Humble

I am very humble, I’m the most humble person I know.

Everyone says how humble I am, they want to be me. 

My manner and speech scream humility. 

You can hear me miles away.

It is better being humble, and I am the best!

I used to be prideful and full of myself, but now it’s humble that rules my day.

If you want to be humble too just sit down and be quiet and listen to me, don’t interrupt when I’m talking, what I say is important

If you want to be humble like me…

Well, no one can be humble like me.

Humble pie, that’s my dish.

Be (me) ever so humble…

Humility is next to… something, I forgot.

I’m always first because the last shall be first!

I have so many pictures of myself, it’s humbling.

Don’t be afraid to be humble, stick up for yourself.

You’re great!

With great humility, Lloyd The Great


– Small town boy

(This poem is not about any one, living or dead, or running for President)

With each person I meet today

With each person I meet today,

Let me benefit their life in some small way,

Let me share the love I feel deep inside.

And help them know it’s inside them too.

I love to love you, it makes my gut churn

And my heart to swell. 

I see it in your face and in your eyes,

For a short time we are connected and the spirit flows from me to you

And from you to me.

When I’m just sitting here I don’t feel it.

When I’m angry or hurt its not there, but

When I love you or when I open myself to your love, 

Poof! Love abides.

Take this love note and read it to someone you love.

Then let them read it to you.

Peace


– Small town boy

The Sun is in my eyes

6:54 a.m., the sun rises and blinds me.

I must move or shade my eyes so I can see.

It is not as bad as when I had cataracts that scattered the light all over my vision,

But it is bothersome as I sit here trying to write.

It is the end of July here in Corvallis, 

The sun rises later, but the days are hotter.

With daylight savings we save the daylight for this event,

Sun up before children up. Quiet time.

They have set their iPads alarms for 7:00

So they can dress and prepare to play soccer this morning (at 11:00)

At Lil’ Kickers this morning.

She (age 6) wants to play with him (age 8),

He (age 8) wants to teach her (age 6) some kicks.

She is sorely disappointed that she can’t go,

Her age bracket was yesterday.

After some disappointment, she decides she will go to see him play.

Oops, it’s 7:00 I better see if they got up

With the sun, and

Take my wife coffee to start her day.

– Small town boy

I live you

Damn autocorrect.

Each time I write love,

It writes live. 

All my live it says, or

I live you, or

Wait,

Maybe live is ok.

One should live love,

Not just say it. 

(Autocorrect just wrote one should live live and I corrected it.)

Try pronouncing live as līve (like hive), either the first live or the last live.

I like doing it to the second live,

We need to live live,

We need to live live too. (It did it again)

I mean we need to love live too.

It now autocorrects love to live, I watched it!

I don’t know which live it means?

Live or live (like hive)?

Should I live live (again!),

I mean live love?

Or should my love be (a)live?

Or should I live love (a)live?

I’m so tangled in love, live, and (a)live the words are blending together and confusing me.

Where was I?

Oh yes, I live you.

-small town boy

In your dreams

I can smell it, can’t you?

I can hear it running, what a great sound.

 I can feel her on the road bouncing along.


1929 Ford Midel A sedan for sale in Depoe Bay, Oregon.

I stopped to look.

It’s as it was then, not restored as much as kept alive all thes years (87 years).

My father had a coupe that I remember when I went with him to vaccinate pigs outside the little town of Coleridge, Nebraska in 1949. He was a veterinarian.

I remember where he sat and where I sat. I smell his pipe smoke and the cars gas smell.

I remember him talking with me and the sound of the little engine.

I remember feeling proud of him and me going with him and the vibration of the car on the road.

I have yearned for this car, and for him.

He committed suicide 64 years ago when he was just 37.

He left me and my brothers and sisters alone and my mother tasked with raising us.

There is a lot of sensory memories locked up in that car.

I need to unlock it and take it for a drive.

