Dogfather” daily routine.

On sunny days, I will let them out on the back patio and take them on longer excursions. Unfortunately, it’s often cold and rainy here in Portland and they both hate water. I feel guilty when I’m comfortably inside by choice while they must feel trapped. We don’t have a back yard that allows them to roam freely, and neither are trustworthy enough to let outside on their own. I’m also just “The Dogfather” not the “Dog Whisperer,” so I don’t have the communication skills of my wife. She doesn’t feel like I pay enough attention to them while she’s at the office and is often frustrated that they need so much attention when she’s trying to unwind after a tough day. I can’t possibly fill her shoes as “The Dogmother.” They like her better and compete for one-on-one time with her, regardless of what I do for them each day.

I’ve never been very nurturing, so “The Dogfather” is probably an accurate description of me. Don Vito Corleone was not exactly the epitome of goodness, although he took care of the “family.” I apply the eye drops, pick up the poop, shuttle them to Vet/spa appointments, and take them on car rides. Also, I frequently administer “ham time,” but simply don’t have the patience to put on their fancy little coats every time I take them outside, as my wife encourages. To me, they are dogs but to her they are cute, furry gods and she treats them better. I’m reminded of this poem:

Oh to be a dog

In the next life,
This is my wish.
Give me a bone,
And my own dish.

Then I can snore,
And scratch my butt.
I’d be no pure breed,
I’d return as a mutt.

I’d sleep all the time,
Chew on a boot.
Then lick myself,
And smile real cute.

Woman’s best friend,
At men I would growl.
And when I was hungry,
I would just howl.

My greatest desire,
If I did come back.
Should I be fortunate,
To get another crack.

Just to be sure,
I’d have the perfect life.
I’d want my master,
To be my current wife.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Festive Stress #755

November 28, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Festive Stress

It’s the end of November,

And all through the house.

Stress is building up,

On what to get your spouse?

While pounding the pavement this morning, I was listening to the radio. They were talking about “Festive Stress,” and how it builds-up during the holidays. By December 13th it begins to peak, which ironically is Twelve Days before Christmas. I once was very familiar with this feeling and certainly can empathize with those who currently experience this uncomfortable restlessness. It was the reason that the New Year became my favorite holiday, as a sense of relief washed over me. All the decorating, gift giving, parties, and visiting obligations were finally over. It wasn’t so much celebrating a new year as much as rejoicing that all that “Festive Stress” was behind me.

I no longer have to deal with “Festive Stress.” In retirement, there are no more difficult decisions to be made on what to get the support staff? Planning an office party and preparing appropriate speeches are finally a thing of the past. With family spread out all over the country, it’s impossible to get everyone together, and only my 97-year old mother-in-law requires our attention. I used to fuss over what to wrap for my parents even though they needed or wanted nothing. There was also a certain sense of guilt that I could never pay them back for adopting me and raising me as their own. They passed four years ago and only my adopted sister and her children remain from our family. I no longer buy gifts for any of them by mutual agreement. My son and his family live in Florida, so we rarely get together for the holidays because our priorities lie with my wife’s mother and travel back to Indiana. For my grandkids, I usually end up sending a small gift and money, while it lasts. I also try to make an annual deposit into their college fund that will probably ultimately only buy them a book or two!

I personally don’t expect gifts and am usually embarrassed to get one. My wife is now my sole recipient of a carefully planned gift every year. She still gets excited about Christmas and I always end up spending more than I should. Unfortunately, I no longer have the resources to buy elaborate gifts, but I also appreciate that she is still working and provides a majority of our income. This means that she’s often paying for her own gift, and hopefully will be less “needy” when she retires in four years. Her dad gave her the nickname “Sweetie Needy” years ago, so I knew what I was getting into. One of the sacrifices that you have to make in retirement is reducing your needs, and I’m more prepared for that than she is at this point. However, she more than deserves rewards for all she does to support my retirement with her career and homemaking skills. I’m lucky to have her.

Part of my “gift” to her every year is the exhausting trip back to Indiana. It typically starts in Chicago with concerns about bad weather as we make the long drive to Indianapolis. We make a stop for “Mom” about half-way and then proceed to her other daughter’s home to eat, drink, and watch them open gifts. My wife’s two daughters typically join us as they make stressful compromises with their time between us and their father’s family. It reminds me of years ago when I had to split my allegiances on holidays with multiple divisions of the family, so I feel their tug-of-war pain. I will spend some time with my college friend Peter, and plan to make a stop in my hometown of Elkhart on the way back to Chicago. We’ll have dinner with my sister and her kids, although her son and grandson will be at Disney World for an invitation-only All-Star baseball tournament. Apparently, my great nephew has some exceptional athletic skills.

