Practice Makes Perfect

A first-time visitor to New York City asked a Cop on the corner, "How do I get to Carnegie Hall?" The Cop replied, "Practice man, practice." That is, indeed, the way to become proficient at just about anything.

My old buddy, Chas, and I were teammates on our Junior High basketball team. Chas always laughed at my so-called jump shot. He said that I looked like a frog. Unfortunately, I did. I looked like a frog because that's the way I practiced my shot. Though it's hard to believe now, I was very skinny back then, and could barely get the ball to the basket from the free throw line. I had to hold the ball with both hands, way back behind my head, jump with legs akimbo and hurl the danged thing. I got very good at looking like a frog. Unfortunately, since I rarely made a basket, I got very good at missing. If it ever went in the basket, it was because I didn't do it the way I had practiced it.

I have played golf for many years. I have sliced and pushed the ball to the right for as many years as I've played, and I'm much better at slicing and pushing it today than I was twenty years ago. Why, you may ask? I'm firmly convinced that if you practice doing something right, you get better at doing it right, but if you practice doing something wrong, you get just as proficient. I am danged near Pro proficient at doing just about everything wrong that is possible on a golf course. I love the game.

Getting old just comes naturally, but "Being Old" (that's getting old and danged good at it), you guessed it, takes practice. Anybody can just get old and go to "The Home", but "Being Old" and entering "The Home", now that's sweet !

I practice "Being Old" a little bit every day, and if you want to get good at it, so should you. You youngsters, take note. It's never too early to start.

Shuffling:

Shuffling is a major part of old, and all old-timers shuffle. But, shuffling well doesn't just happen on it's own. I like to approach it much like a golfer; develop a routine that promotes "muscle-memory", and once you have the fundamentals down, it's always easy to return to the basics in the event that you have an "off day".

-The Stance: The stance is all important. Your feet should be at shoulder width, toes pointed straight ahead. Bend your knees and keep them bent at all times. Keep your back as straight as possible with your shoulders thrown back and head jutting forward. Your arms should be held tightly at your side with your elbows bent and your forearms parallel to the ground.

-The Action: Maintaining the stance at all times, slide your feet forward, never more than 6-8 inches at a time. Your feet are never to leave the ground, never. I probably don't need to mention this, but a word of caution may be necessary for beginners: do not attempt to move both feet at the same time. Alternate. If you're having difficulty achieving the proper action, try practicing with a pair of old slippers, either the open heeled kind, or a pair with heels that you've stomped down so well that there's no way you can keep them on your feet unless you slide them across the floor. Try to dodder.

-The Appearance: Your appearance is of the utmost importance. You want to look the part as well as live it. If you have dentures or partials etc., try leaving them out occasionally. Keep your jaws tightly together with your lips pressed tightly together as well. Drooling is optional (more on this later).

-Suggestions: I like to do this once or twice daily, just across a room or two. Try to include both carpeted surfaces and hard surfaces. You can never be sure what you'll encounter at "The Home". Once in a while, throw in a little stumble; not a full blown pratfall with face plant, but just a hint of a stumble. Another word of caution: Do NOT practice the stumble move so often that you develop "muscle-memory". Remember, if you practice it to the point of getting good at it, you'll become so proficient at stumbling that you'll be falling all over the place. They get really upset when you do this at "The Home", and they'll probably call your kids and rat you out.

Dentures:

Although modern dental hygiene has eliminated a lot of denture use, they're still a part of the fun of getting old for many folks, and thus, they're definitely part of "Being Old". Forgetting to put your dentures or partials in and/or losing them are the two major activities to focus on in your practice routines. I know, it seems a little ticky-tacky, but you'd be surprised how many oldsters never forget them or lose them. I wouldn't spend a lot of time on this, but it should be part of your practice schedule. Breaking your dentures is something you may wish to consider, but I never recommend practicing it, they're way too expensive. It's your call. One other minor thing, and then we'll leave this part of the discussion. You may want to place your dentures in a soaker glass and leave them in a conspicuous spot now and then. Also, try and do all of the above from time to time when dinner guests are present; not often, but just so you get the feel for it.

