I was impressed that you wrote a poem at 12. Not only that but that the poem survived. At 12, I would not have thought to write a poem unless I was required to, even then, anything written or otherwise would never have survived till now to aid my memory of it. I wish the ball cards I had in that era had survived instead of being lost or attached to the fork of my bike so that it would hit the spokes to try to make the bike sound like a motorized vehicle. Nothing I owned then is in my possession today except a few memories.
I'm glad you were able to hold onto some things. You sound a little negative about your poet ability but I see you definitely have a pleasure and respect for it which you clearly enjoy sharing.
So thanks again for sharing as it takes me back as well.
Was it an "either or choice?" A choice between having a wife or a dog. I know that in New York a dog would probably be unhandy but you will never have a better friend than an dog. I know that in my household, the dog is the one who is always glad to see me; that cannot be said about others who have changes in mood.
Ben Franklin says that " an old man has three faithful friends; an old wife, an old dog, and ready money."
"We learn good judgement by exercising bad judgement." Some people say that we should read and thereby learn from other peoples' mistakes. But at some point we have make our own decisions and make our own mistakes. Fortunately, so far I have made lots of small mistakes but have not made a whopper.
When I was little a relative told me that life and the world would teach me a lot if I would pay attention as I went along. We learn a lot by just living a long time. if we pay attention to what is happening.
I love your poem: "Abide with me!" I was also laying claim to a dozen years of life when our family had the opportunity to drive, coast to coast, one summer. At one point, we went to the east coast of Lake Michigan and took a car ferry across on the way to visit a former boss of my Dad's in Minneapolis. I know I was almost 12 years old, because Dad joked that it would be the last time he could get me "in for free" on the "children under twelve" provision. I recall practically nothing of that Minneapolis visit, except that the boss's suburban house was on a hill that had street parking, requiring folks to hike up. Steeply up!
Once we got "out west", we visited Dad's cousin Louis William at his farm in Oregon. The irrigation ditch was voluminous enough that we had to be warned not to fall in, even if we thought we could swim.
But, what reminded me of that visit was the poem: "Abide with me... An old piano ... There weren't any kids at Louis WIlliam's place, and the "Do you remember when our families were driving out west together, and your Dad had to back up into Yosemite National Park, because the way the fuel tank was placed, it wouldn't deliver gas if it was on too steep an angle?" Or the "remember when we were on Route 66 in California, and the local police ushered us in caravans once the sun had set, from Needles to Barstow? Even with bags of water in front of our engines, the heat of the day was too much for our motors, so the desert crossing had to be made at night."
Dad and Louis William reveled in their memories, but as an almost-teenager, I was bored. I began poking around, and found "An old piano" - really!! - with chipped keys and a felt or two missing, maybe it even smelled a bit like chicken poop, the very picture of neglect! I was taking piano lessons, and had learned "Fur Elise" by heart. Out in the barn, I played my heart out. I think it was the first time I really appreciated the music as something that could stir the soul, rather than just something I struggled with in order to please Mrs. Bricker, my piano teacher! When the time came, I didn't want to come in. I had been "creating something", and in a way, it had become mine, there on that old piano in the barn. I guess it was the first time I really found joy in the music I created, rather than seeing it as some sort of 6 a.m. obligation "because we're paying for your lessons!"
In my mind's ear, I recall some Prairie Home monologues in which you stand in choir, behind a young lady who interests you. It almost seems as if you might have had a "musical discovery" moment then, too! Perhaps it was that one? Or perhaps, something else. It's fun to remember, isn't it?
.muy bien muchacho !.. good imagery....you were all the poet you were at that time without having to don the birrete and the black turtle neck sweater...and that was pretty good and enough at that time in Minnnnnessotta....Pablo Neruda would probably have wanted to be you when he was 12 in southern Chile...