Before we travel to Elkhart, my wife and I will make an hour-long side trip to Scipio, Indiana. This will be part of her “gift” to me. I’m looking forward to meeting what DNA “proves” to be five half-sisters and their mother. It may be a bit awkward especially since none of them knew of my existence last Christmas. Their father, and presumably mine, passed away under difficult circumstances 7-years ago. It has to be particularly unsettling for the mother, who was probably unaware that her husband-to-be had an affair that led to my birth 67-years ago. We’ll all be meeting at a home that he built many years ago, and hopefully we’ll all find some common characteristics that each of us inherited. My wife will bear witness to this strange “reunion” that resulted from a life-changing Ancestry.com saliva test. It might help answer some of my lifelong questions about what happened before my adoption? This is the only true “Festive Stress” that I will be experiencing this year!

It’s Holiday time,
My mind’s a mess.
I must be stricken,
With Festive Stress.

I need to prepare,
A flow chart.
And I don’t know,
Where to start.

Gifts to buy,
Cards to send.
But are you really?
A worthy friend.

Time to decorate,
The Christmas Tree.
Parties to attend,
Relatives to see.

Cold sweats,
Sleepless nights.
Jet lag,
Crowded flights.

Wreath to hang,
Lights to string.
Snow to shovel,
Carols to sing.

More mashed potatoes,
Dessert, of course.
Bad gift ideas,
Buyers remorse

Family dinners,
The office bash.
Credit card debt,
Short on cash.

Cookies to bake,
Wine to drink.
Hardly a moment,
To even think.

Candy canes,
Fruit cakes.
No more food!
For Heaven’s sake.

Bowl game talk,
For football fans.
New Year madness,
Then Diet plans.

And then it’s over,
No more to fear.
Until Festive Stress,
Comes back next year.

Diary of an Adoptee: Paths #753

November 26, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

When I think of paths, the first thing that comes to mind is poet Robert Frost and these famous words published in 1916, over a century ago:

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This was the “Road Not Taken,” a famous poem about choices. As an adoptee, however, the choices were not mine, although the decisions made by others determined my destiny. As I continue to fanticize about the turns my life could have taken, I was fortunate to have been sent down a path that led through an adoption agency and to the loving parents that raised me. What if I had taken a different path?

Path #2: What if my birth parents had gotten married and decided to raise me together? I would likely have lived at my grandfather’s Indiana farm, while the father went off to the Marines. Dad would have been in and out of my young life, taking short leaves from his military duties and eventually sent to Korea. I would have been four years old by the time he returned home to decide on a career, and would have been part of a big family with four aunts and three uncles. If the marriage lasted through this difficult period of long seperations from each other, Mom is now 22 and shares the responsibility of raising me with 51-year old Grandma Ruby. She and my grandpa Pete would divorce 6 years later. He would quickly remarry and die the following year at the age of 61. Helping out on the farm, going to school and sports would have been my destiny, with little hope for a college education. I may have enlisted or been drafted into the Marines, following in my dad’s footsteps.

Path #3: Mom moves to California with my dad as he serves in the Marines. I’m raised on military bases starting in San Diego, with several additional transfers, and far from the family back in Indiana. While Dad fights in Korea, mom probably returns to my grandfather’s Indiana farm to wait for his return. I might even have had a brother or sister by then.

Path #3: Mom never tells the father that she is pregnant, as he enters the Marines and gets married to someone else. She decides to raise me on her own with the help of of her family, until she meets someone else. They get married and have more children, but my step-dad favors his kids, so I’m mistreated. I have a tough time in school and turn to a life of crime, eventually ending up in prison.

Path #4: After marrying my mom, my father, the great athlete and high school star, teaches me skills and encourages me to participate in more sports. Farm life has made me bigger and stronger, so I excel in wrestling, football, baseball, and track. At a smaller school near the town where we live, I get more opportunities to play. I’m often mentioned in the sports pages of the local paper, and followed by college scouts. I earn a athletic scholarship to Indiana University that pays for my education, however I skip my senior year to play professionally. I marry a cheerleader, have four kids, and live happily ever after.

