Fire in the Mountain
This is for my Dad Dick.
The tallest man in my world.
I wanted to write something for you Dad who is the tallest man I know. I remember reaching up for your hand and how your soft skin feels and smells on my cheek.
rambling thought: (Now I have come to hypothesize we do smell each other's scent which I believe is actually DNA.
When Carol said acids break apart the DNA, I thought, skins have acids that free DNA so we do smell each other. Do I smell Dad's DNA and say, ah, centuries of me....)
Dad knows I go off and ramble sometimes and he is always there to point out the realities of life from one who has traveled to the other side of the planet.
He was close to my age when we went on a family vacation which was reported to be much more wonderful than it really was although I wouldn't trade some moments for all the gold in China.
I have a hard time thinking how I would have managed with 7 kids.
We went to a hillbilly theme park which was not Disney world by any means. More my style though with sweets and treats and rides and skits.
We begged to get on the Fire in the Mountain roller coaster.
It looked innocent enough. It was in a cave which made it more attractive.
We all got on and I sat with Dad separated by a safety belt.
The roller coaster started and your heart starts thumping. You look at each other for reassurrance, fists tightening on the saftey bar which sudddenly feels flimsy. Can we stop?
Breathing gets faster, deeper, and suddenly we were off through the cave of fires and radical curves, jolts, bends and bangs. I worried about Dad's head with the low black ceilings.
He worried about me and would I fly out and we hung on to each other for dear life.
I heard the sibling screams and the thrill was excitingly enjoyable and dreadful at the same time. The safety belt rubbed a spot raw on my right arm that I looked at for a long time late at night in my bedroom where I could be alone.
How Dad saved my life hanging onto me and also gave us the gift of experience. No matter how much he sputtered on that vacation, I am sure he too felt a purpose in the world as he recalled hanging onto his baby daughter to keep her from spinning off into the darkness.
Thanks Dad, I hope you can read this before your lights go out and the music stops entirely.
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Dad. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Dad. Sort by date Show all posts
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Donna's Mom
Hazel and Dad,
Thanks to my Dear alte freunde Donna,
And her telling me of her Ma’s passing.
Like a Mom and Dad they were to me, Hazel and her husband,“Dad”. My frozen brain cannot recall his first name although it may come to me spontaneously later. Don?
Hazel and Dad bought the house where My Mom’s OB doctor was murdered while I (and certainly Donna) were in utero. My uncle thought of buying this discounted lovely home and yard and Dad and Hazel bought it and raised their family.
So early on, Donna and I have been connected and her Mom and I were equally a part. Her nurturing stay at home Mom attitude. Not June Cleaver mind you. She took no cr*p. She was always quite plain and to the point. Straight as an arrow.
My constant memories of her sitting on the kitchen stool smoking in long contemplative waves and taking it all in.
Just when you thought she had drifted off, she came back with a shot to set you straight. Even in silence, powerful often reserved woman.
Dad has been gone awhile but I loved them both like my parents. It kind of hit me that I have neglected visiting her on home visits but it has been harder for me to connect with others anyway and this is my tribute to Donna’s parents to me a great pair of humans and foundation for children and ancestors with great values.
One word about Dad.
When he had a heart attack Donna and I went to see him.
I was fascinated by the hospital and the technology although crude at the time.
Children under 16 used to be banned from visiting. So when we got old enough to visit it was a sudden shock. Dad looked so old and feeble all of the sudden. Now I know it was a big one. He started to cry. This man who was always larger than life. Sometimes I think that made me want to be a nurse. To comfort the man who is struck down by disease. Powerful one minute and weakling the next, ashamed because of culture. Donna and I held his hand I think. I hope we did. It was a hard moment.
But he recovered and had some good life and I loved his sharp southern language and brilliant curse word combos. I still think about how he worked for Ford and drove those big cars and would have something to say about their current woes.
So let me raise a glass to Donna’s parents and wish their entire family peace and am grateful for Mom having had such a long and graceful run.
Mary
Thanks to my Dear alte freunde Donna,
And her telling me of her Ma’s passing.
Like a Mom and Dad they were to me, Hazel and her husband,“Dad”. My frozen brain cannot recall his first name although it may come to me spontaneously later. Don?
Hazel and Dad bought the house where My Mom’s OB doctor was murdered while I (and certainly Donna) were in utero. My uncle thought of buying this discounted lovely home and yard and Dad and Hazel bought it and raised their family.
