Senior Road Trip

THIS JUST IN ... thanks to HELEN, Florida:


While on a road trip, an elderly couple stopped at a roadside restaurant for lunch. After finishing their meal, they left the restaurant and resumed their trip. 


When leaving, the elderly woman unknowingly left her glasses on the table, and didn’t miss them until they had been driving about forty minutes.


By then, to add to the aggravation, they had to travel quite a distance before they could find a place to turn around, in order to return to the restaurant to retrieve her glasses.


All the way back, the elderly husband became the classic grouchy olr man. He fussed and complained, and scolded his wife relentlessly during the entire return drive. 


The more he chided her, the more agitated he became. He just wouldn’t let up for a single minute.


To her relief, they finally arrived at the restaurant. As the woman got out of the care and hurried inside to retrieve her glassed, the old geezer yelled to her, “While you’re in there, you might as well get my hat and the credit card.”


-S&G-


Hey, thanks for stopping by again ... take care ... see ya.  

Monday Musings

(Don't be frightened, folks ...just one of my little paintings, entitled "Splash!" ... now in a private collection; thought a picture of it would be suitable for celebrating the Fourth, which, I understand, continues today.)

YOU REMEMBER LOREE (Kansas)? ... a regular contributor to “Squiggles” over the past several years. When we last heard from her, she was in the midst of selling the farm, which had been her home for many years, and moving into town.


And now she’s settling in.


In a recent e-mail, she says, in part: “I’ve gotten settled in enough so that I can actually sit down (briefly) in a lawn chair, survey my domain, and rest a bit now and then. I’ve not had time to even THINK about what I left behind, and that is a good thing, I’m sure.”


We all ... any of us who have ever gone through a move ... know that feeling ... all the obstacles to really settling in.


Loree continues:


“I feel that when we pulled out with the last load it was like closing the final page on a familiar and beloved book. But, like any book, everything has an end eventually, though I was beginning to wonder about the nightmare of moving!”


She concludes: “Happy Fourth to all!” And a Happy Fourth to you, too, Loree. 




-S&G-


Hey, thanks for stopping by ... take care ... see ya.  

Bubble

(No, those obviously aren't bubbles, but a cluster of lights which caught my eye at one of my favorite walking places, Lincoln Park)



Where shall I start?

Aye, that is the question. Should I start at the beginning ... or at the end? Maybe I should start ... as I sometimes do ... in the middle and work in both directions.

Anyway, there I was, sitting on a bench, partly in the sun, partly in the shade, working on a small watercolor of the marvelous scene across the pond.

A young lady, with a stroller containing two or three kids in it (I was busy with something else ... remember? ... and I didn’t get an accurate count) ... well, she stopped directly in my line of vision.

“Are you familiar with the park?” she asked.

I hesitated ... could be some kind of a trick question ... but then answered, cautiously, “Mmmm ... yes.”

Wasn’t a trick question at all. She wanted directions to a small stream which she remembered as running through the park.

I gave her the best directions I knew how ... even repeated them ... then, as she indicated she understood, and started pushing the stroller again, I said ... simply on impulse, you understand ... “Now if you get lost, just come back here and I’ll give you new directions.”

At that point she gave me one of those looks, popped a wheelie and was gone.

-S&G-

A FEW DAYS AGO I had an appointment to have my eyes examined. At my age that’s not easy ... so I stayed up all night the night before studying for the eye test ... you know, that chart where all the letters and symbols seem to be just out of reach.

Well, my efforts must have paid off, for that part seemed easy this time.

Then came the hard part. Those drops in the eyes. As usual, I did pretty well with the first eye ... plop, plop ... no problem.

The second eye, though? I don’t know what it is about that second eye ... but I just can’t seem to keep it open for those drops ... even with the examiner’s fingers up there applying force.

We did manage to get the drops in, finally, and I was rather proud that I didn’t have to be chased around the room this time.

Then there was the fun part ... the bright lights in the eyes ... while the doctor peers like he’s probing for my innermost thoughts.

