Category: POEMS (Page 17 of 30)

Rhymes of all kinds

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.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Opposites Attract #732

November 10, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

My wife is glad the weekend has arrived, but to me it’s just another day of retirement. Yesterday, the painters finally finished our lighter look, just in time to get our dining room back together for dinner guests tonight. One of my wife’s co-workers is joining the retirement club and she wants to cook a proper send-off for him and his wife. We’ll give up “Movie Night” to accommodate our guests. I’m in charge of coats and wine, two duties that I can’t possibly screw-up. I tend to be a bit more casual in my habits, while she prefers a more formal approach to entertaining. This includes actually hanging the coats up in the closet rather than throwing them over the chair in my office. A classic example of he does…she does.

She likes Broadway shows, while I prefer sporting events. She orders white wine, preferably a Sancerre, and I find red wine to be more compatible with my aging digestive system. She favors pampering guests with dinner at home, and I would much rather meet them at a restaurant, even if it means picking up the tab. I enjoy listening to the blues, but she finds it depressing. She loves to cook, while I find it stressful in a once-a-week effort to understand her passion. She saves and organizes recipes just I as collect baseball cards. She’s a neat-freak as opposed to me, a mess just waiting to happen. I’m a homebody and she’s a go-go girl. Yet, we’re madly in love with each other.

I do some cleaning, but it rarely meets her standards. She does everything to perfection and this is a definite attraction for me. I’m the “Under Dog” of the “Over Achiever.” Similarly, she always dresses up to go out on the town then frowns at my retirement uniform. She’s always been the gentle shove I need to improve and has made me a better person through our marriage. Managing me has to be exhausting work on her part, but she does it out of love. Though after years of training, I still leave cabinet doors open, doors unlocked, and closets cluttered. Last but not least, she’s an optimist that often counters my pessimistic attitude and would NEVER use the word never. Considering all my flaws, I’m lucky to have her.

Never Say Never

I often wonder?
How you and me.
With different tastes,
Ever came to be?

You never want to go,
Where I want to go.
You never want to see,
The same show.

On simple things,
We can’t agree.
We always tend,
To disagree.

Opposites attract,
The experts say.
It’s your way,
Or the Highway.

But you’re mostly right,
When I think you’re wrong.
It’s through compromise,
We both get along.

I avoid conflict,
While you stir it up.
I can stay calm,
When you suddenly erupt.

You never want to go,
Where I want to go.
I say yes,
But expect a no.

She would object,
To my use of “NEVER.”
“Never say never,”
On any endeavor.

You really want to go?
Where I want to go?
I’ve made some bad choices,
You’ve come to know.

You always need to go,
Where I want to go.
Together we share,
A passionate glow.

But I’m better off,
Following you.
My love has proven,
To be loyal and true.

Our River of Romance,
continues to flow.
Plus, you seem to know,
Where I want to go.

We seem to be wired,
From an opposite pole.
But working together,
Towards OUR goal.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Queen #726

November 4, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Last night my wife and I went to see Bohemian Rhapsody – the story of Queen. It was the same successful formula as A Star is Born, the rise of an unknown artist into stardom. It was a welcome departure from too much Queen Cersei Lannister of Game of Thrones, who I’ve grown to despise in the popular television series. “Movie Night” gets me out of the house and away from the television screen for a few hours. Once my morning run is done, I’m typically a slug the rest of each day.

For some odd reason, I mistakenly thought that the members of Queen had met at the Julliard School of Music where they studied the classical music influences in Bohemian Rhapsody. I’m not sure I could have been any further from the truth, or at least how Hollywood portrayed it. As a result, after watching a movie like this, I immediately jump on the internet for some “facts.”