So early on, Donna and I have been connected and her Mom and I were equally a part. Her nurturing stay at home Mom attitude. Not June Cleaver mind you. She took no cr*p. She was always quite plain and to the point. Straight as an arrow.
My constant memories of her sitting on the kitchen stool smoking in long contemplative waves and taking it all in.
Just when you thought she had drifted off, she came back with a shot to set you straight. Even in silence, powerful often reserved woman.
Dad has been gone awhile but I loved them both like my parents. It kind of hit me that I have neglected visiting her on home visits but it has been harder for me to connect with others anyway and this is my tribute to Donna’s parents to me a great pair of humans and foundation for children and ancestors with great values.
One word about Dad.
When he had a heart attack Donna and I went to see him.
I was fascinated by the hospital and the technology although crude at the time.
Children under 16 used to be banned from visiting. So when we got old enough to visit it was a sudden shock. Dad looked so old and feeble all of the sudden. Now I know it was a big one. He started to cry. This man who was always larger than life. Sometimes I think that made me want to be a nurse. To comfort the man who is struck down by disease. Powerful one minute and weakling the next, ashamed because of culture. Donna and I held his hand I think. I hope we did. It was a hard moment.
But he recovered and had some good life and I loved his sharp southern language and brilliant curse word combos. I still think about how he worked for Ford and drove those big cars and would have something to say about their current woes.
So let me raise a glass to Donna’s parents and wish their entire family peace and am grateful for Mom having had such a long and graceful run.
Mary
Friday, March 20, 2015
Dad
Dad
Yesterday the call came,
I felt a let down,
a relief,
a tear and a smile
a tear and a smile
and
numbness,
what is next?
92 plus,
Overall,
His age and health
Was on the North side
of good.
It will take awhile for me to fully process,
That he's not there anymore,
At that town where
I was born,
Held in Dad's arms,
Then passed around the family of those days,
and back to Mom.
Then I left that town,
Thinking I would return,
Seeing my parents less than I would like,
More noticeable as my parents went off, together,
Starting their next adventure,
They are free.
Last night had to tweet:
Dad pic.twitter.com/sUyTM7zR7v
— Mary Gerdt (@marygerdt) March 19, 2015
@USMC Dad, Richard Gerdt, 92, went to heaven today. A Marine in WW2, South Pacific. I didn't appreciate how tough he was. Rest in Peace.
— Mary Gerdt (@marygerdt) March 19, 2015
 |
| Mom & Dad Alaskan Cruise |
and some music links for Friday
that Dad introduced me to...
 |
| Me & Dad |
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Dad
Dad and his Mom. WW2. St. Louis. pic.twitter.com/D6cVNPI0Fi
— Mary Gerdt (@marygerdt) September 4, 2015
Dad's birthday is today.
He would be 93.
Where is he now?
Dad
Dad, I tried to tell you,
Oh, so long ago,
That Mom she really loved you,
I just hope you know,
You two were meant to be,
Together,
Having children,
Even though,
The path uncertain,
You took just what you you need.
Dad, You said to keep on working,
Until you drop,
I did,
Still you'd say to get up,
Walk again,
I did.
The pain so sharp,
so deep,
My screams,
Muffled by genetics,
That Prussian blood,
Mixed with Mom's,
A Slavic, Swedish, Prussian Soup.
Dad,
You were the best,
A friend, a critic, a postman philosopher,
You shaped wood into cabinets,
Hammered nails,
Chipped ice off the cars
Made pizza
From the fresh groceries,
Bought on the Hill section of St. Louis.
Dad,
I told you to go to Mom,
From many miles away,
You were lingering,
Exactly where you never wanted to be,
Then the phone call,
Bitter relief,
and then
Those absent tears,
For Him.
Tuesday, September 5, 2023
Dad and Herman and the Pool Hall
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Pool Hall
I have written about my Dad once before in this blog.
Well actually I write about him more, but indirectly.
I am half him, after all.
We talked tonight and I heard again how longevity can really go too far and dodging death can become a monotonous colorless gray day.
So I tried to cheer him up and told him my Pool Hall story.
I told one of the girls at lunch, about the old Pool Hall on Main Street in Edwardsville.
It was a doorway, narrow looking, sandwiched between buildings-the Jail? and another storefront, I don't remember the exact sequence of stores.
Every day (sometimes many times) in the summer and other days, I surfed Main Street.
