tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55535913451315038092024-02-20T06:43:32.994-08:00Tales by Old GrizzShort stories that tickle the imagination, warm your heart or "make you want to explode"George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.comBlogger336125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-87884733431906607992015-02-17T10:21:00.000-08:002015-02-17T10:21:12.743-08:00My Favorite Chair<div class="MsoNormal">
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My birthday is not my
favorite day of the year. I don't dread getting older. In fact, I really enjoy
getting older because it means I haven't let the grim reaper haul me away.</div>
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It's not my favorite day
because of the gifts I get and it seems like the longer I live the more my
family thinks I need gifts to prove their love for me. Also, the longer I live,
the dumber the gifts keep getting. I get ties that I never wear, pajamas that I
never wear and gift cards from Starbucks that I never use. If you're on the back side of sixty I'm sure
you know the routine.</div>
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Well, this year they
outdid themselves. While my wife and I went out to a quiet breakfast to fortify
ourselves for the afternoon onslaught of children, grandchildren and great
grandchildren, my sons removed my favorite chair and replaced it with the
"latest thing" in personal comfort.</div>
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When we returned from
breakfast, the entire family was waiting with happy expectant grins wrapped
around their faces. A sea of white teeth spewed out the traditional
"surprise". Then my daughters blindfolded me and led me to the back
of my house and into my personal man cave.</div>
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Everyone crowded into the
room and the girls removed my blindfold revealing a brand new black recliner
made of some kind of material I had never heard of. According to them, it was
supposed to do everything but cook my breakfast. I really wasn't surprised. My
wife had been nagging me for the last couple of years to get rid of my old
eyesore and get something that was more comfortable. However, we both knew it
wasn't my comfort that she was thinking about. It was her desire to have
furniture that didn't have to hide from our friends.</div>
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I was trapped because of
my life long lectures to my children on accepting gifts which included a smile
and a thank you to the gifter. So, with a smile on my face and a "I hate
the damned thing" in my mind, I thanked my family for their thoughtful
gift.</div>
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When the family left, my
wife asked me if I liked it, even though she knew I didn't. However, she knew I
was stuck. I had to say yes and thank her and hug her and sit in it and say how
comfortable it was.</div>
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It wasn't comfortable.
Comfort means to relax and let your muscles turn to jelly and your mind go numb
and the chair and your wife not say nasty things to you because you spill your
coffee or get food stains on it. That was my old chair. It didn't give a damn
what I did to it. It was like a faithful dog, always ready to comfort me no
matter how many times I left it out in the rain.</div>
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Oh well, I'll have to
slowly break it in. I'll house train like a new puppy. I'll start by giving it a
name. I think I'll call it Lo-Jack and then my wife can send it to fetch me
when I'm sneaking a snort from my stash hidden in the wood pile. Maybe it'll
get caught in the rain and become a real chair.</div>
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gs batty/2.17.2015</div>
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written for</div>
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http://www.josie2shoes.com/p/two-shoes-tuesday.html</div>
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<img height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDwk8-_25O0ROrCs9Cwv-G-sJz-bqOtMm_mhjCPpGHxzPyvInvQ07gSbuUrLVcksW4FqBvucAF8wa5CV6rxblCZ71gCe7LsWSXITc0UoK1UqWrGvSPl3eIwYT-iepgf2nXivfrKly8VY/s200/Aviary+Photo_130206655254779036.png" width="200" /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-14196808740795654492015-02-15T19:31:00.000-08:002015-02-15T19:31:03.633-08:00Songs of the dead<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
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I hear the voices of </div>
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the dead. </div>
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sing the songs of
life.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Their songs of life </div>
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follow me. </div>
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I need to stop and listen.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Their songs are </div>
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in the breeze </div>
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that rustles the light of the stars</div>
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<br /></div>
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Their songs are </div>
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in the morning </div>
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when the sun says hello</div>
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<br /></div>
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Their songs are</div>
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the choruses of calm
and peace</div>
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dancing in the meadows</div>
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<br /></div>
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I hear their songs</div>
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above the red rock canyons.</div>
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wafting in the wind.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Their songs </div>
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sing to me</div>
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through the hawks that soar above</div>
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<br /></div>
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their songs </div>
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sing to me </div>
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through the lizards that flit across the rocks</div>
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<br /></div>
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I walk through my
life and </div>
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listen to their voices. </div>
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sing the songs of
nature.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It is the force that creates my soul.</div>
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Without their voices</div>
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</div>
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my soul would be lost.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
gsbatty</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-53279949263344894092015-02-15T07:54:00.000-08:002015-02-15T07:54:06.428-08:00I wrote your name<div class="MsoNormal">
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I wrote your name in the sky</div>
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the wind blew it away</div>
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<br /></div>
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I chased your name across the sky</div>
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but it was like the end of a rainbow</div>
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<br /></div>
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always fading away</div>
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only to reappear and taunt me once more</div>
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<br /></div>
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When I wrote those
words upon your heart</div>
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instead of those wispy clouds of white</div>
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<br /></div>
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you stayed and let me hold you</div>
<br />
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now we will never be apart.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-62134063676229100752015-02-08T21:24:00.001-08:002015-02-08T21:24:45.194-08:00Coming Home<div style="text-align: center;">
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I walk in the park</div>
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crushing the fallen leaves</div>
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under the soles of my shoes</div>
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not for revenge</div>
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nor do I get a thrill</div>
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from their final destruction</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am looking for something</div>
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something that I had lost</div>
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a long time ago</div>
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<br /></div>
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a part of me</div>
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that drifted away</div>
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<br /></div>
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a part of me</div>
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that I set free</div>
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<br /></div>
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a part of me</div>
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that I was happy to let go of</div>
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<br /></div>