Drooling:

Drooling is definitely optional. I'm not much into it, but apparently, there are a lot of folks who are, so I feel moved to include just a passing reference here. I guess my take on it is, if you're going to drool, don't dribble, drool ! As far as technique is concerned, I'll just have to leave that up to you. Sorry.

Nodding Off:

All oldsters nod off, so this is a must do. I find nodding off to be one of the most boring parts of my routine, but it's so necessary. So, whenever you're reading the paper or a book, or watching TV, just let your eyes close slowly, and lower your head for a few moments, every chance you get. Try to incorporate a "head-bob" with every other nod off. I'm not suggesting a whiplash move here, just a "head-bob". If you experience difficulty with the nod off try tuning in to a Bowling match or an Infomercial on TV. For some, watching Golf may help, unless Tiger's playing. Some folks may have a measure of success by having a cocktail before this part of your routine, but a degree of caution should be taken if you choose to imbibe a Martini. One should do the trick, but two may induce a "head-bob" that may result in your needing a neck-brace.

Forgetfulness:

This is my "piece of cake". I haven't really had to practice this much at all. My best suggestion is to encourage your spouse or partner (for the Politically Correct crowd) to make a "Job Jar" filled with slips of paper with various chores written on them. They'll love to be included in helping you in your journey toward "Being Old", as long as they understand that the "Job Jar" is only make-believe. I must caution you, though, this can backfire on you if your spouse/partner is also practicing forgetfulness. Then, whenever you need to work forgetfulness into your routine, take out a job slip, throw it away and go do something you'd rather do. Another great way to exercise forgetting, is to never put your car keys in your pocket, so that every time you and your loved one are going for a drive, you'll have to get back out of the car and go back inside to retrieve your keys. Finally, and I recommend this only if you're having a lot of difficulty with forgetting, whenever you are right at the point of backing out of your garage with your spouse/partner, put the car back in "Park" and say, "I think I'd better use the bathroom before we go." Go back inside, use the bathroom if need be, then go sit down and turn on the TV. Believe me, you'll be surprised at how few times you'll have to do the bathroom thing before you'll either be a very proficient forgetter, or you will never forget another thing in your lifetime.

Losing things:

This one can be fun. As you all know, losing things in your own home is nearly impossible to do. You really have to try to be able to intentionally lose things. It's a lot like hiding your own Easter Eggs, and I don't know how I can help you get better at it. I've practiced it so much that I think I finally have it down. I hid my eyeglasses the other night, and when I awoke the next morning, I couldn't find them. A word of caution here; hiding or losing your eyeglasses is not a good thing to do. They're very hard to find without having your eyeglasses on. But, my Darling Darlene came to my rescue, and found them in the half bath. I've gotten so good at it, that I don't even remember hiding them there. I know one thing though, I sure don't want to lose My Darling Darlene. I thank God every day for her, and I can't imagine getting old or "Being Old" without her.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

Back In The Saddle

A very belated Happy New Year ! My last post was December 16, 2008, so it's been nearly a month since Senior Speak has spoken. So, for all of you who have sent E-Mails wondering whether I had finally shut up, firstly, thank you for asking, and secondly, no I haven't.

The Holidays were so incredibly busy, and I had quite a list of Stained Glass pieces that needed doing, and the danged Elves were afraid they'd cut their fingers, and insisted on hazardous duty pay, and on and on ad nauseum. Then, on New Year's Eve, I was bit by the Flu Bug. For those of you who have had it, my sympathies. For those of you who haven't had it, don't get it. It ain't worth doin'.

If all that wasn't enough, my computer decided to entertain a whole host of viruses, and it took the Fix-it shop a whole week plus $150.00 to clear 'em out, and I've spent the last 2 days trying to get things back to the way they were before. I don't deal as well with change as I used to. Go figure. I also had to deal with another Birthday a little before Christmas, to add a little more trauma. So, welcome back to my Vale of Tears.