The Pool Hall was on the left going to the end of the street, on the way to Woolworth's which was good to cool off in the air conditioning. My step always hurried, my senses alert, as I peered through the sometimes open always mysterious, dark and smoky entrance to the Pool Hall, one place off limits to me.
You never wanted to lurk there long, move fast I would think, keep moving lest someone might emerge from that dark hole of smoke.
I always tried to please Dad on his birthday. In those days he smoked white tip cigars, to try to wean off cigarettes.
It was logical to an 8 or so year old to buy Dad the cigars but how to obtain?
I went to my trusty Mr. Kuethe to help me out. In his calm demeanor and few words, we walked up to Main St. to the Pool Hall.
My heart raced.
I breathed a little deeper.
I looked around to see if anyone noticed, did anyone care,
would I come out....alive?
Mr. Kuethe's hand was always so sure, steady, wrinkled from sun and hard work.
I would be OK.
We walked into the smoky room and I peered, squinted at the line of men, mostly or all black, I couldn't exactly tell it was so dark and smoky. My eyes wide open but seeing less after being in the bright sunshine.
We walked over to the small case and Mr. Kuethe facilitated the deal.
I walked a little faster going out, having met one major objective, to say I had crossed the threshhold of a most mysterious place.
Dad got the cigars, maybe a little puzzled at how I got them, maybe not.
Mr. Kuethe caught H*ll from Mrs. Kuethe and had to promise to never take that little girl into the Pool Hall again.
I looked up at Mr. Kuethe and thought I saw a wink.
Tonight I told Dad and miles away, I hope a little twinkle came to him tonight.
Today is Dad’s 101st Birthday. He’s in Heaven ❤️🥃
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Happy Birthday Dad
You Always know what to say
91 Today
You and Mom had quite a time,
Some of it did not rhyme
Most was as good as it ever gets,
So don’t go havin’ no regrets.
When Mom was 68, she had a heart attack.
We did not know if she would make it
Dad ended up buying her a ring, on a credit card, for a lot of money.
He was excited like a school boy. Look Mary, do you think she will like it?
Oh yes, I remarked, hoping she would not kill him for charging such a piece.
She snapped his head off.
I was surprised at how she could cut him to the quick, lashing.
I was seeing an intimate moment I wished I had not, although,
My Father apologized and let her trade it in on a diamond tennis bracelet
Years later I told Mom that story. She did not remember the altercation or the ring.
Or how much Dad really loved her.
I love you Dad, Happy Birthday
Technorati Tags: Dad,Dad and Mom
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Pool Hall
I have written about my Dad once before in this blog.
Well actually I write about him more, but indirectly.
I am half him, after all.
We talked tonight and I heard again how longevity can really go too far and dodging death can become a monotonous colorless gray day.
So I tried to cheer him up and told him my Pool Hall story.
I told one of the girls at lunch, about the old Pool Hall on Main Street in Edwardsville.
It was a doorway, narrow looking, sandwiched between buildings-the Jail? and another storefront, I don't remember the exact sequence of stores.
Every day (sometimes many times) in the summer and other days, I surfed Main Street.
The Pool Hall was on the left going to the end of the street, on the way to Woolworth's which was good to cool off in the air conditioning. My step always hurried, my senses alert, as I peered through the sometimes open always mysterious, dark and smoky entrance to the Pool Hall, one place off limits to me.
You never wanted to lurk there long, move fast I would think, keep moving lest someone might emerge from that dark hole of smoke.
I always tried to please Dad on his birthday. In those days he smoked white tip cigars, to try to wean off cigarettes.
It was logical to an 8 or so year old to buy Dad the cigars but how to obtain?
I went to my trusty Mr. Kuethe to help me out. In his calm demeanor and few words, we walked up to Main St. to the Pool Hall.
My heart raced.
I breathed a little deeper.
I looked around to see if anyone noticed, did anyone care,
would I come out....alive?
Mr. Kuethe's hand was always so sure, steady, wrinkled from sun and hard work.
I would be OK.
We walked into the smoky room and I peered, squinted at the line of men, mostly or all black, I couldn't exactly tell it was so dark and smoky. My eyes wide open but seeing less after being in the bright sunshine.
We walked over to the small case and Mr. Kuethe facilitated the deal.
I walked a little faster going out, having met one major objective, to say I had crossed the threshhold of a most mysterious place.
Dad got the cigars, maybe a little puzzled at how I got them, maybe not.