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until one day </div>
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it dawned on me</div>
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that I had lost the best part</div>
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<br /></div>
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the part that made me </div>
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human</div>
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<br /></div>
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the part that made me</div>
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loving</div>
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<br /></div>
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the part that made me </div>
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inquisitive</div>
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<br /></div>
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the part that made me</div>
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happy</div>
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<br /></div>
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my feet walk among the fallen leaves</div>
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and crush the dryness of their souls</div>
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<br /></div>
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I can feel</div>
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my soul begin to</div>
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grow again</div>
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<br /></div>
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I can feel</div>
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the child in me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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coming home </div>
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<br /></div>
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depression filled the dryness</div>
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of my soul</div>
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something from the leaves</div>
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<br /></div>
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spoke to that </div>
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inside of me</div>
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which was lost</div>
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<br /></div>
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awaking a lost desire</div>
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to laugh again</div>
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to feel again</div>
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<br /></div>
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where had I gone</div>
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where had I been</div>
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a presence of soul was lost</div>
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<br /></div>
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only the physical remained</div>
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not a zombie</div>
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but knocking on the door</div>
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<br /></div>
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to the presence of hell</div>
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fearing what was there</div>
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wanting the door to open</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
hoping for someone</div>
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to find me</div>
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and bring me home</div>
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<br /></div>
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the crushing leaves</div>
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awakened my soul </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
again</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
gsbatty/Feb 2015</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-949179760985397292013-11-02T12:11:00.000-07:002013-11-02T12:11:30.585-07:00searching<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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i went to the mountain top</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
looking for inspiration</div>
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it was cold</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
martin wasn't there</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
neither a guru</div>
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nor a god</div>
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but there was</div>
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a dog</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
it gave me warmth</div>
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and a bird</div>
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it gave me hope</div>
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and the sun</div>
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it gave me life</div>
<br />
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i am happy</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
For those that have wondered and been concerned about me, I apologize for not leaving a sign of life. I have learned that depression is not an easy foe and maybe the best thing for me would have been to continue writing. However, my fingers and my mind would not or could not agree. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
A special thanks for MLM and Josie for caring.</div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-80154362373867673652013-09-08T07:47:00.001-07:002013-09-08T07:47:20.874-07:00the bell has been rung<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
someone dear...someone close</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
rang it right in the middle</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
of my reverie<br />
<br />
not small that<br />
shivering down my back<br />
like a huge nippled gong<br />
<br />
placed above my bed<br />
and slammed with a<br />
one hundred pound sledge<br />
<br />
my body gripped in the fear<br />
of an eight point<br />
rolling quake<br />
<br />
waiting for the earth<br />
no...praying for the earth<br />
to swallow me and set me free<br />
<br />
the echo of the gong<br />
chases the tumble weeds<br />
around my mind<br />
<br />
returning over and over<br />
like a ball thumping<br />
inside my soul<br />
<br />
I write a word...thump<br />
it will not<br />
set me free<br />
<br />
it follows me like<br />
father kicking a young son<br />
in the ass<br />
<br />
after a small stupid sin<br />
or a mother<br />
flicking a child's leg<br />
<br />
with a willow switch<br />
for not obeying a<br />
parental command<br />
<br />
I walk in fear<br />
of the boot or the switch<br />
but the gong<br />
<br />
is what echoes<br />
in my mind<br />
vibrating my brain<br />
<br />
leaving my fingers<br />
craving for direction<br />
they try a word...<br />
<br />
nothing<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-71497321702706797202013-09-01T08:45:00.000-07:002013-09-01T09:57:36.060-07:00BMO<br />
Everyone knows what a BLT is. In fact, BLT is acceptable to my spell checker.<br />
<br />
BMO is not so popular. My spell checker says "Blah...throw it out."<br />
<br />
Or maybe, "you're not really serious." That's what my wife said the first time I explained it to her.<br />
<br />
Now she says, "Blah...throw it out."<br />
<br />
BMO is a simple recipe that comes down from the pioneers. Pioneers had a simple philosophy about food. "If your hungry you better eat"...anything you can...forage...grow or kill.<br />
<br />
"KILL"..."Oh my God...you're not going to eat that poor bunny rabbit?"<br />
<br />
"Yep, I going to knock it in the head...skin it...cut it up...fry it...and by god...eat it"<br />
<br />
"That's cruel!"<br />
<br />
"No, what is cruel is me starving to death...It's either me or the rabbit...or the chicken...or the deer..."<br />
<br />
Here's a great recipe...rice and ketchup...don't groan...well go ahead and groan but my grandmother said that they lived on rice and ketchup for a whole month...when times were tough.<br />
<br />
It's not that long ago when food was sort of a "do it your self project"...when donuts were "dunkers"<br />
and the bacon on the table was slaughtered and butchered in the shed or barn.<br />
<br />
The chicken on the table was walking around looking for food in the morning and frying in the pan for dinner. The veggies were still in the garden until mom said to the child, "I need some corn or potatoes or tomatoes."<br />
<br />
Or maybe the veggies were in the root cellar where they were stored for the winter. The dinner was in the "root cellar" or the "pork barrel" or maybe just fresh from the cow.<br />
<br />
They "Churned the butter"..."Separated the milk"... they worked for the food they had and prayed for easier days. They prayed for the days that life would be easier and they would have some time to relax.<br />
<br />
I doubt that they prayed for the fast food and the processed food we are killing ourselves with today.<br />
<br />
"Well I'm off to "Mickey D's" to get my coffee and breakfast.<br />
<br />
And...A "BMO" is Bread...Milk...and Onions...my dad's favorite treat...if he was out of milk...a bread and onion sandwich would do just fine...<br />
<br />
Try it sometime...you may enjoy it...but use the red onions...they go better with the bread and milk...<br />
<br />
/ / /<br />
"chef-R-not-me"..Old Grizz<br />
<br />
some thoughts on food for <a href="http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/">"mindlovemisery".</a>..I'm always assigned the misery part...<br />
<br />
I lost my mind a few years back...<br />
<br />