It’s fun to fanticize. There are so many twists and turns my life could have taken, so I’m thankful for the path I’ve traveled. Being raised in a smaller town and attending a smaller school might have allowed me to participate in more sports, but I feel I’ve enjoyed a happy well-rounded life. On any other path, I wouldn’t have had the priviledges I grew up with, the educational opportunities, or the marriage that I currently treasure. Given a choice, I’ll take Door #1, Monty – that path has served me well!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Holiday decorating #751

November 25, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Over the weekend, we noticed more and more vehicles hauling Christmas trees, as the transition began between Thanksgiving and Christmas. My wife and I have never spent Christmas at home and this year is no exception. As a result, we don’t put up a tree and decorating is limited to scattered knick-knacks including hand towels, napkins, Limoges boxes, ornaments, and wall hangings, Traditionally, we rotate the sign on our front door to match the season from Halloween to Thanksgiving to Christmas. This lets all the neighbors know that we are in the spirit. Today, my wife was asking where the “Joy” sign was being stored as she began to sort through our holiday decorations? I smiled and told her that I wrote a poem about it:

Joy

Any Christmas cheer,
I don’t mean to dash.
But Joy got thrown out,
With the trash.

It was just a metal sign,
To hang on our front door.
We bought it years ago,
At a local store.

The letters were in red,
Inside a painted wreath.
But it began to rust,
At first just underneath.

But as the years went on,
It spread beyond repair.
The cheer in its message,
Also began to wear.

To put it in the garbage,
Somehow wasn’t right.
It was a dreadful deed,
You had to do at night.

Wrapped it in a towel,
So it couldn’t be seen.
Thinking that The Grinch,
Was never this mean.

What monster discards Joy?
Who gets rid of glee?
If anyone asks?
It wasn’t me.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Windmills & Wooden Shoes #737

November 13, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Last Spring, we visited Amsterdam on our way to Venice for a Mediterranean cruise. Originally, we had just a short layover in the city, but we extended it to a full day to do some exploring. I secured some advanced tickets for the popular Anne Frank annex tour, and a room at the Marriott, of course. Our plan was to buy seats on the Hop On Hop Off bus, and eventually get-off at the Frank home. It was a miserable day, freezing cold with snow flurries so we did a couple loops on the warm bus instead of braving the weather prior to our scheduled tour. The next morning I got lost on my morning run, with a wall of wind prohibiting much forward movement. I did a lot of directional changes to keep the biting wind as much at my back as possible and ultimately had to have help finding my way back to the hotel. My goal was to run through the famous Red Light District, but I’m not sure how much of it I actually saw.

My wife added a small pair of wooden shoes to my office shelves that were a gift from her brother. It seemed to fit the Windmill Limoges box that I bought to finally commemorate our brief Holland adventure. The porcelain boxes are a tradition dating back to when my wife and I first started dating. Each one that I present includes a short poem. She was expecting a Thanksgiving themed box , but most of her collection was packed away while the painters worked. I thought I would add to her travel category instead, catching up from that overdue “Windmills & Wooden Shoes” experience. While composing the poem, I also thought of our Oregon excursions, including a drive to Woodburn for the Tulip Festival.

About four and half years ago we entered the state of Oregon on I-84 from neighboring Utah in a caravan of three family vehicles carrying five pets and three people. In the time we’ve lived here, we’ve since driven north to Seattle, down the Oregon Coast from Astoria to Coos Bay, into California via I-5, and most recently to Crater Lake. Next week’s drive to Bend and Mt. Bachelor will fulfill our goal of seeing each distinct area of the state, before my wife’s company Meredith moves us to another city. If not, we’ll stay here until she joins me in retirement. Hopefully, the latter will happen, so we can finally get full use & value out of our current home.

The Windmill Limoges has a similar design to the Moulin Rouge hinged-box I bought her to remember last year’s river cruise from Paris to Normandy. Each poem captures some of the details of the travel adventures we’ve experienced together. When she puts them all together in cabinets and on shelves, it’s a romantic time-line of our relationship that means the world to both of us. I enjoy buying them and reading the poems, while she’s constantly organizing them into groups representing the holidays, landmarks we’ve visited, Disney characters, food & drink, gardening, etc. We found one at a great price the other day at an antique shop next to where we were having lunch. Sometimes, I hide some little trinkets inside along with a silly poem like this:

Windmills & Wooden Shoes

Love from Amsterdam,
Despite winter chills.
We toured Anne Frank,
And saw a few windmills.

