I was almost finished making my rounds on the weight machines when an thin, old man in short-shorts came in and started working his circuit. He was new to the machines as evidenced by him studiously working from his trainer’s chart. The paper provides the correct seat adjustments and weight level for each person’s height, weight, and strength.
But back to the man. At one point he took the machine next to mine and as he was working on his settings, a really bad body odor wafted my way. I left that machine and after cleaning it off, and the machine two down that he had just used and not cleaned, I was ready to work on the only machine I hadn’t yet been on - the one he had previously left. Unfortunately, the stench had permeated the machine. I was thinking bad thoughts about inconsiderate old people showing too much skin as I left the room.
After I finished with the treadmill, I was walking out through the lobby and ran into some middle-school students attending the after-school programs at the Y. One girl accidentally tripped me as I was walking by (I almost fell). She instantly apologized and as the group continued on their way, the girls were giggling and one of them said, and I quote, "You almost tripped that old lady!"
Sigh...
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
On a Visit to the Vietnam War Memorial
The wall extends beyond my sight
and casts a shadow dark and cold.
The names stretch to infinity . . .
I hear each whisper as I pass by,
"Will you always remember me?"
I touch the names and feel the pain
of the families who will always grieve
the lives cut short, what might have been.
A parent’s voice from every name
pleads, "Please do not forget my child."
The names are etched in all our hearts,
Their memories light up the sky
as each one cries out to the stars,
"I was here, I played my part.
Do you still remember me?"
H. Van Essendelft
H. Van Essendelft
The famous photo of the fall of Saigon on April 30, 1975 is frequently cited as being the embassy was actually the Pittman apartment building, a safe house, in Saigon.
RIP fallen soldiers and civilians 💔
On the 4th Anniversary of the Iraq War ~ posted in 2009
Soldiers featured on the local news,
Their eyes stare deeply into mine
reflecting hopes, the plans they made,
lives now reduced to memories.
Just piercing eyes in determined faces,
names and ranks on the evening news,
their last appearance on my TV screen.
Their eyes stare deeply into mine
reflecting hopes, the plans they made,
lives now reduced to memories.
Just piercing eyes in determined faces,
names and ranks on the evening news,
their last appearance on my TV screen.
Moving On
Weaving round and around, creating the lair,
she hung the web from chair to chair.
Moving in circles, again and again,
the finished trap was now her pen.
"There’s no way out and nothing new!"
"Who made this web, was it not you?"
asked the wind as it blew through,
"You chose this place, is that not true?"
The spider moved on, singing a song:
"That was a place I didn’t belong
and it’s so good to be long gone!
Why oh why did I stay so long?"
The Marker
It marks its time on earth by resolutely inching toward the sky,
recording memories, sending offspring into the world,
never pausing to question its existence.
Leaves are let go when the time is right.
Still quietly confident, its silhouette now unadorned,
the tree patiently awaits the new birth of its foliage
and leaning over the asphalt lane, watches us go by.
The Passing of a Day
The shafts of light from the sinking sun slice through the garden woods
singling out a few plants to feel the warm rays of a day almost gone.
Tops of trees reflect the last light;
the leaves rustle and sparkle like jewels as they bask in the glory of the day -
the rest of us already lie in shadows.
A hawk soars slowly, high in the sky.
He’s following the light -
to never feel the chill of its absence,
to never mourn a day that’s over and will not come again.
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