This first post of 2009 will be a sort of Bits 'n' Pieces post, so if I ramble a little, please bear with me.

A while back, My Darlin' Darlene found a wonderful piece titled "Grandma's Apron", which I'll share with you now.

Grandma's Apron
I don't think our kids know what an apron is. The principal use of

Grandma's apron was to protect the dress underneath, because she only had a few. It was easier to wash aprons than dresses and they used less material, but along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven. It was wonderful for drying children's tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears. From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven. When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids. And, when the weather was cold, grandma wrapped it around her arms. Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove. Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron. From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls. In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees. When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds. When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner. It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that 'old-time apron' that served so many purposes. Send this to those who would know, and love, the story about Grandma's aprons. Or it can be a good history lesson for those that have no idea how the apron played a part in our lives.

REMEMBER:Grandma used to set her hot baked apple pies on the window sill to 'cool'. Her granddaughters set theirs on the window sill to 'thaw'.They would go crazy now trying to figure out how many germs were on that apron; however, I don't think I ever caught anything from an apron.

Boy, does that bring back memories! I hope that every one of you has at least one memory of a Grandma's Apron. I am so fortunate that I had two "Aproned Grandma's", along with my own mother and my Aunt Lola who were apron devotees. My family was, at best, somewhat "countrified". I recall helping both of my Grandmas carry in kindling for their wood cookstoves, although I didn't have the advantage of an apron, which they surely did.

We spent many summer vacations "down home" in Ellsinore, a tiny (today's population: 360) village in the Ozark foothills of Southern Missouri. It was much smaller back then, and we loved it. Other than the two County Roads that intersected near the Greyhound Bus Stop, all the streets were hard packed red dirt. There was a creek across the road from Grandma's house, and my brother, my cousin Jurdy Leach (a red-haired, freckled replica of Huckleberry Finn) and I spent hours catching crawdads and chasing snakes after Daily Vacation Bible School. Then, up the creek bank to a huge Mulberry tree which we climbed, lounged in the shade and ate our fill and then some. On some weekend nights, a huge white tarp was fastened to the side of the only brick building in town, to serve as a movie screen, and the townfolk would gather to watch; not so much Drive-In as Stand-In movies. Ozark people are easily amused.

It wasn't much different when we returned to our home, about 5 miles north of Reed City, Michigan, although we did have electricity and a natural gas space heater. Plumbing was something for city folks. My earliest recollection of indoor plumbing was when we finally moved to town on Church Street in Reed City. I was 10 years old, and thought I was finally "livin' in tall cotton", as my Dad called it, though, for the life of me, I have no idea what "livin' in tall cotton" actually refers to. Obviously, you can take a boy out of the Ozarks, but you just can't take the Ozarks out of the boy. Southerners do have a penchant for colorful language and expressions.

My Dad would call a hard rain a "Frog Strangler". One time, while playing catch, he threw me a high, hard one. When I flinched and ducked, he laughed and said that I was "blinkin' like a hog in a hailstorm". My Uncle John Lehr was a master of colorful expression. When I was around 4 or 5, and had experienced a bit of a growth spurt, he remarked to my Dad that I was "danged near big enough to turn over gravel", a reference to my supposed urinary prowess.

As I said earlier, I may ramble a bit, and it appears that my mind is stuck in the Ozark backwoods. I'm enjoying it, but I fear that it may be asking a lot of my readers to continue down this particular path, so I'll save some for another time.

Now, if I could just find some old-fashioned flour sacks, and a pattern for those great old aprons. And if I knew how to sew, and...

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr ( Michguy)

Mister, Get Your Reindeer Off My Roof !

How in the world did it manage to get to the 16th of December without me knowing it ? Something weird happens every year, between mid-November and December 20; days disappear. I think it has something to do with birthdays. December 20 is my birthday and it always catches me off guard. I should be getting better at remembering that it's coming, I've had enough practice. This will be the 66th time I've forgotten, although I think I can be excused for forgetting the first few.