and...I'll never tell my secrets about love...besides love is a learning experience...a sort of do it yourself project...well one of my secrets...practice...practice...practice...<br />
<br />
also...<a href="http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/">Sunday Scribblings</a> - "Enjoy"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-43998017733099937982013-08-26T09:42:00.001-07:002013-08-26T09:42:13.984-07:00killing swans<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
do swans fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've never seen one in flight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but they say they fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wikipedia says they fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but I'm not sure I trust</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wikipedia or they</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I watched a swan</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
not to long ago</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
regally on a pond</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I didn't try to scare it</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to see if it would fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it was much to royal<br />
<br />
the swan paid me no heed<br />
as if I wasn't even there<br />
I wondered<br />
<br />
would it like to kill me<br />
<br />
after all I have done nothing<br />
to advance its agenda<br />
or not advance it<br />
<br />
I am sure that other humans<br />
are guilty of mistreating<br />
some of its ancestors<br />
<br />
maybe even ate one or two<br />
but not me<br />
I have always admired the swan<br />
<br />
but the way it swims<br />
beautiful and serene<br />
I bet it doesn't admire me<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
gsbatty/aug2013<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
/ / / / </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Every night on TV I see death. People killing people...just because...not crazy people...normal people incensed by what they perceive as justice...or revenge...why not the swan?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-27709212141528510622013-08-25T11:11:00.003-07:002013-09-01T08:54:07.384-07:00the Vesuvius in my body<br />
Rage pulses forever deep within me...waiting for something or someone to pull the trigger that will cause an explosion of emotion. I know it's down there and I deeply fear it.<br />
<br />
I hang a dream catcher from the mirror in my truck...not to catch dreams...to catch stupidity...rage...my stupidity...my rage...and it works because I anoint it with with friends...my family...I get it and I touch it and I feel them tell me to be courteous.<br />
<br />
But, I don't have a dream catcher over my desk...maybe I should.<br />
<br />
That deep rage boiled...burglarized three times...thirteen months...out $40,000.00...my life being taken from me...I ordered the gun..a nine shot..9 millimeter something. I was going to protect what was mine.<br />
<br />
The papers were filed. I needed to wait. Okay, I could wait.<br />
<br />
The accident happened just down from my shop. The sirens, the police, the fire engines, the helicopters and the gawkers convened.<br />
<br />
My son was a gawker.<br />
<br />
"Someone was run over by a semi. They don't know if was an accident or if he committed suicide."<br />
<br />
<i>Good, I thought. I hope it was one of the bastards that robbed me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
But, maybe the dream catcher was calling me from my truck.<br />
<br />
"That not good. You have no idea who the man was. Your first thought should be one of empathy. What about his family? Do you hate them? If he wasn't one of the burglars...would you still be glad. And...even if he was one of them...does that crime deserve the death penalty? Does any crime really deserve the death penalty.<br />
<br />
What if you catch some teenagers putting graffiti on your walls... would you kill them..in a fit of rage?<br />
<br />
The argument was powerful.<br />
<br />
I did not and do not have the right to kill someone and yet...in a fit of rage...with a gun in my hand...I might pull the trigger.<br />
<br />
I realized that I would not ever retrieve what had been stolen. I also realized that maybe some of the fault was mine. Maybe I should have had a better protection system.<br />
<br />
I called and canceled the gun and spent the money on better security. I have not been burglarized since and better yet, I have not shot anyone.<br />
<br />
/ / / /<br />
<br />
I believe that all of us have a deep spot hidden somewhere deep down inside that can explode if someone lights the right fuse...it is best not carry a stick a dynamite in your pocket.<br />
<br />
for <a href="http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2013/08/25/prompt-18-losing-control/">"mindlovemisery"</a> - Losing control<br />
<a href="http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/">"Sunday Scribblings"</a> - enjoy<br />
<a href="http://www.josie2shoes.com/p/two-shoes-tuesday.html">"Two Shoes Tuesday"</a> - Stolen<br />
<a href="http://magpietales.blogspot.com/">"Magpie Tales"</a> - Passing Place<br />
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-21695237488523693592013-08-24T19:55:00.001-07:002013-08-24T20:30:17.474-07:00jobs for who<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
hot under the shade</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but the shade did not help</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the black teens sweltered</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the tv blares the</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
million man revival</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
lift up your faces</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
do not take no</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we are not going to take no</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we are going to take back</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the brown hispanic</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
raised his hand </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
caught my eye</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
no need to talk</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to the brown or the black</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the brown wants a job</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
i'm not sure </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
what the black man wants</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
i'm just a white ass cracker</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we can't talk no more</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
if we ever did</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
he chases my shadow</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am the enemy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
he chose me out</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
dual at dawn</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the dawn of his choosing</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
when i cross his line</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
he will beat me to death</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
or shoot me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
just to see what it's like</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to kill a white ass cracker</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
.the brown man looks for work</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
on the corners</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
i stop for coffee</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the tv blares</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
equality for all</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
let the immigrants in</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
after all, they want work</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the tv screams some more</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we're not gonna take it no more</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the black boys beat a white boy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the brown boy raises his hand for work</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
another million hands are raised</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
brown for work</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
black for justice</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the brown man smiles</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the black man wonders</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
why there are no jobs for him</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the politicians scream "vote for me"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
gsbatty/aug2013</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Today in America there is strife. People are frustrated. I see millions of young Americans struggling for jobs. A job is an identity. A job gives hope.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I drive by all of the street work...the construction to rebuild America...the construction to give jobs to American youth...black...brown...white...Asian...I see very few blacks...very few whites...very few Asians...but a see a lot of Hispanics...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I look to the politicians...yelling for equality...and the yelling for open borders...and I wonder...Does not black america see that the salvation of their people is jobs ...not welfare...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
//////</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-14540239101636546102013-08-23T22:47:00.003-07:002013-08-23T22:49:51.158-07:00gotta write about <div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
Gaunt tired droopy eyes watched the screen. The book disappeared, letter by letter, word by word, line by line. paragraph by paragraph and finally page by page. The space marker moved in reverse erasing the book one letter at a time.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The eyes watched...the mind groaned. The writer had thought of just deleting the whole thing with one click of the mouse but discarded that thought immediately.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
