A Matter of Death and Life

    I remember the last days of Winston Churchill.  He'd taken sick and the newspapers, radio and television were keeping a daily death watch.  I remember thinking he was old, fated to die, probably ready for the end at ninety plus years, and why not just let it happen.  It was 1965 and I was in my twenties. 
   George H.W. Bush is now pretty much in the same position as Churchill, good days and bad, rallying and declining, in any event near life's end at 88 years of age.  Now I root for him to fight for every day---"Do not go gentle."    Hang on, Poppy.  You can do it.  Maybe you won't be jumping out of any more airplanes, or dining on steak and lobster, but milkshakes are worth living for, and you have someone to kiss you goodnight.  It's strange how one's  outlook can change over the course of a mere 47 year span. 

The Davids

I saw David S. in church tonight, at Dorothy's Memorial Mass.  This is what I remember about him:   we lived for a while as tenants in his parents' house, near the reservoir. He was the youngest of three brothers as I recall, the elder two grown up, and though he must have been several years older, he used to play with my brother after his farm chores were done.  There was another boy who lived in an old brown house across the road a short distance away, David Owens I think was his name, and he would sometimes join the games played, which were always either Cops and Robbers or Cowboys and Indians.  Dorothy was too young to play outside, but I was old enough to at least observe the games.  One time I walked into the woodshed and saw one of the Davids holding my brother at gunpoint (or by a stick shaped like a gun), so I had to  help him.  I picked up a piece of wood and hit the David with it, trying for his head.  The David never turned around when I entered the shed, and when struck immediately fell to the ground.  I was little enough to have thought I knocked him out and saved my brother, too young to realize it was all part of the game. 
     Another day one of the boys brought his BB gun when he came to play, or hang out, as they say now. They seemed to me to be big boys, and I was not much interested in their doings until one boy, most likely on a bet, put the gun against another boy's leg and pulled the trigger.  BB's were not supposed to hurt; they were not considered real guns.  The shot victim David immediately let out a yell, and burst into tears, loud enough that my mother came outside to see what was wrong.  She ended up prying the BB out of the leg with a large sewing needle.  Most likely she doused it with Mercurochrome or Iodine, depending on his tolerance for pain.  Most likely of all is that no one ever told any of the parents; in those days that would have meant a major hurt for everybody involved. 

"The year is dying in the night..."

IN MEMORIAM        12-29-39            6-1-2011
                Roses, races, angels, loyalty and love

Moonstruck

   I just saw a list on the internet of the 20 most handsome movie stars of all time.  I would agree that some were handsome, others sultry, and some just famous.  The list  reminded me of the best looking man I'd ever met face to face.  Baby David was in the hospital again, this time for a hernia operation.  He was 22 months old, and his roommate was an older boy, a 10 year old twin who was having minor plastic surgery on his lip to correct the scars from an earlier automobile accident.  His name was Don and his twin brother either Dave or Dan, I think.  He was a very cute child, with dark hair, and very polite and helpful.  I remember one night he sprinkled talcum powder in everybody's shoes, including David's.  And although the nurses had told me David would be fine through the night once he'd fallen asleep, and that it would be safe for me to leave him then to go home, young Don told me that David had woken up after I left, and cried throughout much of the night.  That may have been why he, sleepless and concerned,  was dousing shoes with powder.   But it was that young boy's father who I would place on my most handsome list.  His name was Don: he and his wife were taking turns spending time at the hospital with their son, and he was oustandingly good-looking.  Very well built and well dressed and as nice and friendly as anyone could have been--both parents were, actually, but the father was the more remarkable.  One morning when we were sitting watch together, he was leaving to get coffee and asked me if I'd like him to bring me back one, and I had to say no. I occasionally drank coffee back  then, and could  have used a cup,  but I would have been too overwhelmed to drink it.  I remember I must have felt a little guilty being so enraptured by another man so early in our marriage, so I told my husband how impressed I was by this man.    I needn't have worried; it turned out that my husband had felt much the same way.

The Nth Child

"The essence of each:
Charm, grace, lightness,
Next, thoughtfulness, courage, and loyalty,
Then, compassion, humility, and love.
Now in memory only, past elixirs
Bound together by a fragile chain,
Its  separate links of hard-forged steel
The sole testament to the past."

Petty Grievance

   I've never watched Jeff Probst's new show.  I like him all right, I guess, but I can't get beyond his opening spiel, a Miss America-like  introduction where he tells you who he is.  He loses me at "I'm newly married."  Yecch! 

Lesson Learned--Ben Ten

    I asked him if at age 10, he knew what a palindrome was.  He answered no, so the teacher in me took over.  "It's a word that is spelled the same forward and backward. Can you give me an example?"    He thought for a few seconds, and said,  "Poop."