Then the fun really began ... as Phyllis led me out into the bright sunlight, where I stared at the world like a frightened bunny ... rabbit, that is ... and couldn’t see a thing ... well, I could make out large buildings, but I wasn’t sure what they were.

Then the ordeal. Mind you, there is nothing wrong with Phyllis’ driving ... and I really, really mean that. In fact, she is likely a better driver than I am.

It’s just that I’m ... well, not a good passenger ... no matter who is driving. I seem to get claustrophobic as a passenger ... the dash seems too close to me ... I feel even more hemmed in, if I’m riding in the back seat ... and having the door on my right, instead of my left ... well, that seems all wrong, too.

I’m sure The Little Red Car could sense my discomfort ... but, of course, had no way of knowing that I couldn’t see a thing at that point ... and Little Red did seem to feel perfectly at home with Phyllis at the wheel.

We got home safely, thank you very much, and now ... even as we speak ... I’m beginning to see things more clearly, especially that “Squiggles” deadline which looms ever larger.

Where has the week GONE so fast?

-S&G-

TODAY’S POEM:  This little poem is laced with memories. It began, as many of my poems have, when I was observing people.

This time I was riding the bus. Sitting near the front, on one of those side-facing bench seats, was a young mother who was chewing gum and entertaining her infant daughter by blowing bubbles.

Watching them, I was reminded of an incident long ago ... I may have been three, or younger, certainly in my pre-school years ... of being seated outdoors in a tub of warm water ... summertime ... bright sunshine.

I still have a distinct memory of a bubble my mother made from that sudsy water, how the bubble glistened in the sunlight. How fragile it was. How magical.

The poem:

BUBBLE


My mother's
hand descended
into sudsy water,
a delicate circle
of forefinger, thumb
slowly emerging,
soft lips breathing
life into a bubble
I still see, quivering,
shimmering, a miracle
unmatched in all
of my three years,
and all of these
searching years
since then.

(originally published in PKA's Advocate)

-S&G-

COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like.


Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to


 rbrimm@peoplepc.com

... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)

-S&G-

If you’d like to see what’s up with my other, DAILY blog,  here’s a link to it:

http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/

Thanks for paying a visit.


-S&G-

UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!

-S&G-

©  2010

All Those Trees

(Here's one of the places where I paused in the shade on the way back to the car ... decided I might as well record this one for posterity)


Friday was such a beautiful day where I was ... and, I hope, where you were, too.


But, as I was about to say, it was such a beautiful day that I decided to give myself a day off. No more of endless hours at the keyboard (too much of a reminder of another life I led way back there in ancient times). No more chores. No more anything except leisure activity.


Well, now, that can turn out to be work, too, but we struggled on.


Phyllis (the navigator) and I (the perpetrator) got a reasonably early start ... hopped into the Little Red Car (our favorite conveyance for many, many years) ... and headed off into the sunrise.


Though we were a little late for the actual sunrise, we did get an early start. The dew was still on the grass and the butterflies were just starting to yawn and stretch and flutter about when we arrived at the park.


Aha! The park! And what was going on there?


A group of plein air painters was gathering to record, each in his or her own way, surroundings which caught their eye.


I remembered a pond that I had liked in this particular park, so Phyllis and I headed for that.


It seemed much farther from the parking lot than I remembered ... I commented that they must’ve moved it farther back from the road ... but Phyllis (the navigator, remember?) assured me that it was likely something else which made it seem so distant.


Could it be that I have grown older in all those years since my last visit?


Don’t answer that.


We finally arrived, set up our folding stools, and I began painting while Phyllis interrupted her reading occasionally to take a look at what I was working on.


A couple of watercolors later, it was time to head back.


I suggested that Phyllis bring the car around so I wouldn’t have all that long walk back. I was kidding, of course, but I still earned one of those looks ... you probably know the kind.


We headed back together ... hardly got lost at all ... didn’t see any bears ... did see a couple of rabbits (shy rascals) ... some beautiful flowers (nothing shy about them) ... and, in the distance, trees offering shade ... wonderful, life-saving shade.


We must’ve made it all the way back, for here I am, late Friday, watching the clock and pounding the keyboard like mad in order to beat the deadline for “Squiggles.”