I guess I really didn’t know anything about Freddie Mercury at all, other the fact that I loved his voice and that he tragically died of AIDS as a result of being sexually promiscuous. I never knew he was born Ferrokh Bulsara in Zanzibar (now Tanzania), practiced the Zoroastrian religion, had a younger sister Kashmira, moved to Middlesex in his mid-teens, and was married for six years to Mary Austin. The movie held true to these details, including how in April of 1970 he joined guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor in a band called Smile, after their lead vocalist suddenly quit. Soon after, he changed the name of the group to Queen and designed their logo to represent his flamboyant style, in conjunction with zodiac signs of all four members that also included bassist John Deacon.

Mercury wrote 10 of the group’s 17 greatest hits, but was not particularly successful doing two solo albums then returned to the band he considered family. His live performance at Live Aid was one of the greatest on record and was majestically captured in the film. In retrospect, I missed one of the humorous segments of the movie by not recognizing Mike Myers in his role as EMI record executive Ray Foster. He’s quoted as saying after listening to the six-minute long song, “mark these words…no one will listen to Queen.” He ironically implied, with a British accent, that youngsters would not be cruising along to their operatic-like music. Seventeen years later, the movie Wayne’s World featured Myers, Dana Carvery and friends riding around their hometown of Aurora, Illinois in an AMC Pacer singing along to a cranked-up version of Bohemian Rhapsody.” He was purposely cast in the perfect role as the cynic who refused to accept their creativity. Wayne’s World helped to put the song back at the top of the charts for the second time since it was originally released. Unfortunately, Freddie Mercury was no longer alive to enjoy its unprecedented reprisal.

My wife and I were still discussing the movie the next morning, so it must have been good. Sadly, it doesn’t deserve to be in the same paragraph as the next subject. I woke up to a pile of poop on the kitchen floor, maybe the result of the time change last night? After too many “Creature Feature” posts that appear as part of this blog about our aging schnauzer Tinker, “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” it was suggested by a friend that I have “poop on the brain.” I had promised to refrain from writing about it for awhile, until this morning’s “Poopsident.” It was later that my wife also found she had made a deposit on one of the painter’s tarps spread out on our living room floor. It’s hard for me to ignore the subject when I spend a good portion of every day walking them around the neighborhood armed with a bevy of doggy bags. After five or six trips outside every day picking up after her, maybe a better nickname is the “Queen of Poop?” “Crazy Little Thing Called Poop“

My friends are right – I do have poop on the brain:

Oops – Poopsident

As I walked in the kitchen,
And picked up the scent.
It wasn’t a good smell,
But rather a Poopsident.

Was it my fault?
For waiting too long?
She knows better,
Something went wrong.

With time change last night.
She was forced to wait.
I slept an extra hour,
And it was too late.

Does she need a diaper?
Or maybe a plug?
At least it was tile,
And not a Persian rug.

I took her outside,
And she had to go more.
Just how much poop?
Can a little pup store?

She overeats,
Then asks for treats.
After a snack,
The cycle repeats.

Next, magic happens,
That some may doubt.
Whatever goes in,
Even more comes out.

She’s a machine,
The “Queen of Poop.”
I need to get,
A larger scoop.

Incidents Happen,
I may be to blame?
On this occasion,
I could see her shame.

Her appetite’s grown,
As she’s gotten older.
Sometimes her output,
Is as big as a boulder.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Kings #715

October 24, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

The closest I’ve come to a King is a Chess match or Spider Solitaire. The only time I’ve ever said the words, “King Me” is in an occasional game of Checkers. I was never Prom King or Homecoming King, so I’ve never worn a crown. I do however sit on the throne, preferably every day. Elvis was my modern day “The King,” while Burger King was once an advertising account, and the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, a memorable tragedy in my lifetime. I’ve ridden the roller coaster at King’s Island, read thrillers by Stephen King, gone to Red Lobster for King Crab, listened to the music of B.B. King & Carole King, driven down King Street here in Portland, and slept on a King-sized mattress. Last but not least, I’ve had meals fit for a King and thankfully never fit in the King’s Clothing.