9.22.1956 I am STILL revising my life in this 65th birthday. Thank You GK for your participation in my revision!
I was impressed that you wrote a poem at 12. Not only that but that the poem survived. At 12, I would not have thought to write a poem unless I was required to, even then, anything written or otherwise would never have survived till now to aid my memory of it. I wish the ball cards I had in that era had survived instead of being lost or attached to the fork of my bike so that it would hit the spokes to try to make the bike sound like a motorized vehicle. Nothing I owned then is in my possession today except a few memories.
I'm glad you were able to hold onto some things. You sound a little negative about your poet ability but I see you definitely have a pleasure and respect for it which you clearly enjoy sharing.
So thanks again for sharing as it takes me back as well.
Was it an "either or choice?" A choice between having a wife or a dog. I know that in New York a dog would probably be unhandy but you will never have a better friend than an dog. I know that in my household, the dog is the one who is always glad to see me; that cannot be said about others who have changes in mood.
Ben Franklin says that " an old man has three faithful friends; an old wife, an old dog, and ready money."
"We learn good judgement by exercising bad judgement." Some people say that we should read and thereby learn from other peoples' mistakes. But at some point we have make our own decisions and make our own mistakes. Fortunately, so far I have made lots of small mistakes but have not made a whopper.
When I was little a relative told me that life and the world would teach me a lot if I would pay attention as I went along. We learn a lot by just living a long time. if we pay attention to what is happening.
Thanks and best wishes.
A "money writer," eh?
Well, Mary Oliver did OK.
I love your poem: "Abide with me!" I was also laying claim to a dozen years of life when our family had the opportunity to drive, coast to coast, one summer. At one point, we went to the east coast of Lake Michigan and took a car ferry across on the way to visit a former boss of my Dad's in Minneapolis. I know I was almost 12 years old, because Dad joked that it would be the last time he could get me "in for free" on the "children under twelve" provision. I recall practically nothing of that Minneapolis visit, except that the boss's suburban house was on a hill that had street parking, requiring folks to hike up. Steeply up!
Once we got "out west", we visited Dad's cousin Louis William at his farm in Oregon. The irrigation ditch was voluminous enough that we had to be warned not to fall in, even if we thought we could swim.
But, what reminded me of that visit was the poem: "Abide with me... An old piano ... There weren't any kids at Louis WIlliam's place, and the "Do you remember when our families were driving out west together, and your Dad had to back up into Yosemite National Park, because the way the fuel tank was placed, it wouldn't deliver gas if it was on too steep an angle?" Or the "remember when we were on Route 66 in California, and the local police ushered us in caravans once the sun had set, from Needles to Barstow? Even with bags of water in front of our engines, the heat of the day was too much for our motors, so the desert crossing had to be made at night."
Dad and Louis William reveled in their memories, but as an almost-teenager, I was bored. I began poking around, and found "An old piano" - really!! - with chipped keys and a felt or two missing, maybe it even smelled a bit like chicken poop, the very picture of neglect! I was taking piano lessons, and had learned "Fur Elise" by heart. Out in the barn, I played my heart out. I think it was the first time I really appreciated the music as something that could stir the soul, rather than just something I struggled with in order to please Mrs. Bricker, my piano teacher! When the time came, I didn't want to come in. I had been "creating something", and in a way, it had become mine, there on that old piano in the barn. I guess it was the first time I really found joy in the music I created, rather than seeing it as some sort of 6 a.m. obligation "because we're paying for your lessons!"
In my mind's ear, I recall some Prairie Home monologues in which you stand in choir, behind a young lady who interests you. It almost seems as if you might have had a "musical discovery" moment then, too! Perhaps it was that one? Or perhaps, something else. It's fun to remember, isn't it?
.muy bien muchacho !.. good imagery....you were all the poet you were at that time without having to don the birrete and the black turtle neck sweater...and that was pretty good and enough at that time in Minnnnnessotta....Pablo Neruda would probably have wanted to be you when he was 12 in southern Chile...