-S&G-   


All of which brings us to:


TODAY’S POEM - Which came to mind as we were trudging through the woods ... and which owes much to the memories associated with a day trip taken several years ago with a group of "senior citizens."


Phyllis and I had sort of wandered off from the group ... intentionally, mind you ... I like to do that sometimes ... simply to enjoy a bit of quiet, to stretch my legs, to view the scene from a different angle.


But let's let the poem tell the story:




ALL THOSE TREES




We'd grown tired of winding


along with the other tourists


through the aromatic rows




upon rows of captive plants,


felt our own tendrils tugging


gently toward a nearby hill.




We had paused half-way up


when there was a sudden


flutter of excited footsteps,




the clatter of young laughter,


and we were swiftly engulfed


by a surging flood of children




racing tree-to-tree, so intent


on their game they didn't see


us standing there, recalling




a game we had played so like


theirs, savoring the memories,


and now, loving all those trees.


(originally published in St. Anthony Messenger)


-S&G-


That’s right, “loving all those trees” ... and I’ve loved a lot of them in my time ... the box elder which I climbed at an early age, and many times after ... the tree where Grandpa put up a swing for me ... the plum trees we had ... the peach tree (we had a small place) ... and then there were the hickories ... the walnuts ... oaks and maples on up the hill from our place.


I don’t recall ever actually hugging any of them, but I loved ‘em all, still do.


-S&G-


COMMENT? Feel free ... below, if you like. 




Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too ... especially for more detailed observations, to




 rbrimm@peoplepc.com




... and it helps if you put "Squiggles" or "S&G" ... something like that ... in the subject line (just remember, no religion or politics ... please!)


-S&G-


If you’d like to see what’s up with my other, DAILY blog,  here’s a link to it:


http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/


Thanks for paying a visit.




-S&G-


UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!


-S&G-


©  2010

Running the Hurdles

(This photo was taken some time ago. I had a new camera ... a new "toy," if you will ... and I understood, from a quick reading of the instructions, that it had a built-in timer which allowed the photographer to be in the picture. Aha! A self-portrait! I thought I'd try a profile shot ... and I did. Trouble was, I was concerned that nothing seemed to be happening. Then, just as I turned to see what had gone wrong, something did happen ... and you see the result. It wasn't what I expected, but I never ... almost never ... throw anything away without finding a use for it ... so here it is.)


I'll be brief.


Let's have a show of hands: How many have heard me say that before?


Um-HMMM! Hey, no fair holding up both hands. 


Anyway ...

  

Today's poem, I think, cries out for more poetic detail ... and more detail would call for more than its eight short lines could deliver.

The poem may, in fact, have been considerably longer when it was first written ... but I was under the mistaken impression that Capper's only published eight-line poems.

See? I can be brief.

The poem:

RUNNING THE HURDLES

Have you
ever noticed
how many more
things go wrong
when you're trying
to get away
early, or make up
for lost time?


-S&G-


If you'd like to see what's up with my other, DAILY blog, here's a link to it:


http://brimm.blogspot.com/


Thanks for paying a visit.


-S&G-


UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!


-S&G-


© 2010

And the Winner Is ...

(Just a casual look at a lazy brook on a sultry afternoon ... each of us just passing by ... headed no place in particular, it would seem. Still, that stream does seem to be serious about getting someplace)


-S&G-



Well, the votes are in.


What votes? 


Why the votes on two most important questions: 


Should “Squiggles” continue as a weekly posting, as it has for some time now, or should it consist of daily dribs and drabs, itsy-bitsy bits and pieces, as it has been for the past week or so?


And I must say that the outcome was most interesting. That’s right, interesting.


The result? A tie vote.


The final count:


Daily - zero.
Weekly - zero.


I look at Professor Squigglee.


Professor Squigglee looks at me.


I look at Professor Squigglee.


He shrugs.


So I guess it’s up to me to break the tie. 


In keeping with my long-standing custom, I cast my vote via secret ballot, and not even wild dogs ... or meowing cats ... can drag that secret from me.