I’ve heard that it’s “Good to be the King.” In fact, someone once bought me a mug with that profound saying, but unfortunately it got broken in one of our many moves. I’m actually surprised that my wife hasn’t taken me to see the Broadway musical “The King and I,” but we did go see “The Lion King.” Oh, I take that back – apparently it’s part of the ticket package we just received from the Portland Broadway Series. Also, every time I look at the Empire State Building when we’re in Manhattan, I can’t help but think of King Kong monkeying around, and every cheap motel room seems to have a copy of the King James Bible, not to be confused with LeBron “King” James. Also in the wide world of sports, there’s Pele, the “King of Football” along with England’s Ledley King; Eddie Feigner of softball lore known as the “King and His Court” with 141,517 no-hitters, 141,517 strikeouts, and 238 perfect games; “The King of Clay,” Rafael Nadal; “King Felix” Hernandez of the Seattle Mariners; “King Carl” Hubbard of the baseball New York Giants; Bernard King of the NBA NY Knicks; King Kelly of the 1878 undefeated Cincinnati Reds; Female golfer Betsy King; Monday Morning Quarterback writer Peter King; Billie Jean King of “Battle of the Sexes” tennis fame; and NHL Hall of Fame player, referee, coach, & executive Michael “King” Clancy of the Toronto Maple Leafs. The L.A. Kings finally won a Stanley Cup in 2012, while the Sacramento Kings haven’t ruled the basketball court since 1951, but back then they were actually the Rochester Royals. Not Kings!

Without getting into the religious aspects of Christ the King, the most famous actual crowned head was probably King Arthur, who according to medieval histories and romances, led the defense of Britain against Saxon invaders in the late 5th and 6th centuries. Many details of Arthur’s story are mainly composed of folklore, including the legend of the sword. There are still 43 modern-day countries that have a royal family and 28 families or rulers over them. The richest King is Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand. Perhaps, I’ll go visit him and his $30 billion in March when we visit Bangkok and Phuket this spring. 92- year old Queen Elizabeth II has ruled Canada and the United Kingdom since 1952, and just recently allowed the legalization of cannabis. Prince Charles is heir apparent, so a King could soon be back in charge, if he’s not too stoned. Just kidding. Besides, Freddie Mercury may be the most famous Queen, and he broke all the royal rules.

All this talk of Kings is really a result of my recent fascination with Game of Thrones (GOT). When I started the series earlier this week, there were Five Kings involved in a war to rule the Iron Throne, hence the name of the show. It’s based on the book A Song of Fire and Ice by George R. R. Martin, and inspired by this poem from Robert Frost:

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

The Five GOT Kings include:

Joffrey Baratheon
Balon Greyjoy (He establishes independent kingdom – Iron Islands)
Robb Stark (He is proclaimed king of the North, after death of his father)
Stannis Baratheon.
Renly Baratheon (Renly also stakes a claim for the throne after winning support from Baratheon Bannermen)

So Far, three are dead, but heirs continue to fight for control of the Seven Kingdoms. Of the soon to be eight seasons of “Lannister World,” I’m nearly half-way there. Admittedly, I have some aspirations to be King, but I’m not even the head of our household – the Queen rules! My scepter today was the toilet brush, and my Royal duties included walking the Royal dogs, cleaning the Royal cat’s litter box, and applying Easy-Off to Her Majesty’s oven. Long Live The King, in the shadow of the Queen!

Old Sport Shorts: Post Season #707

October 17, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I could have, or rather should be watching the Cubs play today. I’ve got the Post Season Blues! My wife and I were in LA last year at this time, to watch them be painfully eliminated by the Dodgers. This year was even worse, losing the Central Division to the Brewers in a Tie-Breaker game and then falling to the Rockies in a Wildcard showdown to quickly end the season. As a result, the Brewers have claimed their Championship trophy as well as their dugout seats at Chavez Ravine, and I’m watching at home. I’m certainly glad they have afternoon games for the benefit of us retirees.