I couldn’t help notice,
On my office shelves.
Dutch wooden shoes,
Probably worn by elves.

A gift from your brother,
Since the first grade.
For tiny little feet,
And clearly homemade.

We’ve seen the tulips,
In muddy Woodburn.
On Thanksgiving,
Bend gets its turn.

It’s all a part,
Of our Oregon tour.
As the travel bug,
Continues to stir.

From Astoria,
To Crater Lake.
A few more stops,
Are left to make.

It’s been our home,
For four years now.
How much longer,
Will Meredith allow?

We’ll go to Holland,
Again someday.
We hope to see,
A warmer day.

This windmill looks,
Like Moulin Rouge.
Both off a bucket list,
That once loomed huge.

We’ll cross off more,
Once back to Disneyland.
From Banisters to Phoenix,
Before we get to Thailand,

I’m sure you’ll unwrap,
A porcelain Christmas.
May we find our travels,
Full of love & free of fuss.

Diary of an Adoptee: Thanks a Million #733

November 11, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Today, I wanted to spend some time acknowledging our Veterans for their service. Men and women who served our country to preserve freedom, some of whom gave their lives. Whether it be “Banister World” or “Johnston World,” I have lots of reasons to be thankful and proud. It’s appropriate that Veteran’s Day falls just few weeks prior to Thanksgiving, making November a month of Gratitude. After all, I was conceived in late November, nine months before my August birthday. I do not know the circumstances of the encounter that led to my birth, so I can only speculate on the two people involved. I do, however, have enough factual and DNA evidence to support a strong case.

I do know almost everything about the Johnston family that adopted me in the months after my birth. They could not have children of their own, so I was a gift. He was a Veteran of World War II, and they married after he returned from duty. His father was a Veteran of World War I. Her father, Ross Hancher, lived in Elwood, Indiana and was also a Veteran of World War I. Burt and Cathy met at Indiana University, and eventually chose Elkhart, Indiana, his hometown, to raise me and my adopted sister. Each of the Johnston and Hancher men put-off raising families and starting careers to serve our nation at war, and did not want me making the same sacrifice. Neither I nor my son Adam were called to duty, something both of us are thankful for today and every day. We did not have to face flying bullets, sleepless nights in tents, and the terrifying fear of knowing that each day might be the last. These men and their ancestors fought so we didn’t have to carry guns. Thank you is clearly not enough for what they did for all of us.

My adoption paperwork, that clearly matched census reports of the birth mother’s side of the Banister family, led to evidence of brothers, fathers, cousins, sisters, mothers, daughters and sons who served or are currently serving our country. I’ve seen pictures of them on Facebook, posted by Banister family members to remind us all of their patronage to our country. I don’t personally know any of them to thank, but I understand their significance in my life. This same report from the adoption agency gave very few clues about the birth father except that he was a Marine and another Veteran to thank.

DNA is helping me reconstruct his story. Perhaps a fling with my birth mother during a family reunion around Thanksgiving? Maybe they knew each other from high school, where he was a sports star and labeled a “heart breaker” in the yearbook? Since they were distant Banister cousins, they could not risk anyone knowing of their affair, whether it was one night or longer? He has already gone to the grave with this secret, while she, at 85-years old, continues to deny any connection. Maybe she had hopes of a longer relationship, but he “broke her heart” with news of marriage to another? Regardless, he left to serve our country, most likely unaware of her pregnancy and my birth. I wonder if they ever talked about it again, and why she left this single clue of his identity with the adoption agency? She was obviously proud of his decision to join the Marines, just as I am after looking through his military records, another man in my life that deserves our gratitude today.

Today is not just the day that those that are left remember those left behind. We also honor our living Veterans and their spouses, who also made personal sacrifices to secure our freedom. I’m thankful for their courage in doing something that I’m not sure I could have endured. I’m thankful to the service men and women that were classmates, friends, neighbors, and relatives. I’m thankful for our freedom and to anyone who helped secure this comfortable retirement that I enjoy. I’m thankful to be alive, and to have given life to others. I’m thankful to love and be loved. I’m thankful for the pets at my feet and the food that I eat. Happy Veteran’s Day and Happy Thanksgiving – Thanks a Million!

Ode to our Veterans

Out of gratitude,

This day was designed.

Where those that are left,

Remember those left behind.

Theirs was the ultimate,

Sacrifice paid.

Not to mention the heroics,

Our living heroes made.

For your brave service,

We thank you today.

And those above,

We kneel and pray.