– Small town boy

Scooter Games

On my little (150cc Honda) scooter 

I play games on the road. 

I play man hole slolum, for instance.

This is where I swing and swoop avaoiding man holes.

Some streets are full of them and they are not in a straight line.

It is important to avoid them because they are slippery, especially in the rain.

You have to avoid them or hit them directly.

If you hit them on the edge, sometimes, they will flip up?

So if you see me in my bright orange vest and bright orange helmet,

You will know I’m playing man hole slolum.

When I go through Avery Park, I play speed bump rodeo.

I think I’m on a bucking bronco when I go over these speed bumps.

I don’t go fast, the speed limit is 15 mph, but my imagination

Takes me to the rodeo.

The other cars are not as careful,

Sometimes they buck and shocks have to catch them when they fall.

Sometimes they don’t want to go 15 mph.

On my bicycle I play broken glass polo.

I sometimes carry a child’s broom

To clean the bike lanes of broken glass.

The polo game exists mostly in my mind since I have to get off my bike to sweep.

Still…

Games I don’t play include: Keeping up with the others, taking shortcuts, confusing drivers, and panic stops.

Well, I did have a panic stop on my scooter, because of Police flashing lights,

And was tail ended by a pickup with a winch on front.


Now I don’t do that if I can help it.

Putt putt.

-small town boy

Answer the phone!

The phone rings.

I try to figure out which phone:

My iPhone? My wife’s iPhone? My grandkids on their (our) iPads? Or my landline/house phone?

But wait, it’s the house phone, but someone has taken my wireless phone from my bedroom.

But wait, the phone tries to pronounce the name of the caller :Chicago Il (3 calls in quick succession)

I don’t answer.

I notice the light blinking telling me there are voice messages.

The message is from my son in Portland using his computer

(Interruption: a call from a woman I don’t know )

From his computer because his cell was broken when he threw it in anger, again.

“Please contact me by Facebook.”

When I Message him he wants to know what you m talking about?

School called and left a message that her eczema needs lotion . Another old message, my wife says she carries lotion in her backpack.

The appraiser just left. There was an old message that he was coming, but I didn’t get it before he got here. My bad.

No one calls except businesses I don’t want to talk to, or politicos.

We all text now, which can’t be done on my house phone.

My daughter and her husband don’t have a landline anymore. Do I really need one?

I hardly read emails.

I used to call people to tell them to answer their email; now I email them (or text them) to  tell them to answer their phone.

Long phone conversations don’t happen.

A friend got a call from his nephew on Skype.

Never mind, I’ll call you. When’s a good time? You going to be home?

“Hello, I can’t find my little phone in my purse. I’ll have to call you back when I find it.” (Message on my wife’s cell phone.)


-Small town boy

Take your finger out of the dike!

My daughter-in-love taught me that love is not a pie from which you serve a limited number of pieces before you run out.

Love, she says, is more like an ocean. Unlimited and infinitely shareable.

The more you share the more you have.

So take your finger out of the dike and let it flow, through you.

You are here to love others, all others, no exceptions.

I find this difficult to do.

But I know how.

Let it flow to everyone through you from Him.

You are the conduit.

Don’t block the flow.

Tell those you love that you love them. 

I love you.

In this age of media dominated lives we think saying I love you is false, fake, not real.

But I’m telling you the more you use these words the more you will find

He is behind them and if you block them you block Him.

So give it a try.

Soon you will find people who say I love you too.

People who enjoy hugs

And kisses,

Long hugs, heart to heart.

Loneliness disappears and you make real contact with Him in them.

I have begun to notice those who reach out to shake your hand

Quickly shift to a hug when offered.

Kisses are different.

We have lost the ability to kiss without assuming intimacy..

Really kiss, not just peck.

So I’m asking you to take your finger out of the dike

And let love flow, through you, from Him.

This world needs love and you have it to give.

Don’t be afraid or hesitant, give it to those around you.