(To be continued ... maybe)


-S&G-

Frozen Flight

The photo, taken on one of our day trips, has nothing to do with "flight," but I liked the colors, the composition ... the tranquility ... and thought I'd share it today.


-S&G- 


SOME OF YOU may recall that I’ve mentioned having been a sprinter ... way back in the previous century, in my high school days.


I had prepared by walking to town many times ... and back, of course (we didn’t have a car ... or even a horse and buggy) ... climbing bluffs, jumping creeks and smaller streams ... running in the dark because I was ... well, scared.


Put me on a cinder track, and it was a breeze ... for short distances, that is. I ran the 100 and 220. I also participated in the broad jump, high jump, low hurdles, relay team, and I did a little distance running, too. 


But the sprint. The short, fast race was my thing.


It was only natural, I suppose, that I carry this concept over into the computer age. I spent a number of working years at a computer ... long hours, tedious tasks. Not my thing.


I tried it for a while after I retired and had my own computer-like machine (the real thing was to come later - I was always on the trailing edge of technology). Not my thing.


The “sprint” was more like it, I remembered. So I got in the habit of setting the timer, perching myself in front of the keyboard and, at the imaginary sound of the imaginary starter’s pistol, I was OFF!


For 15 minutes I could type like mad ... and sometimes it even made sense. That was my thing.


Trouble was, sometimes the timer went off in mid-


-S&G-


sentence. And what was I to do? There was no point in continuing to sprint after the race was over, right? So I’d stop right there, walk about to relax a bit, take a nap, prepare for the next “race.”


Then I’d be OFF again, typing like mad. Oh, I was fast! This was real sprinting.


And the best part was that ... a bit of ancient history here ... there were no dinosaurs on the track. And, if I chose to do the low hurdles, no turtles, either.


Oh, I liked it 


-S&G- 


... a lot. Sorry ... false alarm there. I thought MY timer had gone off, but it appears that the sound came from the kitchen ... which happens to be one of my favorite gathering places, but that’s another story, too.  
  
Now where was I? Oh, yes, I was sprinting ... hurrying to beat the clock and get this installment of “Squiggles” ready for public consumption. 


Uh-OH ... that WAS my timer (did you hear it, too?). See ya later.


-S&G- 


(I’m back now, after a suitable interlude of meditation in my recliner ... I find, more and more, that it is the perfect thing for producing deep, deep thought)


-S&G-


What I started out to say, before all those random thoughts started tugging at my sleeve ... is that it seems like only yesterday that I made a posting in which I asked for a show of hands as to whether you’d prefer that I make daily postings here ... dribs and drabs, if you will ... or do it in one big blob, like today.


Well, the responses have been pouring in. The elves have been so busy sorting them ... that they’re way behind on their dancing and partying. But that’s another story, too.


Too late, I realized that ... in my “sprinting” to get that little item posted, I had neglected one tiny detail: How best to cast your vote.


So here it is:


You can post your vote right on the blog, if you wish ... and I ... or the elves ... will find it.


Or if you prefer e-mail, that's fine, too. Just send it to:


 rbrimm@peoplepc.com


-S&G-


TODAY’S POEM: Today, class ... sorry, that sounds like Professor Squigglee, doesn’t it? Today I have a summer poem.


No, sorry, I don't have a picture of a sweat bee to go along with the poem. Those rascals are too tiny, too unpredictable, too fast for me and my camera.


The poem itself is almost a haiku moment, a tiny flicker of activity broken off before I became fully focused on what was happening.


But it became a little more than that ... and it carries so many memories of all those places this kind of "stare down" has happened to me over the years.


Originally published in Capper's:


FROZEN FLIGHT


A sweat bee
hovers in my face,
wings invisible
in the heavy air,
then, satisfied
at having won
this stare down,
darts away.


-S&G-

And if you’d like to see what’s up with my other, DAILY blog,  here’s a link to it:


http://rbrimm.blogspot.com/


Thanks for paying a visit.




-S&G-


UNTIL NEXT TIME ... take care ... see ya!


-S&G-


©  2010