No, the mind reasoned. A book, no matter had bad it was, could not be wiped out with one click of the mouse.The finger left the back space key. But, only for a moment. Then it returned again to erase each letter but not at gigabyte speed. It was a slow tap...tap...tap...bringing to mind the tapping of death on the front door.<br />
<br />
The book was two years of the writer's life. Thoughts of all that had been researched and writen. The editing, ten in all...wasn't enough to impress anyone.<br />
<br />
Edit some more, rewrite this. rewrite...rewrite...the finger tapped...the space marker executed a letter, a space a character...<br />
<br />
Tap...slice..like the swath of an OJ knife. Did they bleed...the mind bled...the creation slowly withered...the letters disappeared...under a tear that fell here and there.<br />
<br />
The writer stopped, but only to sigh. The tapping began again, but faster...page after page disappeared until the entire creation had been mercilessly slaughtered.<br />
<br />
The writer walked to the balcony...eighteen floors...the moon was full...excellent...the wolves would be happy.<br />
<br />
/ / / /</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-84193738675484697942013-08-23T22:27:00.002-07:002013-08-23T22:30:05.328-07:00peace go home<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wanted peace<br />
once<br />
but then decided that<br />
<br />
maybe peace<br />
wasn't good<br />
and really wasn't<br />
<br />
all the it<br />
was cracked up<br />
to be<br />
<br />
after all<br />
what would the<br />
news people do<br />
<br />
without someone<br />
getting killed<br />
now and then<br />
<br />
they couldn't<br />
have a news cast<br />
that only announced the peace<br />
<br />
Today peace broke out<br />
all over the middle east<br />
maybe tomorrow<br />
<br />
war will come<br />
if not there will be a crises<br />
all over time square<br />
<br />
people are marching<br />
and chanting<br />
war not peace<br />
<br />
we have no jobs<br />
we want war<br />
peace is hell<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-57272067506820570902013-08-21T22:15:00.000-07:002013-08-22T16:36:34.392-07:00Our Fight with Cancer - Six<br />
<div>
Now that they had almost killed my wife, we hoped, prayed, begged and beseeched God and anyone or anything else that would listen that they had also killed the cancer. The cancer couldn't have been as strong as Nancy and they almost got her.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But, you don't know. Now the "stand in line and wait game" really began.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cancer is a nasty adversary. It's a sneaky little bastard that hides in the basement like I did as a boy. Like I did when I was caught doing something wrong...hide...if I hid long enough they might forget.</div>
<div>
If they forgot then I might not get punished. That never happened. Eventually I got caught and punished.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Waiting for the test results was hard and I always tried to put the good foot out but, in my mind things were different. In my mind there was a runaway freight train.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Are those devious little "pacmen" demons still there...hiding in the liver... hiding in those stupid nodes. (What the hell do they do any way...carry disease?) Will they get to her brain...oh dear God not that. I had a friend whose wife had that...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wished my dad was there. He caught me. Cancer would be no problem. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
See, the mind works overtime. What must she have gone through. I didn't really know...not the mental anguish. Later I was to learn that she was worried about me, What would I do...if...if she didn't make it?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We didn't discuss it. We did not discuss death. I think we both felt that if we discussed it we might be inviting him in to stay awhile. No one invites death to dinner. When he leaves, he might just take a companion with him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As you already know, we were lucky. Nancy is an eight year survivor of stage three colon cancer. But, we know those nasty little devils are still in there...in her...hiding somewhere. Maybe if our luck continues they will decide not to attack again. We can only hope.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today she lives each day as if it were her last. She plays volleyball three times a week. She's backed off a little on soccer but I know that within a few week the soccer ball will start bouncing in her mind and off she'll go.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cancer lives among us all. Most of us have been touched by the disease. My heart and prayers go out to all of those that are fighting the battle, those that have fought the battle and a special prayer for those that have lost the battle.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you or one of your loved sholud be toched by that evil disease. I can only tell you to fight it with your head up and a smile on your face..like Nancy did.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
/ / / </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-30950519772229647082013-08-21T06:22:00.001-07:002013-08-21T06:30:56.672-07:00our fight with cancer - five<br />
<br />
<br />
The next five weeks she wore a chemo tube attached to the PCCT line and received her radiation treatments. I was the Chauffeur.<br />
<br />
We were up and on the road a six A.M. for a thirty mile drive and her morning cup of radiation. <br />
X marked the spot...zap...the marshmallow was a little "roastier". <br />
<br />
I couldn't help but point out that by the time they were through zapping her, I would have a real nice rump roast. That was only funny for the first week.<br />
<br />
She had to go in once a week to have the chemo tube filled, but the "chemo run" was only a 6 mile trip.<br />
<br />
The radiation fried her bottom end and the chemo screwed with her top end. Although her mind never lost is sharpness and the ability to keep up the fight, her emotions were on fast forward.<br />
<br />
The radiation caused her to her hair to fall out...not her head hair but her pubic hair.<br />
<br />
I shaved my head in support. That was not a good thing to do. I didn't know why. Everyone shaved their heads when their loved ones went through that kind of hell.<br />
<br />
She didn't know why, but it pissed her off. It wasn't right...for some reason...some deep emotional reason that neither one of us understood...it upset her.<br />
<br />
I am not a psychologist but looking back I believe it was a signal to her that I thought she was not going to make it. At that time there were no physical outward appearances that would indicate there was anything wrong with her.<br />
<br />
She knew that dwelling on the problem...playing the "woe is me card" was the worst thing she could do. Yes, she had the line but, she wore long sleeve blouses and it was not visible.<br />
<br />
Looking at my bald head was visible...a sign that I believed she was in deep trouble. Her emotions were not as easy for her to control as her attitude.<br />
<br />
As the treatments went forward her body and emotions went backward. She lost weight...she lost control of her bowels...she lost her dignity.<br />
<br />
That's when I became a real nurse...no probably not a nurse, but the person who cleans everything up.<br />
<br />
She was supposed to have twenty-five radiation treatments. Monday through Friday for five weeks.<br />
<br />
On day twenty-three, half way to the hospital she said, "No. I'm done. I can't do this anymore. I would rather die."<br />
<br />
I turned around and took her home.<br />
<br />
When we started the treatments she was a healthy but sore 135 pound ball of energy. As I looked at her, huddled in the corner of the car seat wearing a diaper, she was a ninety-five pound bundle of..."tell the world I'm ready to get off."<br />
<br />
I thought about the radiation. When I grew up, they used it to kill people in Japan. Now, they were using it to kill my wife. Did they actually know what the hell they were doing. Had we really made the mistake of choosing the wrong treatment.<br />
<br />
But, I realized we had not chosen anything. Someone, God or fate, had chosen Nancy to be zapped with cancer and the provider had chosen to zap her with radiation.<br />
<br />
We had no choice. We were just on the goddamned train. I prayed it wasn't the train to hell.<br />
<br />
/ / / /<br />
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-66779242752422592622013-08-20T21:06:00.000-07:002013-08-21T06:30:41.231-07:00Our Fight with Cancer - Four<br />
Cancer is a strange disease. My thoughts about cancer are strange. Maybe stranger than the disease.<br />
I began to think of it as a little "pacman" running around inside of her body eating the good meat and the doctors as teenage boys playing "Space Station 13" with their video remotes.<br />
<br />
Nancy wasn't sick...at least on the outside. She was sore from the operation but we were taking short morning walks within ten days of the operation.<br />
<br />
It was hard to believe that there was anything wrong.<br />
<br />
The terms, the words, the meetings with the doctors are all a blur to me now. They were then. At least to me...but not to her. I had already began to think of her as doctor in a soccer uniform.<br />
<br />
She wasn't a doctor or a nurse. She was a hair dresser and a soccer coach. But, she was and is more than that...she is level headed. She know how to remain calm and do the right thing.<br />
<br />
When anyone was injured in any way she was there while others stood and watched. She knew how to calm them down and what to do to keep them calm. She had given CPR to a seventeen year old boy who was in cardiac arrest while his coaches stood and wondered. Unfortunately, the boy did not survive.<br />
<br />