Love is stronger than evil.

So much stronger.

You can feel it.

I can feel you.

I love you.

XOXO

-small town boy

 

Bermuda Shorts

In the fall of 1959 I was a freshman at the University of Colorado in Boulder

Living in Willis Hall dorm, and

Wearing my first pair of Bermuda Shorts.

You need to know that I grew up on overalls from the Speigel catalogue

And celebrated the day that I could wear jeans (not Levi’s yet) without the bib.

It would be a while till I could lose the high top Red Goose shoes for my flat feet

And get my first Converse style sneakers in 1954?

So my reaction to Bermuda Shorts was embarrassment!

I couldn’t wear them in public without Bermuda socks that ran up to my knees.

The only time I had been naked in front of others was when my Boy Scout Troop

Went to (then) Colorado A&M to swim in the men’s pool, which required swimmers to be sans clothing.

I remember to this day how brave I felt walking out of the dorm in shorts.

I’ll admit I was quite naive then,

When I first wore my AFROTC uniform, I doffed my hat to every female I walked past,

Till I decided/figured out that that protocol wasn’t required like saluting was.

Today I wear shorts with ease (and kilts too),

Cargo shorts,

With black compression socks,

Definitely a style/medical change from when I was 18 (now I’m 75)

And negative heel Earth Shoes.

Well, I’m off to bike to church.

Be cool.


-Small town boy

Dinner

The evening meal, in my house, was supper.

Dinner was the Sunday mid-day meal,

Or a special meal, like Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving dinner in my mother’s family, the Lanes,

Was an extravaganza, one of two family gatherings,

The other being the Fourth of July.

In the early fifties, after my father’s untimely death,

We returned to Colorado from Coleridge, Nebraska,

And received a 1936 Buick Victoria, which had belonged to my great aunt Alice McAnelly,

And given to us because we had no vehicles.

My father owned three vehicles, a jeep, a Modle A Ford and a Chrysler, but as he left no will they were sold off and mone was put in trust for the children.

Mother called the car Vickie.

We had to stop half way to Lakewood on the way to Thanksgiving Dinner to refill the radiator after it overheated and blew off steam.

(Later, I had an accident when driving it age 15 and drove through a stop sign.

Vickie had trouble with her transmission as her sisters had, so that was the end of her.)

But I digress (a trait of my vascular dementia, I get distracted)

Thanksgiving Dinner was at my Uncle Emmet’s house,

Though we were sleeping elsewhere usually, at Uncle Clark’s or Uncle Howard’s.

All three of my mother’s brothers lived in Lakewood, CO.

The big excitement of the dinner, the Thanksgiving gathering, 

Was the candy centerpiece Emmet and his family made,

Which was usually hidden under a dish towel till time to reveal it.

I remember chocolate log cabins made from Tootsie Rolls,

White divinity snow, marshmallow rice crispie footballs and more.

Not all of these were made on the same centerpiece but occurred on other Thanksgivings.

One year, upon the reveal, we were told the candy centerpiece was a “Kosdoon.”

We didn’t know what a Kosdoon was and conjectured that it was some kind of rectangular mine shaft?

Later the family admitted that it was supposed to be a windmill,

But it had fallen over! They made up the name Kosdoon to cover for the accident.

My grandfather, Albert Lane, sat at the head of the table, and carved the turkey,

After honing the carving knife with a steel that matched it in the handle.

Mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, jello, carrots and celery, and more, 

Ending with pumpkin pie.

(I subsequently attempted to make a candy centerpiece when I moved to Portland and was invited to my Aunt Margaret’s in Kent, Washington, but I was unable to make anything remotely similar to the great Emmet Lane masterpiece.)

Dinner to me means family.

Dinner means sitting down to the same big table with a beautiful table cloth, and a kid’s table nearby.

Dinner means food and tradition and family.

Dinner is more ceremonious than supper.

Let’s have dinner, OK?