Sixty-six ! Hard to imagine. At this moment, I can only think of 2 good things about 66. First, it's great to have made it, and second, I love Route 66. Not the Highway itself, but the aura that it's generated over the years; the romance of the road West, from Chicago to Southern California. I like the song too. "...get your kicks on Route 66." which segues me into my topic for today, Christmas Music.

Can you imagine anything that has produced a wider range of musical output than Christmas ? From the ridiculousness of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer", to the sublimity of Handel's "Messiah". My Darlin Darlene and I have managed to cover the gamut fairly well. I haven't done an actual count, but we have a stereo system that has a 51 slot carousel, and our Christmas CD collection won't fit. And, I'm proud to say, we don't have a CD that includes the "Grandma..." thing.

I love the music of Christmas, and always have, although I'm happy to confine my enjoyment to the month of December, give or take a day or two. My Darlin' Dar and I always Deck our Halls for Christmas on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and mark the season's onset by playing some of our favorite Christmas music as we decorate. Every year, since my daughter, Alicia, sent it to us around 14 years ago, the first CD that we play is Aaron Neville's wonderful "Soulful Christmas". Try it, you'll love it.

We spend at least one evening every season sitting by the fire enjoying the "Messiah", and our collection of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's CD's. I also have to get my fix of the Christmas music from my childhood, and since my childhood lasted for more years than most people's, this covers a lot of ground; Glenn Miller, Bing, Frank, Dean, Tony Bennett's "Snowfall" CD. I even sneak in a little Gene Autry, although I still maintain that Rudolph, whom Gene introduced in the 50's, is a cartoon interloper who really doesn't belong, since Clement Moore never mentioned him in his poem that defined Christmas Eve, forever. My Darlin' Dar has an amazing amount of tolerance, but every year, when I finally sneak in my Andrews Sisters' Christmas CD, my control over what gets played, ceases.

A couple years back, I stumbled across a Christmas CD that is extraordinary. Imagine a Rock Band doing a Christmas CD. I'm sure that if I'd stumbled across a Christmas CD by REO Speedwagon, I would have passed, but this wasn't by just any Rock Band. This was by the Moody Blues. You really do need to find it. It's called "December", and it's excellent except for one song. The only track that is a typical Christmas offering, is "White Christmas" and it's the only skippable song on the CD. Try it, you'll love it.

Nearly everybody has Barbra Streisand, Mannheim Steamroller, Trans-Siberian Orchestra and all the classics. Check out Peabo Bryson's "Peace On Earth", Kenny G, and Harry Connick Jr.'s stuff. But, whatever you do, enjoy this wonderful season, and stay warm.

Now, I've gotta get back to my Stained Glass Workshop. Lotsa presents to complete. By the way, the Santa at the top is my Son-In-Law, Donovan, my daughter Alicia's husband, playing Santa at their store, Kidz-'N'-More, out in Garberville, California.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

More Rhyme Than Reason

As I mentioned in my last post, some of my readers who have read a few of my poems (I usually call them rhymes), have asked that I post them here. It took me longer to decide on a title for this post than it did to write a few of my poems. I struggled with "Lehr: Modern Longfellow" or "Frost, Reborn" and a few more grandiose ones. My thinking was that I'll never get these published unless I do it myself, and as long as it's my site ---well, you get my drift. My Uncle John Lehr told me once, many years ago, "If you don't blow your own horn now and then, somebody's gonna think it's a funnel, and pour a buncha hooey down it." But, humility won out, and humility becomes me so.
I hope you enjoy these, and perhaps get a chuckle or a tear.

The first one is called, "And Then There Were Eight, Again". I wrote this in response to the Planet Pluto's being demoted to unplanetary status a while back.

And Then There Were Eight, Again

-Don Lehr

When our parents were young, there were eight.
But Clyde’s famous find made it nine.
Though named for the god of the Underworld,
Pluto has seemed quite benign.

But being a planet is tough,
It’s got to live up to it’s hype.
Though Pluto tried hard, the Club changed the rules,
And Pluto was sent down the pipe.