Her clientele as a hair dresser were mostly older people so she had heard all the treatments and remedies.<br />
<br />
She was all ears and knew what the doctors were talking about.<br />
<br />
A PICC line? I scratched my head. She knew.<br />
<br />
I listened as they explained...only hearing half the words.<br />
<br />
<i>Damn! It can't be that bad. Not her...not Nancy...no cancer history...oh yes, her mother had some kind of cancer...something to do with the uterus...but she's okay...she beat it...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I felt better...until some time later...<br />
<br />
"So, tell me again what the plan is," I asked while I drove her home.<br />
<br />
"Chemo and radiation together."<br />
<br />
"Is that bad?"<br />
<br />
"It's not good."<br />
<br />
/ / /<br />
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-16670888071888185542013-08-19T06:39:00.000-07:002013-08-19T11:08:08.977-07:00Our fight with Cancer - three<br />
I say "our fight" and it was...even though she had the beast and I could only watch and cry.<br />
<br />
I had to cry in the night...away from her...not in front of her...in front of her I had to be strong.<br />
<br />
I knew that if she didn't make it, I wouldn't make it..<br />
<br />
Oh, I am sure I would have continued. I have heard of some people dying of heart break. Would I be one of those. I wasn't sure but I wondered and I began to know the feelings of that kind of loss...not completely because I was lucky.<br />
<br />
But then...then I wasn't sure...then... I was in a fog...a daze...with a smile that I hated.<br />
<br />
She did the elephant walk 3 times a day for the week she recovered from having her stomach being cut open and her intestines reorganized.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we forget who the heroes in the story really are. In this case, it was kaiser Insurance. If what I have written makes you feel like we were unhappy with our care provider...<br />
<br />
Not true...<br />
<br />
Nancy went in for a "check up" on Thursday. They removed her cancerous tumor on Sunday. That's fast and it would have been faster but she had to wait a day in order to get some blood.<br />
<br />
Kaiser wasted no time or effort in doing all they could to treat my wife. I do not intend this article to be a commercial for a care provider but it would be remiss of me not to give them credit for saving my wife's life.<br />
<br />
/ / /<br />
<br />
Once the knife work was finished and my wife's stomach had healed they had to kill or attempt to kill what ever devils were still lurking inside of her. The best way I can describe it is roasting a marshmallow. You keep it close the heat to get it to a beautiful toasty brown...to close..your turn it into charcoal or a burning flame.<br />
<br />
Also, with cancer comes the treatment conferences...not with the doctors...they knew what train to put her on and what station to take her off.<br />
<br />
The conference is with the family. Everyone has watched the shows, the commercials and heard of the miracle treatments. The advice comes from everyone...family...friends...vulchers...<br />
<br />
Go here...go there..drink this...the latest is...your provider doesn't know what they are doing...get this doctor...go to that hospital...<br />
<br />
The truth is...if you're normal people and lucky enough to have medical insurance, you are stuck with the provider you have.<br />
<br />
If you are wealthy and have all the money you need, then you can shop around.<br />
<br />
We are not wealthy. We were stuck with kaiser... and thank God..no one could have done a finer job.<br />
<br />
However, in those moments, hours, weeks, months...all you can do is hope and pray.<br />
<br />
<br />
////<br />
<br />
to be continued<br />
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-63990073331786426172013-08-18T09:41:00.000-07:002013-08-18T16:59:24.000-07:00Boxing in the Dark - Again<br />
<br />
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." - Marianne Williamson<br />
<br />
Okay, maybe I'm missing something. But, I don't get it. This is not even closing the barn door before the cows are in.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm slow. No, I know I'm slow.<br />
<br />
I have never even entertained the fear that I am powerful beyond all measure. In fact the thought has never entered my mind.<br />
<br />
Maybe I should reconsider.<br />
<br />
Let's see...I will be a mathematician...no I would destroy Eisenstein and all the physicists of the world with my power.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'll be a composer...no, no. no...no one would ever listen to Boch...Beethoven...Chopin...again.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm being ridiculous but remember I'm slow.<br />
<br />
However, since there are people who believe this....I wrote a story for <a href="http://www.josie2shoes.com/p/two-shoes-tuesday.html">Two Shoe in Texas</a> which I called..."Boxing in the Dark"...I am going to re post it here...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Stupid...maybe...but, it was different and the people went nuts over it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">And...after all what else is required to have a successful business?</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Nothing!</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"Just get em in the tent," the old Circus Master would say. "I'll do the rest."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Henry M. Quill thought up the idea and the name. At first they just smiled when the story was told at the gas station or the grocery store. But, the idea stuck in their minds..hooked them better than a trout in a cold stream.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Then when the opportunity arose to tell the next person, it was passed on... and on, so when the big night arose there were more people in line than seats available.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"Henry M. Quill is bringing 'Boxing in the Dark' the theater."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"Who's Henry M.Quill and what the heck is 'Boxing in the Dark'", filtered from mouth to mouth?</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"I don't know but for five bucks I'm sure going to find out," were the words that followed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Johnny Edwards, fresh out of high school and looking for some easy money, came up with the idea while at a professional boxing match in Chicago.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Johnny Edwards (now the show master, Henry M. Quill) made his first killing before the doors even opened by selling hot dogs and Sarsaparilla.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Calling Sarsaparilla by it's correct name created an old western main street boxing atmosphere.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"Johnny's gone crazy," someone whispered.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"It's not Sarsaparilla. It's Sasparilla and it's really only root beer."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"No, it's Sarsaparilla. You've never learned how to say it right."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"Maybe he's spiked it," one of the teenagers hoped.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Realizing that everyone in town was going to be there, most came early to make sure they would get a seat in the small theater. They had plenty of time to buy all the "Henry M. Quill" hot dogs and Sarsaparilla available.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">When the doors of the theater finally opened there were at least 30 different opinions of what "Boxing in the Dark" was actually going to be.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Naturally the one most favored was a fight between two men. But, what two men? It couldn't be anyone from town because all of them were in the crowd.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">When the crown entered, the theater was completely dark. Johnny would only let them through the curtain that went into the lobby one at a time and he made sure that they slid in quickly so that once inside it was totally black.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">He had a loud speaker and as he sold his tickets he explained that once they entered there would be no light. So as each person entered, they groped in the dark until they had found somewhere to sit or to stand.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">As each person eyes became accustomed to the dark they could make out two figures slumped over in the opposite corners of the boxing ring.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">When the house was full, strobe lights came on flashing red and white so the figures seemed to belong to an eerie house of horrors. Henry M. Quill strutted around the ring announcing the fighters.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"In this corner, in the blue trunks...the amazing Brock."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">A murmur rustled through the crowd, "Who's Brock? Do you know Brock?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"In this corner, the undefeated marvel of West Hampton...and wearing the red shorts...the one and only... Kid Harrington."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Again the crowd wondered about the fighter.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The strobe light went off and the theater became pitch black again. No one could see the fighters.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Henry M. Quill begin announcing the fight.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"A left to the body by Brock..Kid Harrington lands a one-two to the body."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Some one in the crowd said, "I can't see anything. Can you see anything?'</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;"> "A left jab by the Kid countered by a wicked right by Brock"</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The bell sounded and the strobe lights came back on and the fighters could be seen sitting in the assigned corners. Henry M. Quill walked around the ring with a card announcing round 2.