Here is a poem to tell you how I felt getting older. At least the poetic version. (chuckle)
Mirror of Time
Who is this white haired lady
Looking back at me?
Wasn't it only yesterday
A youth I could see.
Who is this stranger,
So frail and bold?
This may be me,
So I've been told.
Inside is this wee young girl,
Still curious, bubbling and free.
Outside - gray hair and wrinkled skin.
It surely is me, I must agree.
Little by little, it did occur,
Like moss growing on a tree.
Yesterday is a dream,
But today is a reality.
Janet Ray
I got to the station just in time. The streetcar is just pulling in. Come, take a ride with me. Today is not one of my most alert days. But I do need to get out of the apartment. So it is just as well that I have to go to the grocery store. I sure enjoy the streetcar being air-conditioned. Look, the gentleman who is sitting in the front seat is wearing 'short shorts'. My does he have good shaped legs. He must walk alot.
Since a person in a wheelchair is getting on, everyone standing in the middle location is moving about to make room. The passengers are really considerate of the handicapped. Kindness has not gone out of style yet. Oh, a cowboy hat just got on. We don't see many of those in Portland. I've noticed more people are wearing hats now days.
Goodness, is that man tall. He just about reaches the ceiling. Because I am short I notice tall people. They remind me of trees. Finally the lady talking about her apartment is leaving. I thought her friend would get off also. But it turns out that she was carring on a conversation with herself.
Well here is my stop. I enjoyed riding with you. See you again at another streetcar stop.
Finally, I'm back. I had to teach my brain new skills. Right now the road is bumpy. They say it's never to late to learn. In case this doesn't take this will be short. See you later at the next bump.
I thought that cat lovers would like a poem.
My Cat
'Tis just a little ball of fur
And nothing more it seems,
Untill she springs into action
And I see her little schemes.
She runs and rolls about
And tumbles on the floor.
This little ball scurries past
And out through the door.
There she goes tumbling and reeling
After an imaginary mouse
For she knows that's the only way,
She'll find one in the house.
Janet Ray
TO MY SURPRISE
I was sitting at my computer typing along, pretending that it was a typewriter. Why do I do this? Because I am in denial that I cannot handle all the many facets of the computer. It's always throwing something at me and I don't know where it came from. Sometimes I feel that I am in the "Twilight Zone."
As I said, I was typing a story that I had written by hand. Since I type with two fingers, my speed is not up to par. In my younger days I typed with all ten fingers, but if you want to be politically correct, eight fingers and two thumbs.
Well, I was trudging along at my pace, correcting my mistakes as I went. I surely do appreciate that little red line which reminds me of mis-spelled words. I would never survive without it. Sometimes I think my computer is smarter than I. But we have learned to get along with each other even though I sometimes get quite frustrated.
Today was no different from the days in the past. I had about reached my limit, so I paused to look at the pictures I have on my wall in front of me. I was envious of the little mouse who sat soaking in a teacup of nice warm water. The look on his face was pure relaxation if ever I saw it. Then I glanced over at my styrofoam snowman who was sitting in a basket of holly and to my surprise he said, with a cheery smile, "Buck up! It's not all that bad. Look on the sunny side. You don't have to sit in a basket of holly." I did feel good about that, so I perked up and finished typing my story.