I don’t know how it made you feel,
But it gave me a case of the ickies.
Thank goodness we still have the other one though.
Pluto---- the dog----
Mickey’s.

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This next one is "...not stupid, merely foolish." I was getting a haircut, and suddenly the electric clippers were doing something in my ear, and then the other ear. So, "Geezers With Tweezers".

Geezers With Tweezers

-Don Lehr

As I squandered my youth,
Both unkempt and uncouth,
Growing older held no fear for me.
Just fill up my glass,
And get one for that lass
Over there. Life was all it should be.
Even after youth faded,
I never grew jaded,
Nor minded the passing of years.
But the one thing that’s wracked
Me with fear is the fact
That old men all have hair in their ears.

I know it seems trivial,
And I mean it convivial’,
Still, it does make me pause,
To ponder what purpose,
What reason, what service
This hair, this nausea cause
Fills? So wiry and coarse,
Much like fescue or gorse,
The thought nearly brings me to tears.
I know fully and well,
That a part of Man’s Hell,
Begins here, with hair in our ears!

Now dignity is tough
To maintain, as enough
Men will quite willingly testify.
We endure spreading torso’s,
With, “There’s just some more so’s
To love”, and a wink of our eye.
But the thought that just chills me,
(‘Twill be this that kills me)
Is this one, my greatest of fears,
“ Here lies an Old Geezer,
Found dead with his tweezer,
Apparently pulling hair from his ears.”

O-o-o-kay.

-----------------------------------

"The Trail Past Santa Fe" is one of my favorites. That's probably because I dearly love the people that are involved; my Darlin' Darlene, Alene Hunt and the late Slim Hunt. Slim's real name was Don, but I called him Slim because he was slim. He was one of the finest people I've ever known, a good old Arkansas boy with a continual smile and a twinkle in his eye. I miss him.

The poem relates how we were going up to Santa Fe, but Alene wanted to show us so much other stuff that we never actually got there. By the way, Madrid is the town where most of the movie "Wild Hogs" was filmed. It's pronounced with the emphasis on the first syllable, otherwise it throws off the rhythm of the poem.

The Trail Past Santa Fe

-Don Lehr

We headed out of Edgewood in the big white Cadillac,
Trail Boss Alene, up front with Dar. Slim Hunt ‘n’ me in back.
Our destination, Santa Fe, that storied Old West town.
The Boss an’ Slim said, “...just can’t wait to show you all around.”

We crossed the San Pedros mountains, stopped at Madrid on the way,
Where a bunch of burned out Hippies had decided that they’d stay.
With no apparent way to turn a dollar, they were sunk,
‘Til they got the inspiration to make “artwork” outa junk.

Old, worn out tires and beer cans are just trash to most us folks,
But those Hippies turned them into gold, with the help of self-rolled smokes.
The artsy-fartsies snap it up, but to my frame of mind,
It’s still plain junk inspired by, a few tokes over the line.

The Boss said, “Jump !” We said, “How high?” We jumped back in the car,
“Let’s head on up to Taos first. It’s really not that far.”
Through desert, right past Santa Fe, she wound that Cadillac.
“There’s lots of time, we’ve got all day. We’ll stop on our way back.”

“Chimayo’s next. To not stop there would be an awful sin.”
But sinful that I am, I caused some tension to set in.
Now I know well, Religion is a topic we should skirt,
But I made a “Baptist” comment ‘bout the Church of Holy Dirt.

Slim looked at me agrinnin’ wide, just like that Cheshire cat.
But I lucked out, I’d only caused a minor-major spat.
How Catholics can live in peace with Baptists is now clear.
Just sit the “Sprinklers” up in front, us “Dunkers” in the rear

The lunch in Taos was real fine, the Margaritas too,
We hit the shops a runnin’, there was so much left to do.
Back on the road, “Jeez, check your watch, our time is slippin’ away,
We’d like to catch the Indians sellin’ silver in Santa Fe.”