Mr. Kuethe caught H*ll from Mrs. Kuethe and had to promise to never take that little girl into the Pool Hall again.
I looked up at Mr. Kuethe and thought I saw a wink.
Tonight I told Dad and miles away, I hope a little twinkle came to him tonight. mary
Well actually I write about him more, but indirectly.
I am half him, after all.
We talked tonight and I heard again how longevity can really go too far and dodging death can become a monotonous colorless gray day.
So I tried to cheer him up and told him my Pool Hall story.
I told one of the girls at lunch, about the old Pool Hall on Main Street in Edwardsville.
It was a doorway, narrow looking, sandwiched between buildings-the Jail? and another storefront, I don't remember the exact sequence of stores.
Every day (sometimes many times) in the summer and other days, I surfed Main Street.
The Pool Hall was on the left going to the end of the street, on the way to Woolworth's which was good to cool off in the air conditioning. My step always hurried, my senses alert, as I peered through the sometimes open always mysterious, dark and smoky entrance to the Pool Hall, one place off limits to me.
You never wanted to lurk there long, move fast I would think, keep moving lest someone might emerge from that dark hole of smoke.
I always tried to please Dad on his birthday. In those days he smoked white tip cigars, to try to wean off cigarettes.
It was logical to an 8 or so year old to buy Dad the cigars but how to obtain?
I went to my trusty Mr. Kuethe to help me out. In his calm demeanor and few words, we walked up to Main St. to the Pool Hall.
My heart raced.
I breathed a little deeper.
I looked around to see if anyone noticed, did anyone care,
would I come out....alive?
Mr. Kuethe's hand was always so sure, steady, wrinkled from sun and hard work.
I would be OK.
We walked into the smoky room and I peered, squinted at the line of men, mostly or all black, I couldn't exactly tell it was so dark and smoky. My eyes wide open but seeing less after being in the bright sunshine.
We walked over to the small case and Mr. Kuethe facilitated the deal.
I walked a little faster going out, having met one major objective, to say I had crossed the threshhold of a most mysterious place.
Dad got the cigars, maybe a little puzzled at how I got them, maybe not.
Mr. Kuethe caught H*ll from Mrs. Kuethe and had to promise to never take that little girl into the Pool Hall again.
I looked up at Mr. Kuethe and thought I saw a wink.
Tonight I told Dad and miles away, I hope a little twinkle came to him tonight. mary
Monday, July 18, 2016
Dad
Dad
Has been on my mind a lot,
More so since I am in conflict with the post office.
Dad was shop steward at the letter carriers' union.
Paul gave me this after Dad left the material plane.
The irony of a cigarette lighter as a gift from the health insurance,
Well, it is so Dad<3 i="">
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Dad
Misty Memories
Dad 4.1.15
Meg
It has been 2 weeks since my last entry in the unofficial Monkton Chronicles. No news is good news? Sorry, not always.
How long has Dad been gone? I don't know. It's like it's not real sometimes
Dad would tell me, a nurse, he was Hell bent on dying. Was it just me? or was I one of a chosen few he told. Him and Mom (rest in peace) and I were always pretty straight with each other. I could not react to his death wishes. Well, except to recount in my mind all the people I had as patients who wanted to passively lay down and die. All the fighters. He was 92 1/2. Proving true, ironically for him, that what does not kill you makes you stronger. His ending was beautiful with the caregivers I could not be to him. My heart always with him. One day, as the parents moved to more and more assisted living, he pulled a grade school photo of me out of his wallet. For many years he carried it. It's little things like that that show a bond that transcends life itself. He is home with Mom now.
April was not going to be about Dad and yet here I am happy the Chronicles today are not about snarky people, greedy bullies, or plain old morons. Hope spring comes soon or we will miss it! meg
Sunday, July 7, 2024
Dad
A Friend on X asked for we followers to post a photo.
I found this one 😻
Dad ❤️
I stumbled onto this Photo I took of my Dad in 1994.
— Mary Gerdt Parler:Alvarita1 (@marygerdt) July 6, 2024
The Great Gerdt Gathering.
He tolerated the Cool 😎 1960’s Tie Dyed shirts.
I enjoyed seeing Dad again ❤️
And
The Black and White TV 📺
With Rabbit Ears.
4 channels. Nothing on.
Somethings never change.
Somethings seem to be… pic.twitter.com/xGt59sMJBX
Tuesday, December 7, 2021
80 Years Ago
The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.
