Livin' Small

This isn’t original to me, but very much how I feel sometimes.

What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?

What are you thinking . . . . . when you’re looking at me?

A crabby old man . … . .. . not very wise, Uncertain of habit . .. . . . with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . and makes no reply.

When you say in a loud voice . . . . . ‘I do wish you’d try!’

Who seems not to notice .. .. . .. . the things that you do.

And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not .. . . . . lets you do as you will, With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?

Is that what you’re thinking? . .. . . . Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . you’re not looking at me..

I’ll tell you who I am. . . .. . . As I sit here so still, As I do at your bidding, . . . . . as I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of Ten . . .. . . with a father and mother, Brothers and sisters .. . . . .. who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . with wings on his feet.

Dreaming that soon now . . . . . a lover he’ll meet.

A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . my heart gives a leap.

Remembering, the vows . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now .. . .. . . I have young of my own.

Who need me to guide .. . . . .. And a secure happy home.

A man of Thirty . . .. . . My young now grown fast, Bound to each other .. . . .. . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons . . . . . have grown and are gone, But my woman’s beside me . . . .. . to see I don’t mourn.

At Fifty, once more, babies play ’round my knee, Again, we know children . . . . .. My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . my wife is now dead.

I look at the future .. . . . . shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing . .. . . . young of their own.

And I think of the years . . . . . and the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old man . .. . . .. and nature is cruel.

‘Tis jest to make old age . . . . . look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.

There is now a stone .. . . . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . . . . . a young guy still dwells, And now and again . .. . . . my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys .. . . . . I remember the pain.

And I’m loving and living . . . .. . life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . .. . . . gone too fast.

And accept the stark fact . . .. . that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people .. . … . . open and see.

Not a crabby old man .. .. . Look closer . . . see ME!!

The sands of time

Weigh heavy on my soul

In that hourglass

Seem like seven fold

I’ve many years now

Some say still young

I still see many years

Till I go home.

I have the love of a woman

Who cares for me

Her eyes dance

Her smile so bright.

Her love I feel, so sweet

Being around her

Is such a treat.

Keeping the sands of time

In retreat.

I have a few lucid memories of when I was quite young.  My grand daddy lived just a short walk across the ditch to the tobacco barns and chicken pen, then the house.  They lived in an old clapboard house. 

Some of my memories of my grand dad was to watching him shave in front of a mirror by the back door.  I watched, as he cut his gray whiskers away from his face more than once.  He wore wire frame glasses, which I now have.  They are frail looking, but I open them up and can still imagine them on his face.

My grand dad and I would go for a walks or just sit in a swing on the front porch and talk.  I remember one day observing my young five year old hand against his.  There I was.  This young tow headed boy with fresh smooth skin on my hand.  I placed it next to his weather beaten hand.  He had endured many days in the fields on the farm plowing, harvesting and tending to the animals.  His nails were rough edged.  Even with that his hand was gentle to run it across the back of my head when he’d tell me I was special to him.  Wrinkles on the back of his hand made me ponder would mine look like that when I got older.

Now that I’m sixty, I have two grand daughters.  One is seven and the other has a birthday coming up in July.  She’ll be three.  I sometimes look at my now aged hand and see my grand dad’s hand.  But there’s nothing in them.  I cannot hold my grand daughters’ hands.  The older lives close by, but she may as well live the same distance away as the other.  I miss them.  I have no young fresh skinned hand in mine while we walk or sit in the swing.

I’m sixty years old now.  I’m told I don’t look it.  I’m told that I have an attractive face, but attracted by what?  I have old age spots.  Spots that look like cancer.  Also there are wrinkles all over my face when I laugh that makes me look like a Sharpei.  I’m bald, but I like what I have left longer than most peoples.  Even some women’s hair length.  Nothing Ben Franklinish, though. 

Anyway, I felt I needed a couple of spots looked at.  There was one on each temple.  Of course I get there, they check me in and put me in the brightly lit exam room and take my information down and tell me the doc will be in shortly.  Oh, and they told me to take my shirt off.  Why in hell would they tell me that?  I just wanted my face looked at.  Oh well. 

In comes the doc.  All of them used to work at the hospital where I work.  So I know something about them already.  No surprises.  Dr Murphy starts looking my head over and points out several “old age” spots of which included the two I was concerned about.  Drats.  Old age spots, my ass.  Then he gets out that canister thing upon which I realize this contraption is a container for freezing these spots on my head.  He checks it against his hand, so i think this will be okay.  Once he proceeded to “zap” each of these spots I find that piercing my head with 20 penny nails might be a better option.  That freezing stuff hurts, man.  When he got done he counted them all and told the assistant he had frozen thirteen spots. 

The muscles on my scalp were pulsating by now.  If you’ve ever had your skin crawl, mine was trying to escape my head entirely thinking this was the end and needed to flee the body completely. 

But that wasn’t all.  He proceeded to look at the upper part of my body and he seemed to be satisfied, but then he started looking through my scalp and had an “ah ha” moment.  He seemed to think he’d found a cancer in my left sideburn.  This meant a shave biopsy.  Crap.

The assistant was ordered to inject lidocaine in the area for the biopsy.  I figured this couldn’t be as bad as when the ENT doc injected the same drug into my ear canal years ago to insert a tube for draining my inner ear.  But let me tell you something.  Damn, that hurt.  Almost immediately the assistant started poking around the site asking did I feel anything.  Hell yeah!  Which was the word for “gimme some more injections” to her.  So she gave me more.  All I could hope for was I didn’t eventually go completely numb on the left side of my face and start drooling or something.  Thank goodness my face became numb without drooling. 

The doc comes back in and in a few seconds shaves a part of the skin off and announces he’s done and will let me know the results in around eight days or so.  I’m so relieved.

I’m ready for Flounders.  It’s a restaurant close by with some very good seafood.  I just hope I can taste it.