So off we motored, racin’ time. “There’s too danged much to do
In just one day.” I settled back and marveled at the view.
The Rio Grande, the desert hills, the sky so blue ‘n’ clear,
Ol’ Slim, who’d seen it all before, said,”How’d you like a beer?”

“Now beers don’t come in ones” says I, “but if there’s two, I’m sold.”
“I got two apiece, Alene can’t drink, she’s drivin’, an’ they’re still cold.”
You talk about enjoy yourself; a picture-perfect day,
The gals up front and us in back drinkin’ roadies on our way.

Alene bewailed, “I can’t believe we’re runnin’ out of time,
The Indians are gone, St. Frank’s is locked, it’s simply just a crime.
It’s such a shame that Santa Fe shuts down at 5 o’clock.”
I said, “Don’t fret. We’ll come back up. Hey, ain’t that Camel Rock?”

Then Slim piped up, “Casino time! It’s early, then we’ll go
To Pelican’s for grub, but now let’s stop and win some dough.”
Those Indians knew the Boss and Slim were gamblers to be feared,
But they’d cut their losses with the Blonde and the fat guy with the beard.

Those one-armed-bandits left me’n Dar with just an empty cup,
But the Boss ‘n’ Slim were on a roll, you’d think they’d set it up.
Yeah, Dar ‘n me were separated fast from our hard earned pay,
While the Boss ‘n’ Slim were stackin’ silver dollars in their tray.

“Well Slim,” I said, “ That tidy cache ain’t all that you just won,
You’ve won the check for dinner too, so let’s head out now, son.”
We lobstered well at Pelican’s, Martinied once or twice,
And watchin’ Slim haul out the cash, just made it twice as nice.

We left old Albuquerque in that big white Cadillac,
Slim Hunt was drivin’ up front with me, Dar ‘n’ Alene in back.
Our destination, Edgewood, the close of a perfect day,
Out in “The Land of Enchantment” on The Trail past Santa Fe.

---------------------------------------

"Vespers at St. Ann's" is my imaginary look at an actual event that occurred in our little town. There is a local watering hole that has been here for ages, called "Stan's". To many of the locals, it's "St. Ann's", and for many of those, a visit to "St. Ann's" has been described variously as, "Services at St. Ann's" or "Vespers at St. Ann's". Some years back, a group of the old regulars sent out the word that on a selected evening, there was to be a gathering of the old "parishioners" for "Vespers"; a sort of reunion of the old crowd, some of which had back-slidden, and were no longer attending "Services" regularly.

Skip One-Eye was an actual person, since passed on, whom I had known for years. The others are all figments of my imagination. The events described are fictitious, although the Euchre and Cribbage Tournaments are legendary.

Vespers at St. Ann’s

-Don Lehr

A reunion of old Reg’lars was called for Vespers at St. Ann’s,
That venerated bar that’s known, by lesser lights, as Stan’s.

While on his way, Old Jake went on a journey through the years,
Remembering all the good times, good friends and countless beers.

He chuckled as he thought about how Mike and he, one night,
Stopped by for one or maybe two or six. They both got tight.

They headed out the front to leave, but when they looked around,
Jake’s car was gone, plain disappeared, ‘twas nowhere to be found.

They went back in, took up their spots, they had to think this through,
The barkeep said, “Short trip.” Jake said, “Just bring us each a brew”.

They called the cops. The whole danged force turned out to find Jake’s car,
The cops said, “Go home”. Jake said, “I’m in no shape to walk that far”.

They sat through two or three more beers, then up walked old Fat Jack,
He said, “Nobody stole your car. It’s sittin’ out in back”.

The only times that fights broke out involved the “fairer” sex,
Big Fred would punch you out, or worse, for dancin’ with his ex.

She’d latch on to some stranger, cause the Reg’lars wouldn’t chance
A fight with Fred just so his fat and ugly ex could dance.

There may have been a couple girls that you might say were “fair”,
But most, the best that you could say was, they were always there.