80 Years ago Today.
Dad wasn’t there at Pearl Harbor
He enlisted in the USMC and dispatched to the South Pacific in WW2
For all my mentions of Dad, and my other Dad too. Both defenders of freedom. Rest In Peace ❤️🇺🇸😎
https://traveloguefortheuniverse.blogspot.com/search?q=Dad
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Veteran's Issues: Link to Wes Moore interview
Heard this interview yesterday on the Imus show.
Actually, streaming WABC in NYC over the internet. Came in clear as a bell. No static.
Wes wrote a book about returning veterans.
It really helps to understand the cognitive framework, the "matrix" if you will. Wes gets it.
I felt like I had personally been focusing on my Dad's service, WW 2, Marines. South Pacific.
He said they saw no combat. They "did nothing" therefore it was to be negated.
When I saw his papers, finally, after he is stuck in a CVA limbo at 91, He was at Guadalcanal.
I also saw how the Japanese would not mess with marines as much?
Well Wes got me thinking again.
How was Dad rewired?
How easy was it to get him to serve? His Prussian Grandfather immigrated to the US to avoid mandatory service. Then Dad and my brother served in wars: Dad in WW2, My Brother in Vietnam. Another brotherand his son in the guards.
I was fortunate to care for veterans of all current wars. They are indeed a special group. I just never could put my finger on it.
Wes is putting it all to words.
Link to the interview:
http://video.foxbusiness.com/v/3558880115001/wes-moore-on-his-new-series-on-us-veterans-returning-home/?playlist_id=933116616001#sp=show-clips
Actually, streaming WABC in NYC over the internet. Came in clear as a bell. No static.
Wes wrote a book about returning veterans.
It really helps to understand the cognitive framework, the "matrix" if you will. Wes gets it.
I felt like I had personally been focusing on my Dad's service, WW 2, Marines. South Pacific.
He said they saw no combat. They "did nothing" therefore it was to be negated.
When I saw his papers, finally, after he is stuck in a CVA limbo at 91, He was at Guadalcanal.
I also saw how the Japanese would not mess with marines as much?
Well Wes got me thinking again.
How was Dad rewired?
How easy was it to get him to serve? His Prussian Grandfather immigrated to the US to avoid mandatory service. Then Dad and my brother served in wars: Dad in WW2, My Brother in Vietnam. Another brotherand his son in the guards.
I was fortunate to care for veterans of all current wars. They are indeed a special group. I just never could put my finger on it.
Wes is putting it all to words.
Link to the interview:
http://video.foxbusiness.com/v/3558880115001/wes-moore-on-his-new-series-on-us-veterans-returning-home/?playlist_id=933116616001#sp=show-clips
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Archives of Monkton Chronicles January-November 2015
November 2015
11.12.2015
It has easily been the sunniest, most pleasant November per my experience living in Vermont since 1981. The year Katie died. And Suzie too, together a cataclysm to my hometown. Hurricane Kate reminded me...it was so long ago, and like yesterday all at once.
The leaves have mostly fallen, a few stragglers clinging, flopping in the winds that come and go.
The time change robbed me of...something. Where do I complain to?
We had to pay the property taxes this week or suffer. Either way we suffer, enough of that for now...don't worry, I won't forget to write more about that later.
Meanwhile, have a Great November!. meg
October 2015
Hallowe'en 2015
The fall colors have been special this year. Still hanging on are the rusts, browns, yellows, dabs of color that contrast more with the silver sticks of trees starting to appear. The colder air clean, crisp. The remnants of the monster storm fought the shredding Eastern mountains and arctic air masses and fizzles out. The election is shaping up to be a full year more of entertainment and a few burst blood vessels from mental stress. Glad I got the lavender blend essential oils to add to my soap. If not much of this makes sense, at least I hope it is entertaining in some way. The veil thinned today and I talked to the parents and lost friends. The crow called out to us and wee saw a big flock of crows flying. I sang to myself, When you awake, Rick Danko's special tune. I think I'll put up a link for tomorrow, All Saint's Day. all for now. meg
10.8.15
The colors of leaves are changing steadily now.
Today a wonderful clear viewing day.
We got our property tax bill which strains my mind,
it is $500 a month. I call that rent.
I have begun praying for Vermont property tax reform, nothing else seems to work.
Not much going on that I can tell.
the town website has minutes, in case you are curious, meg:
September 2015
9.29.15
The Sugar Maple tree in the front yard is
rapidly turning colors,
While others are still green.