I haven’t written about sports in two weeks now since nothing positive has happened in my world, and I’m still probably in mourning. Even the always reliable I.U soccer team gave up an unprecedented three goals in a loss to Kentucky. In fact, it’s been more than two years since Notre Dame beat them 4-0 in 2016. I.U. Football got off to a good start, but sputtered badly these past couple weeks. My Chicago Bears have lost their last two games. Basketball season hasn’t officially started yet, and I would need to stretch my interests to include the Portland Timbers to find any recent promise. The only news out of the Cubs was the firing of their hitting coach, John Mallee, and consequential hiring of Anthony Iapoce – if that’s anything to get excited about?

I continue to root for the Brewers, despite my sour grapes tendencies to be a bitter loser. It’s easier to stomach since the Astros, Red Sox, and Dodgers are not among my team favorites. The Milwaukee Brewers have never won a World Series, and the franchise has been deprived since 1957, so they continue to have my sympathetic support. Also, it’s nothing new but I’m not optimistic about the I.U. Hoosier football chances against Penn State this week, although they are still on-track for a minor Bowl bid.

Regarding the top-heavy NBA, the Portland Trailblazers will probably have another underwhelming season, while the Indiana Pacers are too far away to generate any sustained interest. Despite my current pessimistic view about sports in general, I actually have high expectations for Coach Archie Miller and his much-talked about recruiting class at Indiana University, my Cream & Crimson Alma Mater. It’s only 15 short days until their exhibition debut against Southern Indiana and anticipation is running high.

To cover one more aspect of my sports interests, we’re starting to receive some wine shipments from our recent visit to Napa Valley. The one I’m anticipating the most is from the Andretti Vineyards. I had no idea the Mario and his family were in the wine business, but it makes sense with the Sonoma Raceway in his back yard. I’m adding a couple of Andretti-produced Indy 500 100-year anniversary bottles to my sports collection that already includes some Cubs wine celebrating the 2016 World Series Champions. I did enjoy going to the Portland International Speedway a few months ago, and seeing the impressive Andretti garage and hospitality set-up. Unfortunately, nephew Marco Andretti was eliminated in the very first turn of the track, a familiar curse that has plagued the family on race day. Son Michael, a current team owner, is related to one of my wife’s co-workers. Mario was great at qualifying and still holds a record with 67 poles, but experienced a lot of misfortune on Sundays. The classic announcer line was always, “Mario is slowing down!” Although he is one of my racing heroes, I once wrote this silly but short poem, that I’m sure the family wouldn’t appreciate:

Mar-i-o

Mar-i-o,
Oh Mar-i-o.
Please tell me,
It Ain’t so.

Round and round,
You’d quickly go.
Then suddenly,
You’d start to slow.

Became a fan,
In Sixty-Nine.
When your Lotus,
Ran just fine.

Granatelli’s kiss?
Is this curse true?
They took Eighty-One,
Away from you.

Bad Valve?
Or out of gas?
You had to sit,
And watch them pass.

You’ve lost a wheel,
Burned your face.
Mechanical failures,
Cost many a race.

Exhaust pipe,
Or another crash.
Indy became,
A Mario bash.

Could you win,
Another crown?
No, Mar-i-o,
“Is slowing down.”

Mar-i-o,
Oh Mar-i-o.
Please tell me,
It Ain’t so.

Retirement is not without Hassles: Reflection in the mirror #703

October 16, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I’ve been in a reflective mood these past couple of days, so I’ve cast a few glances in the mirror. For obvious reasons, news stories of death and destruction are reminders of my own good fortune. Unfortunately, it’s at someone else’s expense, and I naturally want to help. In addition, after a weekend of selfish gourmet dining and gluttonous wine-tasting, I felt a need to make some donations. When we got back, I also noticed that our 100-year old schnauzer was moving even slower with painful, arthritic steps. It’s always a reminder of my own mortality. As I watch her get older, I often wonder how longer she’ll be with us and what can be done to provide any comfort. She has certainly not lost her appetite, which is the only positive sign. I’m thinking about adding some nutritional support to help with her joint health. I’ve recently started experimenting with Glucosamine Chondroitin. Aging can be a cruel reality, and I do whatever I can to ignore the inevitable.