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The lights went off and the fight announcer continued.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"A left by...oh a wicked right to the jaw of ..."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Round 3...round 4...round 5...</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"Oh a wicked shot to the head and Brock is cut...a right to the jaw and he's down...one ...two...three.."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">With every announced blow the crowd groaned and then held their breath, hoping that the fighter would get up and continue.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"four...five...six...seven...eight..nine...Brock is up..he's groggy..weaving trying to avoid that ending blow."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The bell rings...the strobes come on..the fighters are slumped in their corners.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The crowd is buzzing..."what a great fight...isn't that kid something..that Brock can sure take a beating..."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The light goes out.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Round 6...7...8</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"The Kid is hurt...he is clinching Brock...Brock shoves him away...the Kid weaves and sways fighting off the blows of the amazing Brock...oh...a right to the jaw..from somewhere in left field...Brock is down...one ..two..three...four...five...he's not moving...six...seven...eight...oh lord he's still not moving...nine..ten...</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Ladies and gentlemen, there is something wrong...Brock is not moving...we are calling an ambulance...please clear the theater."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The lights did not come on. It remained black inside.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The crowd slowly groped and stumbled out of the theater.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"Oh my god, what a great fight. Do you think Brock is dead? I was sure he had the Kid on the ropes. Did you see that right? I thought it was going to take Brock's head right off. That's the best punch I have ever seen."</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">Part of the crowd hurried to the rear of the theater to see see the ambulance take the downed fighter away. The ambulance drove off with it's siren blaring.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"Where are they taking him?"</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">"I don't know. Maybe West Side General"</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">The next day the fight was the talk of the town and everyone wanted to know when Henry M. Quill was going to put on another fight.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">People wondered about the amazing Brock but, Henry M. Quill assured them that he was going to be just fine.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">// // // //</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;">written for "<a href="http://www.josie2shoes.com/">Two Shoes Tuesday</a>" and the wonderful Josie</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #073763;">re posted for <a href="http://www.sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/">"Sunday Scribblings"</a></span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-80070441147555189542013-08-17T22:46:00.000-07:002013-08-18T11:52:30.548-07:00Triality ain't a word<div>
<br /></div>
Ahhh but yes it is. It was created within the last hour. I was almost there to see it berthed but I was just a wee bit late. However, I think I was in time to help with the diapering, the nurturing and the voicing of its first sounds.<br />
<br />
<div>
It was conceived with the music of Mozart, gestated with Bach and berthed under the watchful eyes of Tchaikovsky's Swan lake.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A word born to the masters. Just listen as "Triality" flies across the sky on the sounds of the orchestra. The mood cannot be morose or sad. It says, "listen, do not don't think...for this one moment of time...this moment of time, when the masters float among the clouds, add Schubert, Beethoven, Chopin...feel their music bounce off the moon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Pessimist...yes, sometimes about somethings</div>
<div>
realist...yes, sometimes about somethings</div>
<div>
Optimist...always when the masters play...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Just listen...Chopin's Etude No.3 in E major...create your words your thoughts, your story and it will be a story of love, optimistic love..".no other love could want your more"...</div>
<div>
in any language...<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
When I feel lost or sad..I turn to the masters...of music</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yes I am a Trialitest...but hopefully the optimist most of all...<br />
<br />
for a lift of of your day and your life...listen to the music...close your eyes and think of the one you love...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zE3z0566hpg">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zE3z0566hpg</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
written for<a href="http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2013/08/18/prompt-17-optimist-pessimist-realist/"> "mindlovemisery"</a></div>
George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-14040862595474603732013-08-17T21:59:00.003-07:002013-08-19T21:33:09.320-07:00Shhh, I'm listening<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirs1f40d1xyV4IgS4EdyDa10c5LPRvTNg9vqPKXBVcaytR5f3UypjrrUzYPJ0tjqT6UR86kop1DtuO9SNHGmNCW3pGBPsZZxALfsRLOY-cn_fM-k97LNmktQWZ9CQ5azX3egTGIgcJesGw/s1600/shhh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirs1f40d1xyV4IgS4EdyDa10c5LPRvTNg9vqPKXBVcaytR5f3UypjrrUzYPJ0tjqT6UR86kop1DtuO9SNHGmNCW3pGBPsZZxALfsRLOY-cn_fM-k97LNmktQWZ9CQ5azX3egTGIgcJesGw/s200/shhh.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Shhhh, don't make a sound. No, I said shhhh but you're moving your mouse. You have a very bad habit. You need to learn to read without moving the mouse. It's very disconcerting to those of us that are lost in a story.<br />
<br />
One...two...three words and shoosh, there goes that mouse across the screen. It is not the minute sound of the pitter patter of little feet inside your computer.<br />
<br />
In here, where I am, it sounds like the roar of Niagara Falls and it makes me feel like I am inside a barrel that's going to crash on the rocks any second now.<br />
<br />
I cannot concentrate with that mouse shooshing in and out of every noun and verb. See what you've done. now I cannot remember where I was. Let's see ...Oh yes the girl was about to...<br />
<br />
...there you've done it again..no don't tap your finger on the computer. That makes me feel as if I'm lost in a drum and bugle practice. Maybe if you tried it with some rhythm and some soft music.<br />
<br />
How about Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21. I really like that. The second movement,"Elvira Madigan", will slow your mouse. In fact google it and then put your hands in your pocket and really get lost in the music.<br />
<br />
There, isn't that out of this world? Ahhhh, now I can get lost in my book again.<br />
Oh yes, that young lady..<br />
<br />
///<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigA5sSYlobl2-RPOTZ4WzpmSysmcqg9hOQOxM30yD9k5XJs_jaOpZ8DiJzxxIvL2EbOw_oHRC67JrS8vtemITC7kvpQV4kkQAMpLOiQ4tG91_rlZnDS6hgs5LVizEJ1b9m_s5ZSpwZHoDG/s1600/shhh+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigA5sSYlobl2-RPOTZ4WzpmSysmcqg9hOQOxM30yD9k5XJs_jaOpZ8DiJzxxIvL2EbOw_oHRC67JrS8vtemITC7kvpQV4kkQAMpLOiQ4tG91_rlZnDS6hgs5LVizEJ1b9m_s5ZSpwZHoDG/s200/shhh+2.jpg" width="163" /></a>I wrote this as sort of a tongue in cheek slam at the government and their spying on the American citizens. Maybe you don't think it is serious but, think about the IRS and the way they have targeted people they do not agree with...political.<br />
<br />
I guess that's okay as long as it isn't you or me. But, who's to say what happens next week. Someone doesn't like your blog...your to liberal or to conservative?<br />
<br />
Do you know that the government can use your computer to spy on you. There might be someone in there right now. They can tap into your phone any time they want to.<br />
<br />
Don't think they will?<br />
<br />
The President denied spying on Americans without proper paperwork.<br />
They were and they are.<br />
<br />
I don't think the President was aware of it and I am sure that he personally didn't order it but when someone has the ability...sometimes they do it...your boyfriend wants to know if your are being honest.<br />
Someone wants to make a little money on the side by selling info....on you...your friends...<br />
<br />
Did you know they just caught the guy who tagged the Hunting Beach police cars because he clicked "like" on a Face Book picture.<br />
<br />
Miss "Teen USA" apparently has some photos of her out there because someone hacked her web cam.<br />
<br />
Maybe this short tongue in cheek story is not so tongue in cheek....<br />
<br />
Hey slow that mouse down...I'm trying to concentrate in here.<br />
<br />
and...oh yeah...make sure you have something on when you write your blog...<br />
<br />
/ / / / / / /<br />
<br />
written for Josie over in "<a href="http://www.josie2shoes.com/p/two-shoes-tuesday.html">Two shoes In Texas</a>"<br />
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-8389343951173801202013-08-17T11:28:00.003-07:002013-08-17T23:51:44.900-07:00my cups of life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrCxiBR1A8cmAxYc1V2gG1G3-B0a_it1X99d4WSXxIr3Ljs2JlilICOwLu46LV695LcRZXw7peMLGcwko5NYPxnT0l4AtpoMQqpruVDebM-TN3fsS4zA4sztEUuZPSyYOjyWt7HwgkQirz/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrCxiBR1A8cmAxYc1V2gG1G3-B0a_it1X99d4WSXxIr3Ljs2JlilICOwLu46LV695LcRZXw7peMLGcwko5NYPxnT0l4AtpoMQqpruVDebM-TN3fsS4zA4sztEUuZPSyYOjyWt7HwgkQirz/s200/photo.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
I drink my coffee from a flower decorated cup. Most of the time I have two of my dogs there to advise me.<br />