It really depends on several factors, Sunlight, day length, approaching dormancy, Tree stress, insects, disease, drought, floods, and more, i.e., the seasonal ebb and flow, the weather here, in Vermont, that is kind and unkind, then brutally pleasant or miserably beautiful.
Yes this is my little column and any sentences will do, free form, they can run on, and on.
Oh the town, the town. I feel an awakening. Perhaps it did us all a little good, praying for the Pope and letting him pray for me (a non practicing Presbyterian).
Now that water has been found on Mars, the real story is who shall own the real estate market in, er, on, the red planet,
Now Wet Planet! and you know what that means,
Beachfront!! shh...was that the purpose of the big UN meeting?
meg
9.17.15
Anticipating the annual changing of the leaves.
Otherwise contemplating the end of summer, the diminished sunlight and my faithful black and white cat.
The weather has barely touched 90 degrees f. Now with fall upon us, the continued cool air is welcome. Reminder to button up the house, order fuel, pick which ones we can afford.
Oil/fuel prices are scarily high compared with barrel prices. The people who are supposed to look out for us don't seem affected. Will they ever? meg
August 2015
8.22.15
A few sunny nice days have begun to balance the cold...
Too little to talk about in town politics. My letters generally not mentioned. Am Reconsidering posting all the letters I have written to the town, you know, so that if I still get no response, it will be heard in every corner of the globe. This internet thing can be pretty fun, and utilitarian. Today my kindle has had some unidentified illness. Spending time trying to track it down took away from my normal twitter time. Still managed to squeeze off a few tweets for the NY Yankees, and more.
Tourists look to be enjoying the Vermont air, mountains, cidery, food, people, and much more. All for now. meg
July 2015
7.2.15
Vermont summer of '15 is cold and dismal,
Or bright stunningly sunny days with fresh cool air.
Finding it hard to report on Monkton times when not
much happens. The birds sing, the swallows swoop, swish and nurture their rugged little babies. The vultures soar overhead. The crows craw. Songbirds serenade in between torrential downpours. Oh please, send some rain to California!
Following the minutes to meetings I cannot attend. Cryptic notes at times. Oh forget it and click on you tube.
June 2015
6.15.15
Have been unmotivated to report on dismal, gray, cold Monkton, Vermont. Since being omitted as an absentee voter, I have grown new tolerance for idiotia. Oh, maybe it is merelyavoidance of idiots. They know not how daft they are.
The proposed pipeline is simmering and sputtering, number salad. How many millions? How many lawyers? Beware as you stand by and not care about such things, it may happen to you. The minutes in the town refer to 2 lawsuits against the town. Our taxes pay for lawyers to defend the boards when they rule against you. Sorry, it's late. Time to sign off...
never think you are alone in this big old world. meg
May 2015
5.13.15 It has been awhile.
Still waiting for warmer weather.
Actually we have had some glimpses of nice weather,
and the trees are finally greening up, the spring blossoms coming along. In spite of my willingness to update the chronicles, I have not quite got past the part where they didn't send me an absentee ballot, and no one cared.
So, let this one be my shortest post. Enjoy spring! meg
4.22.15 Earth Day
Not keeping up with my self appointed tasks. Well, actually keeping up better than I was, so should be happy which I am, in a cautious MS kind of way. Eyes always scanning the horizon. Ready for spring, frost still in the ground, rain greening the grass, the tree buds swelling. Birds singing in the frosty mornings. Oh yes, the Town of Monkton voted down the school budget in March. There was a revote Tuesday. I did not receive my absentee ballot. My vote not counted. The town did not send them out? or did they just forget one or two? FYI. The secretary of state said, they don't deal with that. It's up to me. Why me again? No, this time I am turning it over to the front porch forum. Stronger people than me can take this on and stay free, or ignore and be servants to the town. I am going to go listen to the Yankees whoop the Tigers. meg
APRIL FOOL'S DAY
4.1.15
It has been 2 weeks since my last entry in the unofficial Monkton Chronicles. No news is good news? Sorry, not always.
How long has Dad been gone? I don't know. It's like it's not real sometimes
Dad would tell me, a nurse, he was Hell bent on dying. Was it just me? or was I one of a chosen few he told. Him and Mom (rest in peace) and I were always pretty straight with each other. I could not react to his death wishes. Well, except to recount in my mind all the people I had as patients who wanted to passively lay down and die. All the fighters. He was 92 1/2. Proving true, ironically for him, that what does not kill you makes you stronger. His ending was beautiful with the caregivers I could not be to him. My heart always with him. One day, as the parents moved to more and more assisted living, he pulled a grade school photo of me out of his wallet. For many years he carried it. It's little things like that that show a bond that transcends life itself. He is home with Mom now.