The Cribbage and the Euchre games just added to the fun,
But everybody got so tanked that no one knew who’d won.

The arguments were long and loud ‘cause no one really knew,
And every game would end the same, and then the feathers flew.

‘Til one night Stan, the owner, bravely stepped into the fray,
And said, “Just cut the deck to see who won before you play.”

That solved the problem and the games were shortened up by far,
They’d cut the deck. “You won. Let’s belly back up to the bar.”

When Jake thought of “L.B.I.”, he laughed and nearly cried.
He laughed so hard he had to pull his car off to the side.

The “Local Band of Idiots” all Regulars at Stans,
Their leader was old Skip One-Eye, proclaimed by show of hands.

They’d tried out “Chief” and “President” but he’d have none of it.
“The Grand Bewildered” pleased him though. He said it sorta fit.

Of all the Regulars at Stans, Skip was there constantly.
And everyone took note when Skip would stagger off to pee.

His legendary mishaps drew each eye toward that door,
In order not to miss some new addition to his lore.

If you were on his good side (left) then everything went great,
But if you spoke while on his right, he’d turn and face you straight.

The Reg’lars knew but strangers who would say “Hello” would chance,
To see him turn, still firin’ blind, and wettin’ down their pants.

Of all those tales, one will be linked forever to his name,
The night of old Skip’s “World Class Leak”: his quarter hour of fame.

Stan’s was packed with local folks, the frenzy at its peak,
And not a soul missed Skip One-Eye as he staggered off to leak.

He lost his balance at the trough, fell backward through the wall,
And landed flush on Helen sitting in the ladies stall.

He tripped on Helen’s panties and became airborne once more,
Wiped out the sink and towel rack then came crashing through the door.

The place had gone dead silent then, with every eye on Skip,
Who finished up his rudely interrupted “tuck and zip.”

Then from the back a snicker came soon followed by a hoot,
As Skip bent down, retrieving Helen’s panties from his boot.

The laughter roared to bedlam then still louder to a din,
And Skip poured more fuel on the fire. He staggered right back in.

The bar went silent once again in time to hear the swell
Of Helen’s screamin’ like a demon just escaped from Hell.

The volume dropped as Helen braced herself for Skip’s attack.
But Skip walked out and said, “I’sh on’y try’n’ ta give ‘em back.”

Jake parked out back and then he thought, “Geez this place looks old
And dumpy. Now it’s snowin’ and that wind is awfully cold.

There were a lot of good times interspersed with all the bad,
It may be tough to resurrect the fun and laughs we had.

I’ll have to be real funny like I always used to be,
And I’ll be dodgin’ Vera who will try to kiss on me.

And if she does, her husband Doug will have to give me grief,
They may not show and that would be a source of great relief.

Out here I hear the music, is that music or mistake?
My God, that stuff is so danged loud it makes my molars ache.

I’m sure the place is filled with smoke but now it makes me cough,
And then there’s all those idiots that throw butts into the trough.

But dang, a nice tall beer sounds good, ice cold with lots of foam,
I’ve got a six-pack in the Fridge. I think I’ll just go home”.

--------

"De Dog, On Cats" is my granddaughter Morgan's favorite, and I must admit, I'm purty partial to it myself.

De Dog, On Cats

-De Dog

Dem doggone cats. Dey’s jest like rats, with needles in dey jaws.
Dey slink around, don’ make no sound, and in dey paws, dey’s claws.
Dey attitude is awful rude, and when dey twitch dey tail, ya
Best watch out, ‘thout a doubt, if you don’ git, dey’ll nail ya.

--------------------------------------------

Finally, "Twin Towers" is what I feel may be the best poem I've ever written. I wrote it on the day following 9/11/2001.

Twin Towers


Sunrise, filled with promise, spread its rays,
Like the dawns had always done before.
She stood, steadfast, her seaward gaze
Searching for those yearning for her shore.

She knew her lamp must shine for them to see,
She knew that they must see her when they came,
So they could know her promise to be free,
And her welcome still burned brightly as her flame.