When you travel, you often see yourself in a different light than at home. Hotel rooms are often dark and their mirrors never flattering, so you notice the bags under your eyes from overnight flights, early morning meetings, rental car hassles, and strange-bed stress. New wrinkles, sagging skin, and grey hair are all signs of aging, magnified by exhaustion. Not to mention, the bad-hair mornings after a night of tossing-and-turning in an unfamiliar setting. I initially took notice, but then quickly adjusted, my mind somehow showing me the face that I wanted to see in the mirror. It’s been a quiet day at home today, and I was bored enough to write another poem:

Reflection…noitcelfeR

When I look in the mirror,
I see yesterday.
When wrinkles and gray,
Didn’t look back my way.

It’s not a reflection,
Of the real me.
I’m not getting older,
It just can’t be.

My imagination,
Must be kind.
My eyes afraid,
Of what they’ll find.

Don’t notice the darkness,
Under my eyes.
I refuse to age,
So, I see only lies.

Sometimes my body,
Doesn’t agree.
I tell it I’m better,
Than I used to be.

But I can’t ignore,
The aches and pains.
Or my left knee,
When it rains.

I prefer to ignore,
The inevitable end.
On being oblivious,
I often depend.

Others are changing,
But I’m not at their pace.
I can feel it in my bones,
But can’t see it in my face.

My mind’s eye shows,
I haven’t aged a bit.
The longer I live,
The younger I get.

Creature Features: Hamkering #699

October 15, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Tom Hanks had a “hankering” for distance running, when he portrayed Forrest Gump in the movies. If you’re not familiar with the word, I looked up the definition:.

A strong wish: Don’t you ever have a hankering for a different lifestyle?
Feelings of desire: Don’t you ever have a hankering for ham, like our dogs?

Thesaurus: synonyms and related words:

appetite, call, caprice, compulsion, covetous, craving, dream, drive, get itchy feet, hunger, impulse buy, impulse buying, inclination, longing, lust, vaulting, whim, wish, yearning, or yen.

Our pets have a similar desire when it comes to ham – I call it “hamkering.” Every night before bedtime we feed them pieces of Hillshire Farms Honey Baked Turkey Breast. The brand has varied through the years and has evolved from ham to turkey for health reasons. Our pets don’t know the difference and never complained when the change was discretely instituted. “Ham Time” was actually the suggestion of our veterinarian back in Indianapolis (Zionsville). He felt that the protein was a valuable supplement to our dog’s regular diet and our cats enjoyed the tasty benefits, as well. The excitement it generates each night is indescribable, but I would imagine it to be a heavenly experience. To me, H.A.M. is an appropriate abbreviation for Heavenly Angelic Moment I’ve used a poem to help define this experience:

Hamkering

Just before bedtime,
A very familiar scent.
The start of another,
Heavenly Angelic Moment.

The sky seems to open,
The angels start to sing.
And point to the heavens,
With the wave of a wing.

A symphony of musicians,
Accompany this sight.
Everything is bathed,
In breath-taking white.

A ray of golden sunshine,
Breaks through the clouds.
A feeling of ecstasy,
Comfortably Enshrouds.

They’ve waited all day,
For this moment to come.
The refrigerator opens,
Ham Time has begun.

Trumpets blare,
To the beat of the drums.
A tingling sensation,
Starts in their gums.

Tongue anticipation,
An adrenaline rush.
Tails perk-up,
Saliva starts to gush.

Lips are licked,
Eyes dilate.
The package unsealed,
They just can’t wait.

Trying to be gentle,
They grab for a bite.
Then they want more,
Restraining to fight.

Then it’s all over,
To bed they retreat.
With dreams of getting,
More of it to eat.

And when daylight comes,
The first thing to mind.
Even before they,
Scratch their behind.

They start to have,
A real Hamkering.
And they can’t wait,
For the angels to sing.