<br />
Shylo, the black one, is attached to me like she was tied with a string. Normally she lays on top of the couch with her head next to the screen.<br />
<br />
Lojack, the gray one, would be the same but the female asserts her dominance and he is content to be #2.<br />
<br />
Most males come to that realization sooner or later.<br />
<br />
This morning it dawned on me that I have lived most of my life through a flowered cup. I have not had the trials and tribulations that a lot of other humans have had.<br />
<br />
It's not because I have always "done the right thing" or made "the right decisions".<br />
<br />
It's because I have been lucky. I had two parents that raised me in a loving home. But it was more than that. They allowed my to make my own decisions. Of course there was the advice and the warnings and the "not in any way will we allow that" that helped keep me pretty close to the right trail.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDTLLPhIe6M0HrfWAjrHZAzVS-LhSjnq3yuWAZaizsoiac_3GQJg71i9RZ3jAJCa5v-pyUh7r1Lgu4el1OKUBDzG0L3yygiI_Y1kBLftvh_63K193Qxz3jtqoxBRbOJFBkUMEBeA9kShY/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDTLLPhIe6M0HrfWAjrHZAzVS-LhSjnq3yuWAZaizsoiac_3GQJg71i9RZ3jAJCa5v-pyUh7r1Lgu4el1OKUBDzG0L3yygiI_Y1kBLftvh_63K193Qxz3jtqoxBRbOJFBkUMEBeA9kShY/s200/photo+(1).JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
When I went out on my own, I drank my coffee from a "Three Peckered Billy Goat" cup and seemed to always be just a little off track. Naturally that was after my parents were long away from advising me.<br />
<br />
I knew it all.<br />
<br />
Luckily, I broke that cup and found the flowered one.<br />
<br />
However,I think that was around the time I married Nancy. Maybe she's the one that broke it.<br />
<br />
Now, it's her influence and advice and "not in any way will I allow that" which keeps me on the straight and narrow.<br />
<br />
"Just me and a dog named Lojack" might be the title for a good country and western song.<br />
<br />
<br />
gsbatty/August 2013<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-80090567301692463782013-08-17T07:23:00.000-07:002013-08-17T07:23:09.646-07:00on tip toe<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a wad launched</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
you know</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in the school room</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
across to Tommy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
or better yet</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
across at Tommy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the teacher's eye</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
somehow peering through</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the bun on her head</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
wicked as a cyclops</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
tip toed me to</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the office at the end of the hall</div>
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<br /></div>
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I protest</div>
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not with real words</div>
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but with a language</div>
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of the guilty</div>
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ough ough ough</div>
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or the accused</div>
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being led...no taken</div>
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to the torture chamber</div>
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of the principal's paddle</div>
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the stance...the whack</div>
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no chance to deny</div>
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no lawyer to get me off</div>
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no application of</div>
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the rules they taught</div>
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only the demonstration</div>
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how life</div>
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really worked</div>
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in the days back then</div>
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one more trip</div>
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upon my toes</div>
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back to the room I belonged in</div>
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<br /></div>
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oughing and ouching</div>
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dancing like a puppet</div>
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and rubbing my butt</div>
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only to see Johnny</div>
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laughing at me</div>
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through tear filled eyes</div>
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the one eyed </div>
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old bun clops</div>
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had not seen me</div>
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launch the wad</div>
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I was only guilty because of past sins</div>
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I had been unjustly profiled again</div>
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gsbatty/August 2013/for the hell of it</div>
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A shot at profiling...when I was in school, I was a devil. Continually disrupting and casing problems. I think I spent as much time in the principal's office as I did the class room. I was guilty of a lot of thing and therefore charge with all things.</div>
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One form of correctional punishment the teachers used was to grab a thumb and finger full of hair from the back of your neck and pull you up until you were on your tip toes and then walk you to the principal's office for your punishment.</div>
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The paddle was always there for the students to see and often used. "Bend over and grab your ankle," was the command. Then the whack. Never a tear did I shed from those whacks on my butt but I sure oughed and ouched while dancing on my toes.</div>
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George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-65757358374434975542013-08-16T07:21:00.000-07:002013-08-16T12:42:30.771-07:00mother<div style="text-align: center;">
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my tattoo talks</div>
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for some reason it has the </div>
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voice of my mother</div>
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<br /></div>
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you shouldn't have adopted me</div>
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but you are way cool</div>
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your mother is crying</div>
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no way</div>
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why would she she cry</div>
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don't you remember</div>
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<br /></div>
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the saying</div>
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the look on her face</div>
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when she saw one</div>
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<br /></div>
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"fools names </div>
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and fools faces always</div>
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found in public places"</div>
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<br /></div>
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but your a tat</div>
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not a name or a face</div>
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just a tiny hummingbird</div>
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<br /></div>
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to remind me</div>
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of how much I miss</div>
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and love her</div>
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<br /></div>
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but she hated the art</div>
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like names on the outhouse wall</div>
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a shame on her and her family<br />
<br />
I wonder if she<br />
would she consider it a stain<br />
or a work of love<br />
<br />
gsbatty/August 2013</div>
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George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-29819548271441918902013-08-14T22:53:00.000-07:002013-08-22T07:12:33.081-07:00The Gerblonc Machine<br />
What?...It's a what?<br />
<br />
"A Gerblonc Machine. Invented it myself."<br />
<br />
"What does it do?'<br />
<br />
"Can't tell you."<br />
<br />
"Where are you taking it?"<br />
<br />
"Can't tell you."<br />
<br />
Fred shrugged his shoulders and headed back inside the station.<br />
<br />
Harry finished pumping his gas and yelled at Fred.<br />
<br />
"Are you going to check the oil and wash the windshield or not"?<br />
<br />
Fred spat a chaw of tobacco on the oil stained cement and said, "Why don't you have your Gerblonc Machine do it?"<br />
<br />
"Fred if you don't mind reading your own sign it says, 'Oil checked and windshield washed' but it doesn't say by my Gerblonc Machine. So if You would kindly hurry up I got to be going."<br />