But this morn’, though it seemed like all the rest,
Brought a strange foreboding from somewhere.
She felt the chill of fear deep in her breast,
And the smell of evil wafted on the air.

Then a sound! Like none she’d heard before,
The hell-hot wind, for certain, Satan’s breath,
And from afar there came a second roar,
Obscured now by the hideous laugh of Death.

She’d not allow the blast’s force bend her knee!
She summoned all her strength and stood her ground.
Anguishing, she knew that she must see,
So Lady Liberty turned her head around.

She feared what would await her as she turned,
And when she saw she gasped in disbelief.
She saw her wondrous city as it burned,
And bowed her head and shed the tears of grief.

She turned again, retook her timeless pose,
Her gaze to seaward dimmed through teary mist,
And as her anger and her fury rose,
Mighty Liberty clenched her awesome fist.

The Eagle soaring westward from the sea,
Was witness to the treachery below.
He heard the mournful sobs of Liberty,
And watched as she withstood the hellish blow.

He dove straight through the fire that filled the skies.
He spat the gall that welled from deep inside.
He shook his head to clear his smoke filled eyes,
And saw the Towers fall as thousands died,

His wings took up a measured, steady beat.
He climbed then circled, looking down once more,
He viewed again the carnage in the street,
Then, comprehending, pondered thoughts of War.

He sought a place untouched by fear and dread,
And landed near a river. There, alone
The Eagle resolutely bowed his head,
Then honed his fearsome talons on a stone.

--Don Lehr, September ‘01
(All Rights Reserved)

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)

I'll Do It, Tomorrow

Thanks for your patience, everybody. I'm sorry about the two-week delay between posts. The worst cold I've ever had slowed me down a bit. I've recovered, but this was the Grandaddy of colds. To make matters worse, my Darlin' Darlene caught it from me. There was a time or two that I'm certain that my condition would have had to improve in order for me to expire. I just didn't have enough energy to die at the moment, so quite typically, I told my Darlin' Dar, "I'll do it tomorrow." Since she was sicker than I was, she was probably hoping that I'd just get on with it, but if I'd just shut up, tomorrow was fine with her.




I've never had a problem with procrastination. It's always come quite easily for me. For example, I just finished a Stained Glass project that I started longer ago than I care to tell; my Cattails & Dragonflies. The photo doesn't show it well, but at least it's evidence. The Snowman and the Madonna are further evidence of procrastination being overcome.




Actually, the concept of procrastination has served me quite well in the past. For many years, I made my living selling boats. I recall one particularly difficult couple, with whom I'd been working for well over a year. They weren't getting any younger, although they were both still very healthy and active. They had settled on a fine 42 foot Motor Yacht, but for the better part of the Spring, they had been coming into the Marina at least twice a week, unable to make the decision to buy. Finally, I decided it was time for the "now or never". I looked them both in the eye and said, "I don't mean to be disrespectful at all, but I have noticed a little grey around your temples. How much longer do you think you have before going boating turns into wishing that you'd gone boating ?" The gentleman turned to his wife and said, "The man's right. It's time." They sure enjoyed that boat.

One other event resulted in the creation of what I called "My Procrastination Close." It was a situation very much like the couple with the 42 foot Motor Yacht. This couple was not nearly as friendly, having succeeded in getting under my skin a number of times by making numerous negative comments about salesmen. If you've ever been a salesman, then you'll know what I mean when I say that I had come to the "Buy or Die" point. We had gone around and around on the final price of a very expensive sailboat. In total exasperation, I wrote down my last offer, turned the sales proposal around and said, "That's it, but only if you accept it right now." The lady just had to take one more crack at me though. She, said, very haughtily, " What is it about you salesmen ? Why do we have to buy it today?" Without blinking an eye, I said, "Ma'am, it's because I've never sold anything tomorrow." They enjoyed their boat too.

I've also had some requests from a few people with obviously poor taste, to post some of my, what I laughingly call, poetry. So, in order to quiet the clamor, I'll do that later this week.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there !

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)