Tuesday, May 26, 2020

Oh Dear

I have just now written a grampa poem based on perusal of photo-archives and remembered stories from relatives. It could be a ballad if I could rhyme things oftener, but I'm happy with it. Hope you are too. --Geo.



Oh dear, what shall
I do, and what good will
It do when I do it?
Grampa took a train
As far as he could,
Hired a boat by the bay.
He made his way through
Thoroughfares, Bedlam,
Where squares became
Parallelograms --in defeat,
Buildings lunged onto streets.
He found my great aunt Ann,
And likewise uncle Joe,
Gave them cash, food, wine.
So they got though it fine.
Grampa was a good man,
As angels grade themselves.
He never spoke of his good works
Then died when I was twelve.




11 comments:

  1. Very nicely done, Geo. Even though you were only 12 when he died, you did get to know him and he you. That is a blessing.

    I did have to look up Parallelograms. I was never good at Geometry and still have nightmares of being in the class and not understanding anything the teacher was saying.

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    1. Dear Beautiful Arleen, I remember high school geometry class --being selected to solve the existence of a right angle on the overhead projector in front of the whole class, by axiom and progressive logic. I finally addressed the teacher after searching my brain: "Ma'am, there are some truths held to be self-evident, and a 90 degree angle is one of them." Unfortunately this reference to the Declaration Of Independence was rejected and I pulled a "D" out of geometry. I couldn't do any better if it was yesterday instead of 55 years ago.

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  2. That house definitely has a bit of a lean to it. Do you know the story behind it?

    It seems the best folks never do toot their own horns. You were not very old when he passed. I hope you had good memories to tuck away.

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    1. 0_Jenny, Grampa was one of the most sensible men I ever knew. He was Baptised in 1872, but because the family lived far from any church, he may have been somewhat older. He died in 1962,so he was around 90. I know he kept a general store at 4th and L streets and the back door gave onto his saloon. In 1914, he sold up and bought a house along the Sacramento river, built a gas station. That's where I was born. I had 12 years of his company and he was always kind to me. I have his tobacco pipe and "pistola" in a shadowbox in my back porch. Many records fail to follow people of the "Wild West" in their transition into the 20th century. Grampa did fine.

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    2. Ninety was an uncommon age to reach back then - he must have had good genes and lived a healthy life. Now that you mention the shadowbox I believe I remember you posting it. Your grampa is still doing fine - he's firmly in your heart and living on through you. Thanks for the additional backstory, Geo.

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  3. I could hear music when I read the lines.
    I love it.
    R

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    Replies
    1. Dear Rick, High praise from a musically skilled man. Thank you!

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  4. Replies
    1. Thank you Azka Kamil, and best of luck with your insurance products in Java.

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  5. I'm sorry you lost him that early. The last line really stings. He sounds like a phenomenal soul, as is his grandson.

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    1. Dear Robyn, last the last line stings --full scene? Priest came into Grampa's room and commenced Viaticum --Last Rites-- and Grampa told him to "geet th' Hell" outta here!" Truly a remarkable soul --one that still provides me with strength.

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