<br />
An old blue Chevy pick up pulled into the station.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Fred, Harry, whats going on?"<br />
<br />
"Nothin," Fred said. "Just washing old Harry's Windshield so he can take his Gerblonc Machine to where ever he's taking it."<br />
<br />
"His what?"<br />
<br />
"Gerblonc Machine, Duffy. That durned thing in the back of his truck."<br />
<br />
Hey, Harry, what the heck doe it do?"<br />
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"He won't tell."<br />
<br />
"I can answer myself...Can't tell you."<br />
<br />
"Why not?"<br />
<br />
"Can't tell you."<br />
<br />
"You can't or won't tell because that machine can't do nothin," Duffy snorted.<br />
<br />
"That's right," Fred said. If it could do anything you would be bragging about it."<br />
<br />
"Well I'll tell you right now it can spot aliens."<br />
<br />
"Aliens?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, Aliens. you know? Those people that come here from mars or some other planet."<br />
<br />
"Oh, that's right Fred. Don't you remember that flying saucer that harry saw land in his pasture."<br />
<br />
"That's right, I did see it land and I saw four men get out and then a car came and picked them up."<br />
<br />
"Were they green," Duffy laughed?<br />
<br />
"No they weren't green. They looked just like you and me. You can't tell the Gerbloncs from the rest of us. But, this machine can and I'm taking it over to the sheriff."<br />
<br />
"He'll only think your crazy. You better come in and have a cup of coffee and try and convince us about those Gerbloncs. The sheriff might just lock you up."<br />
<br />
"Maybe...But, I will have that coffee. I got a long drive over to Waterville."<br />
<br />
The three men entered the small cafe and ordered coffee.<br />
<br />
A car drove into the station and two men got out.<br />
<br />
The machine started making a funny noise.<br />
<br />
The tall skinny one said to the other, "You go take care of them and I'll destroy the machine."<br />
<br />
Harry was waiting. When the Alien entered the cafe, Harry blew it's head off and then stepped out the door and shot the other one.<br />
<br />
Both beings were only robots.<br />
<br />
Duffy said, "Son of a bitch, that damned machine really works."<br />
<br />
<br />
/ / / / / /<br />
<br />
the first chapter in a series to be written to the prompts of the honorable and lovely Mrsupole<br />
<br />
<br />
for "<a href="http://www.theme-thursday.com/">Theme Thursday</a>"...the invention.<br />
<br />
Theme Thursday - peace<br />
<br />
Continued from "The Gerblonc Machine"<br />
<br />
the story...<br />
Harry - the UFO nut<br />
Fred - The service station owner<br />
Duffy - Local farmer<br />
<br />
Harry has invented a machine that can spot aliens. He has proven that his machine works at<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-4475411264206212582013-08-14T21:14:00.000-07:002013-08-14T21:14:20.434-07:00our fight with cancer...part two<br />
She looked as if she was ready to blast off for the moon. There were tubes sticking in and out of her arms and her nose.<br />
<br />
When the doctors came in, she was groggy and feeling no pain.. They were all smiles. We have some very good news. "We were able to reconnect the colon so you will not have to wear a bag."<br />
<br />
I wasn't sure if she understood but she smiled and asked them about the cancer. She fell back to sleep before either one could answer.<br />
<br />
One of them said to me, "We are not sure how far the cancer has progressed. We are hoping it was confined to the lymph nodes just outside the colon and we removed those."<br />
<br />
I could only nod and say, "Thank you."<br />
<br />
They left. My wife slept. I worried. I was thankful about the bag. I had no idea how one of those things worked. I pictured a long trash bag strapped to her leg and always full of her waste. I shuddered at the thought and breathed a sigh of relief.<br />
<br />
I didn't know how bad colon cancer can be. I was sure that they had got it all. A little in the nodes but they said they had removed those.<br />
<br />
The next week was recovery week. Not a complete recovery but enough to ditch the hospital. The cancer treatment was yet to come.<br />
<br />
They wanted her to walk so she pushed the IV cart or pulled it and walked the halls of her ward with the plastic tube hanging out of nose. I teased her by calling her "Elephant Girl". One time I took a tape of "Elephant Walk" and played it while she did her thing. She laughed. The nurses thought we were crazy.<br />
<br />
Of all the treatments she went through, even the radiation which almost killed her, she stills says that the plastic tube they shoved up her nose was the worst.<br />
<br />
I tell her that I liked her as "Elephant Girl"<br />
<br />
The results of the cancer test came back.<br />
<br />
Stage 3...She smiled..."I'm lucky. It could have been Stage 4"<br />
<br />
She knew what was coming. I had no idea.<br />
<br />
/ / /<br />
<br />
<br />George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5553591345131503809.post-90347596137805827162013-08-13T07:24:00.000-07:002013-08-13T22:19:46.632-07:00We are so Sorry<div style="text-align: center;">
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I was on the far side of my wife's bed as we listened to those words. Words spoken by one of two young doctors standing on the other side of the bed. The room was dark...not night dark...but "this is not good" dark.</div>
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"The tumor is cancerous."</div>
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"How bad," my wife asked?</div>
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"We are not completely sure but it has moved out of the colon and into some lymph nodes."</div>
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I squeezed my wife's hand. She squeezed back and smiled.</div>
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I wondered about the doctors...so young...and yet somehow I felt calm. I'm not sure why. They were young oriental females that looked like they could still be in high school but they were so caring...so concerned. I knew our medical provider wouldn't have them there if they weren't qualified but it was more than that. I knew they would do everything they could to help my wife.</div>
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Nancy had just had the tumor removed with part of her colon. What next? Would she wear "the bag"?</div>
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Chemo...radiation...I had heard the terms or most of the terms...there were more...many more.</div>
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I thought about the first afternoon in the emergency room. We were not sure why we were there. She hadn't been feeling well and finally agreed to see a doctor. She had had her blood taken along with the normal check up and she was to return the following week.</div>
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That afternoon they called her and told her that she needed to go to the hospital. She ignored the call and didn't bother to tell me. She was a hair dresser and her Friday customers needed their hair done.</div>
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They called her on Friday at 10 A.M. and told her she needed to report to the emergency room as soon as possible. She called me at noon and said I needed to take her to the hospital.</div>
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"What's wrong," I asked?</div>
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"I'm not sure but they want me to go to the emergency room."</div>
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She was laying on the bed in the emergency room when the doctor came in. I was by her side.</div>
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"We are going to admit you and give you some blood."</div>
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"Why?"</div>
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<br /></div>
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"You are a little low so we need to fill you up. You know sort of like a car engine needs oil to operate, you need blood to operate."</div>
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<br /></div>
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"Can't I have some hemoglobin instead. I'm afraid of someone else's blood."</div>
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<br /></div>
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"No, we don't do that anymore. But, I do understand your concern. However, we do check the blood very closely so there is only a 2% chance of you having any problems. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The thing you should know is that you are very low on blood. If you had been brought in here because of a traffic accident I probably would not be able to save you. If you were to have a heart attack right now I probably would not be able to save you. So we need to fill you up and then find out what is going on.</div>
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I see from your history that your a soccer player."</div>
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<br /></div>
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"Yes," I interjected. "She's a soccer nut. She plays every Wednesday night and two games on Sunday."</div>
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"That's probably why she is still alive. Most people would be dead if they lost the amount of blood she has lost."</div>
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/ / / /</div>
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to be continued.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I am going through the experience of a friend fighting brain cancer. It has brought back all the memories and horrors of my wife's struggle with colon cancer. Today she is a 7 year survivor of that deadly disease. I decided it's about time I wrote about it.</div>
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George S Battyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407137341843413701noreply@blogger.com7