Growing Up

Rick Watson's blog (Life 101) yesterday struck a chord with me. I remember being a thorn in my parents' sides when I was growing up. I had written a poem a few years ago that hints at it, so decided to share it:

Our Triumph
by Robert H. Miller

Sometimes there are
When the moon is low overhead
And stars begin to almost-shine
That I walk paths
Grown over with the brambles
And tangle
Of cob-web clouded thoughts
Down forgotten vignettes
That played themselves out
So many ages ago
Yet flash and flutter
For encore after encore
In the blink of a thought.

It has been a long way coming to Now.

For the first part,
They led us by the hand.
But we wore them out
Keeping us from the waste-land on either side.

Then they were content to watch
And call a warning
When a bramble would catch and tear,
And the hurt became alone.
Guided only by the shrugging shoulders of inexperience,
We bled,
And broke ourselves on boulders
Suddenly thrust up by fate’s fantasy.

Garments rent, bleeding, blistered,
Yet erect we stand
Proudly viewing this, our triumph -
To have made our individual paths
To Now.

What Tomorrows lie in ambush
That we have not stood up to
And beaten down
Today?
Strengthened and encouraged,
We look at moon and stars and Future
And slip on sandals
For the grassy plain ahead.

09 Jan 1963

Happy Birthday, Bert

Happy birthday, Bert. Tante Shirley and I wish you a very merry time with lots of kuchen und bier. (Next time, open your eyes.)

My Accident

While going through the preparations for a colonoscopy earlier this week, I fainted and hit my head on the bathtub. The paramedics were there quickly and took me to the hospital which is less than a mile away. Not too much later a plastic surgeon sewed me up - 12 stitches - and my regular doctor came in to see how I was. He signed me up for the overnight observation ward in case other symptoms showed up. By morning, my forehead was swollen and I had the beginnings of two black eyes. (Actually, they were red and green and blue and yellow and purple.) It won't be until next Monday before some of the stitches will be removed. Until then, I'm limiting my personal appearances.

It turns out that fainting is not uncommon when going through the preparations, but we didn't know that. So my word of warning to anyone planning to have a colonoscopy is to beware of the possibility of fainting. Ask your doctor.

In Olden Times

I started jotting down some things I remember from my youth, like radio shows, comics, early TV shows, etc. The radio list started to get out of hand, so I thought I'd better publish the list before I ran out of paper. Here it is, and you're welcome to add to it:
Lum 'n Abner; Fibber McGee and Molly; Amos 'n Andy; Jack Benny with Mary Livingston, Mel Blanc, Dennis Day and Eddy "Rochester" Anderson; Fred Allen and the Allen's Alley Gang; George Burns and Gracie Allen; Red Skelton; Nat Cole Trio; Hoagy Carmichael; Hank 'n Herb, the Two Old Cronies; Lone Ranger; I Love A Mystery; Green Hornet; Edward McHugh (gospel music); Stella Dallas; Just Plain Bill; Abie's Irish Rose; Our Gal Sunday; One Man's Family; The Shadow; Edgar Bergen; Bob Hope; Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Persons; Mr. District Attorney; Tales of the New York State Police; Jack Ross and the WHAM News.

We had a floor model Philco radio that picked up WHAM, the 50,000 watt, clear channel station in Rochester, NY. (When I was in college in Stillwater, Oklahoma, we could listen to WHAM from time to time.) I always liked to hear Jack Ross deliver the news; he had a deep baritone voice. He didn't mince words or get into a lot of opinions or analysis, just reported. Once through the news; no telling us what he was going to tell us, then tell us, then tell us what he told us. No ticklers about what was coming up, just straight reporting. To bad they don't teach that in journalism schools today. Just imagine how many words and how much time could be saved with straight out reporting. It boggles the mind!