I grow weary

 I grow weary at times, redoing the day before and the day before again. My eyes serve as my guide now, red with time and endless glances and glares.  My weathered hands with throbbing veins are a testimony of hard work for decades until they softened and hard-earned calluses vanished.

I grow weary at times, wondering what could have been and spending too little time thankful for what is. I find myself thinking out loud as my memories refuse to be silent, and I am grateful for being called upon.
I grow weary listening to the noise of mouths that should never open and actions that should never have taken place. But no one says I have to conform because I refuse to listen to words; I just ignore them with both ears.
I grow weary because I chose to be, and I've earned that after decades of following the leader before learning that I had the right to walk away from things that prevented me from smiling.

Mike 2026                                                                      

Slower pace

 There are times I'm good with being old. The fast-paced world we live in can all become a blur, and that's when I close my eyes and write about the things I remember at a much slower pace.

Sitting down and writing a letter to a friend by candlelight in cursive, careful to spell everything correctly, or having to toss it into the trash can and start again. We've all seen pictures of a person surrounded by crumpled-up balls of paper strewn across the floor, with a look of frustration on the writer's face. But the end result was a beautifully written work of art, complete with a wax stamp and vintage stationery.

It seems to me my generation and those before me took more pride in things that today aren't as important at all. Handwritten recipes handed down by grandmothers and Christmas cards containing a heartfelt message. Birthday cards carefully picked out that were kept forever in a box of special things you'd take out sometimes to read over and over again. Each one is a memory you wanted to keep close to your heart.

Family time together with no phones or games, just each other and conversations about school, work, and that feeling of closeness every family should have. Family nights with bowls of freshly popped popcorn, with four hands digging into the bowl at one time, while a black and white movie played on the black and white television.

Kids didn't grow up as fast as they do today, finding time to sit and talk and going into town with a parent was just how life was back then. Teenagers still voiced their opinions, but the parents had the final say, and that was that. But some had to chance it by sneaking out of the house to meet up with a boy or girl friend and usually got caught during a routine check by a parent who was once a kid too. This meant being grounded, no matter what was going on, like school dances and football games.

Life was simpler back then, and although we had our share of problems, everything seemed to work out in the end. Kids didn't disrespect their elders or bring guns to school, except for hunting rifles on a gun rack in a lot of pickup trucks. Killing something meant hunting for that elusive buck or shooting clay pigeons with dad.

I don't mind getting old as long as I can keep remembering my younger days brought to me in black and white at a pace I control.

Mike 2026                                                    

Best of friends

 He walks close to me and follows wherever I go. Since a pup, he's done that, and it made me wonder if it was the breed or just him being my shadow. It's been 12 years now since I fell in love with him as a pup, and his devotion to me is something I didn't even have with two wives.

We're growing old together, and our once bounding through the tall grass days are reduced to a slow walk, and I wonder if he's missing that as much as I do. The way he looks at me tells me he does.

His hearing is all but gone, and he doesn't move around as fast, but if there's a snack to be had, he's up and moving as he gently takes the treat from me, holding it by a corner as he goes back under the table to slowly enjoy it.

He used to chase lizards and bark at the ducks in the pond, but he never hurt one, and I wonder if he was just asking if they wanted to play. He could talk when he wanted to, kind of hard to explain, you just had to hear it as he barked in different tones trying to sound like his human being, me.

Like most dogs, he loved being brushed and always fell asleep as I spoke softly to him. I'd finish brushing and softly sneak away, but he senses that and wakes up to be by my side as usual. We both liked the warmth of a late spring day and sitting outside me on a chair and him as close to it as he could manage.

He would whimper every time I closed the door behind me, going somewhere he couldn't, but I'd make it up to him by taking him for an ice cream cone, vanilla being his flavor of choice. He'd finish his first, then stare at me until I gave him the rest of mine. I think he knew me more than I thought.

I thank God for giving me such a great friend, and I carry more memories of him than I could ever remember in a lifetime. As I look at him, I still see that bouncy puppy running to fetch a stick, always to big hanging out of his mouth and dropping it at my feet. I see him staring at me when he had to go outside, and never once in all these years did he mess in the house.

Sometimes when we sit in silence, I wonder what he's thinking. Is he flashing back to our younger days and all the fun we had, or is he thinking what I am, that 12 years isn't enough? One thing I do know is that one day we will run those fields again together forever.

Mike 2026                                                       

                                     

Last breaths

 Those few last breaths fighting not to end but to begin again in a place where it's springtime every day you want it to be. When you've picked a million wildflowers, then place them onto a waiting cloud.

The last few breaths are free of pain as the memories flood back, seemingly exhaling all the wrong you did, but are forgiven with a gentle touch on your shoulder that lets you know the end is near, and you need not fear.

Your loved ones stand by you, taking turns holding your hand now, too weak to squeeze back as painted-on faces hold back the tears, the best they can, walking swiftly out of the room to cry a river unseen and so much alone.

Those few last breaths make some wonder if he knows these are his last few moments, and whether he will be gone when everything goes quiet. Will he know the machines have stopped, and only sobs of sorrow now fill the room?

They will all leave now as his body is prepared, and his last wishes are remembered. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. No casket, no memorials, and above all else, no grave. He chose cremation, fast and final, and his ticket to eternal peace.

Those last breaths released his soul as it let his human self to follow the angel leading him into the light and eternal rest. All his questions were answered at one time before he stood at the gate alone, waiting for them to be opened or closed for all eternity.

