The dimmer switch for the down-
stairs’ bathroom started going bad
two years ago. Once in a while it

wouldn’t click on when pushed.
As time passed, the dimmer got
worse, not clicking on much at

all. It taunted those who wished
to use the downstairs bathroom.
They would push and push and

push until there was the inform-
ative click and then they would
adjust the dimmer to the amount

of light desired or they could
stumble and fumble their way
across the bathroom in the dark

to flip the switch next to the
bedroom door. Recently, he start-
ed having nightmares about the

dimmer taunting him, daring him
to turn it on or replace it with
an ordinary light switch and mock-

ing him when he got an electric
shock for not remembering to turn
off the electricity. Finally, unable

to stand it anymore, he purchased
a switch, remembered to turn off
the electricity, put on the little,

camp headlamp and replaced the
dimmer saying to the now dead-as-
a-doornail dimmer, “See, you

can’t get the best of me.” He
then said to his wife in a tone
of self-satisfied congratulations,

“Darling, I replaced the dimmer
just like you asked me to.”

The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round….

Pushing my Granddaughter and loving the walk in the park, zoo, garden…

Waving goodbye as she boarded the school bus the first time…

Meeting the bus from High School…

Hoping to see the bus leaving for College…

Knowing the bus will soon be coming for me.

The tree trimmer came
and flew up the trees.
I watched like a kid at the circus
marveling at the flying trapeze.

He then repelled down
those now trimmed trees.
I watched in amazement;
he made it look like a breeze.

When he was done
I told him I was awe-struck;
he shrugged kind of embarrassed
and just said, “Oh, shucks.”

It’s nice when someone
of such outstanding skills
modestly demurs
without any false frills.

He said he was
just doing his job.
I said he was an artist
and gave him a sincere nod.

There is a difference between
controlling people and controlling

one’s environment he tells people
when they think he is a control freak.

He has no need to control people,
in fact, it’s morally repugnant to

him even to think about controlling
people. He has enough trouble control-

ling himself, but, sometimes control-
ling one’s environment, like control-

ling a line break which entails break-
ing up words (as he just did four

lines in a row, hopefully at approved
places more often than not, but, still

it is the poet’s prerogative) entails
negotiating with others who might be

impinging on that environment. To wit,
losing control over one’s living space

to relatives. He leaves it to you to
fill in the blanks with personal

experiences. He can’t wrap his brain
around the idea of driver-less cars.

Why, he asks himself. Hands off the
wheel? Are you kidding? Friends tell

him that when the time comes, he
should sit in the back seat of the

driver-less car so as not to grab
the wheel and make real trouble for

himself and others. THE BACK SEAT, he
screams to himself. See the difference?

“Sometimes when you are really sure
you are right and can argue it eloquently,
you need to take a breath, see the bigger
picture and simply back off demurely
as hard as that may be,”
he said, thinking don’t do as I do
but as I say so easily.

Dad, you’ve been gone a long time
and I want you to know how much
I loved and continue to love you.
The coroner ruled that it was an

accidental death because there was
no suicide note; I think that was
to be nice to the family and to
help us out with insurance, but I

know you committed suicide and I
can’t blame you. I have never,
ever been angry with you and I’ve
wondered about that and I have had

therapy to deal with the whole
thing. Given the wonder of my own
life, which you and mom provided
for me, I can’t even imagine the

pain, deprivation, sorrow, abandon-
ment and grief of your own life
as an immigrant kid whose mother
died in childbirth when you were

about seven and the death of your
dad from the Spanish influenza pan-
demic when you were about thirteen,
leaving you an orphan in America.

You did a great job as a father.
I don’t know where you ever learn-
ed it given your life, but you
showed warmth, tenderness, and

at the same time integrity, and
you modeled compassion and late
in your life, the love of Jesus,
as especially shown in the Sermon

on the Mount. Believe me, I under-
stand that when your health gave
out and you couldn’t continue to
provide for your family, you couldn’t

cope with that reality and the pain
and maybe shame were overwhelming.
It was just too much for you and
I want you to know that I understand

and that I just am sorry that, given
all your life’s circumstances, you
couldn’t find an alternative. I do
not stand in judgment. Still, I just

wish you were here so I could hold
your hand, give you a hug, kiss
you on the hair stubbles on your
cheek and tell you I love you.

Jimmy Carter lost a humiliating
decision to Ronald Reagan to
lose a second term as president.
It can be argued that he wasn’t
the most effective president;
after all he was a micro-managing
engineer by training but who can
doubt that he has been the greatest
ex-president in history? And so,
Hillary, buck up. You would have
been crucified if you had won;
the Republican Congress would
have impeded your every move,
the Right-wingers would have
been all over you all the time,
the misogynists would have
screamed bloody-murder at you
constantly, so maybe you should
count yourself fortunate and
gather all your significant
acumen and talents and do
something else significant for
the nation, as only you could
do. And as a male senior citizen,
I hope this is okay to say,
“You go, girl!”

He’s jogging more slowly now that
he has had a stem cell procedure on

his right knee to save it after forty-
thousand miles running for forty-five

years. There are those who say, “See,
I told you running was bad for your

joints,” except it has nothing to do
with running; it has everything to do

with inheriting arthritis, and so, he
grabs his hiking sticks, sets his stop-

watch and sets out for thirty-minutes
now timing instead of measuring

distance. At the end of the jog, he
lifts his hiking sticks into the air

in jubilation that he is still going
and gratification for the near spiritual

reality that his body has healed his
own body allowing him to keep doing

what he has loved to do for so long.

A company that makes footwear
For the great out-of-doors,
Sixty years ago, dumped chemicals
From their tannery into the
River that runs through it
And today, the people who live
Along the river have to boil
Their water or use bottled water,
The plastic of which will end up
In land fills, remaining there
For hundreds of years
Or maybe till the end of time,
Which might come before
Hundreds of years at the rate
We are going.

People think he is clever and
quick and good with talk and
he gives that impression, but

all of it took so much work so
very much work until he didn’t
have to do it anymore. It wore

him down over time because that
was his job and he was always
afraid he wouldn’t be able to

come up with the witty quip at
the spur of the moment. He took
an IQ test in college and scored

okay but it was timed and he felt
under enormous pressure and he
doesn’t do his best when he is

anxious. He took an on-line IQ
test and did much better because
he had all the time in the world

to get the answer right. He sighed
a sigh of relief when that score
came through, kind of like when

he writes something. He has all
the time in the world and it feels
really good to get the words right.