The massive white gates opened slowly as a softly spoken man with a kindness the likes of which he had never known extended his open hands as a gesture to enter. Stepping into the light, he came through to a softer light where he could see millions of souls, both human and animal, together with no cares and endless memories

There were no greetings, only a feeling of that very moment when he knew he belonged. A microsecond of remembering a face or a place, a special event, or a motherly hug to stay with you for just a moment on your journey.

Beautiful doesn't do justice to the pillow-soft clouds you could feel free to hitch a ride with to yet another place, leaving you in awe. More beautiful than a field of roses or stars, you could touch as they welcomed you anytime.

Oceans of blue, clear water, you could look into at the millions of sea life swimming free with no chance of hooks. Some of the larger creatures that once scared you become friends, allowing you to jump on for the grand tour of God's creations.

Death isn't something to be afraid of if you've tried your best to live a good life. God knows this and so much more. All of your fears, your questions, and doubts vanish into another realm where every day is one more truth spoken, one more chance to question anything. And one last breath to take you there.

Mike  2026

AS A WRITER, I FEEL THE URGE TO WRITE WHAT I'm FEELING, AND I MEAN NO DISRESPECT TO ANY RELIGION AND THEIR BELIEFS.

                                                              

Where do the words go?

 Where do the words go when the fingers stop moving? Are they gone forever or just playing possum to get the creative juices going again? Where do the memories go when you believe you've written about all of them?

Where do the stories go when they've all been read time and again, and new ones are in a corner of your mind refusing to come out? Maybe it's time to stop looking.

I'm 72 years of age, and I believe I can say I've spent over thirty years of that writing about this or that, mostly about memories I didn't want to forget, and it turned out I have a gift for remembering pieces of my past from infancy to the present. To me, their building blocks and then a game of fill in the blanks.

To date, I've penned over one thousand very short stories, published three books, and thrown away scraps of jibber jabber not worthy of sharing. And what saddened me at first is that most of what I've written hasn't been read. There may be some truth to the saying, " You have to be dead before your work is noticed. Don't panic, I don't plan on going anytime soon.

Even though there are a few cobwebs in the old melon, I continue every day to find something new to write about. And it amazes me that I can still tap the keys and let my fingers do the talking. I've visualized a loud voice saying, STOP, that's enough but I ignore that voice, believing it's a bad angel who I can banish with just one sentence.

So I suppose I'll forge on, digging deep into my mind and my heart to try and find new meanings to old memories that I can turn into something when read, which will stir some memories for you, bringing a tear or two, maybe some laughter, and above all, will take you to places long forgotten.

Mike 2026                                                          

Bottoms up

 Louis Armstrong played on the juke box as a generation of post-war revelers danced the night away. They never forgot where they were when the bombs fell and how the world changed before their eyes. Most were in their late teens, early twenties, and answered the call to duty both here and abroad. The men who worked in the factories left those jobs for the women to take over, while the men marched off to war with promises to return, but so many didn't.

In base camps just miles from the action, a make-shift nightclub was made. A place with a wooden bar top made from pallets covered with the tops of ammunition boxes. Somehow, a juke box made its way there, and no one asked how. Some say it disappeared from an officers' club. Booze was rarely an issue, as certain supply personnel made sure a few bottles destined for various commands came up short that no one ever missed.

It was a happy place where thoughts of loved ones back home were eased with a couple of shots and a dance with a cute nurse.  That makeshift bar helped many of them cope with the ravages of war as they remembered dancing with their best girl back home in a smoke-filled bar and stolen kisses.

Now here they are again in a club with a polished bar top and glasses suspended from the ceiling. Soft lighting and a juke box allowed to be played until happy hour ended, when the band showed up to play well into the night. One by one, the aging soldiers and nurses danced to the juke box and the songs they can't forget and don't ever want to. They let their minds recall the good times that seldom outweighed the bad, like kicking up their shoes to a jazzy number on the jukebox, dust flying on the dirt dance floor, and that eighteen-year-old soldier who wouldn't take no for an answer when he asked the cute nurse for a spin around the floor.

Now, even though their years are limited, the few remaining heroes climb up on a barstool and order something strong. The bartender flicks a switch, and the juke box comes alive with all the songs they remember from those dark days they tried to forget but still can't, and soon there are none.

 I like to believe their minds are at rest and have forgotten the bad, the young men lost, and the timeless scars they carried with them for so many years. I hope they're all together again in a place they dreamed about, where the jukebox plays, and dust flies off combat boots and nurses' shoes. Smiling faces and whiskey toasts to make it feel more like home.    Bottoms up

Mike 2026                                              

Autumn by choice

 Winter's white gives way to springtime green, overtaken by the summer's heat and the colorful months of autumn, waiting to explode in all its splendor. I find beauty in every season, each flooding me with memories I keep locked up until I choose to remember them on a cold winter walk, a springtime rain, or a summer's night on a swing built for two. But it's autumn that has always held a special place in my heart, as cool air fills my lungs, gasping at the beauty of the leaves in autumn's finest colors. It's autumn, and I remember taking walks with my mom in a forest of amazement, where falling leaves floated to the ground, creating our own carpet of colors we slowly walked on as we talked about most anything, like moms and sons often do.

Autumn brings back memories of burning leaves and carving pumpkins. Raking piles of leaves only to jump into them as dad pretended to be angry. Trick or treat and warm pumpkin pie. Apple cider and picking apples in Mr. Jones ' orchard. Autumn meant sleeping with the windows open and covering yourself with a blanket grandma made years ago. I do find love in all the seasons, as each holds memories of its own embedded deep within my heart, but it's autumn that captured the most heartfelt memories that will lead me to the heavens as I gently walk on a carpet of colors, reaching for my mom's outstretched hand just ahead of me, where the light awaits and I never have to leave.

Mike 2026