April was not going to be about Dad and yet here I am happy the Chronicles today are not about snarky people, greedy bullies, or plain old morons. Hope spring comes soon or we will miss it! meg
March 2015 Marz Mars
3.15.15
Woefully inadequate reporting by my staff of one,
me, myself, I.
"I ams what I ams and that's all that I ams." Popeye
(did Popeye have hypothyroidism? is that a goiter?"
"You have to live your own life. Your the only one who can do that." My Dad, now 92. He forgot he told me that when I used it on him. Lesson number....oh I lost count, Dad.
I intentionally boycotted Monkton, Vermont's time honored tradition of Town Meeting Day.
Isn't this the point where someone says, well I Chose not to go? That I am not playing Nice? That Town Meeting has no flaws, no improvements or changes allowed, works just fine since before I came here in 1981, I am only an expendable, exhausted, done beating my head against the wall miserable flatlander.
Oh...Maybe this deep stuff touched a nerve that I had to shut down again for a while. Somedays I think of publishing all my letters to the town. Then I decide drawing a picture has more meaning to me now. Tweeting breaking news is fun. Keeping up my blog, my logbook, is a core enjoyable activity.
The Loner Wolf is drawing my attention. More metaphysical training. So Monkton, Vermont is still a frozen town, ruts freezing, thawing, moving. Soon mud season, sugaring, then spring. Soon. Soon. Soon. meg
February 2015
2.28.15
Les Miserable winter is still hanging on our doorstep.
17 Below Zero F. this morning. We are burning anything we can scrounge. Irony of all the taxes we are sending somewhere and not enough left over to heat this big old house.
Good news is Richard Barone's project is moving along. As is Amy Helm's album. Music indeed is a healing agent.
Town meeting is Tuesday and I am formulating how I am saying I will boycott. I know, they rig it so if you don't show up, you are not counted. You must yell yeah and nay and the numbers need correcting, you know, all those pesky numbers?Just vote, will you? Now if I once again reiterate I do not feel comfortable with sitting in front of some people in town, guess once again no one will give a frock.
Spock has left the material plane. Love that man...all of his characters...meg
%%% March starts tomorrow, sun higher, warmer...please!
2.6.15
We are getting through the winter,
Brutal is a good word to describe 2014-15 winter.
Cold extremes, North-south winds, then south to north,
either way, biting and sucks all warmth from human, animal and hearth.
Yup, no global warmin' in Monkton, Vermont.
The sun a a little higher, warmer.
We had a blizzard that plastered the outside of the house with snow. A little warmer in here.
Fred got me some kefir grains from Cultures for health. So I set to growing kefir culture. So glad I did. Will write more later about that. The probiotic effects are essential. Something we have been missing out on...with the antibiotic age.
Not much to say in February. We still fight the proposed pipeline, we wish hopelessly for an early spring.
Have a Great day in your corner of the planet.
meg
January 2015
1.15.15
No news is good news?
Or have I merely fallen behind in my self appointed duties?
The low light days are not enough to recharge my battery, that is a fact. Today a bright frigid day lured me to a south window for a dose of sunlight. We have very little snow and gusts of wind. Brrr. The town is preparing for town meeting. I am encouraged at more people getting involved. My ability to participate is limited by my feelings of ...how do I say this? Tears of Rage comes to mind. So I will avoid it altogether and report what I can glean from my surroundings. Am hanging out on twitter more and getting the hang of google photos, yet the whole cloud thing sounds easier than it is. Fighting the pipeline with like minded neighbors. Happy New Year from Monkton, Vermont. meg
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Carol Frost
Here is another dark poem since this first day of spring was so stinginingly chilly.
Carol Frost was Robert's son who committed suicide after burning all his poetry. It sort of takes your breath away, the story of a man in the shadows of a famous poet, indeed one of the most favorite of our time.
First draft
By Mary E. Gerdt
Carol Frost’s poems
Were lost in a fire
Of his own making
A funeral pyre
Of all his Dad loved and all he would be.
Carol said take this, and then said take me.
Leaving his father to wonder on cold and warm nights,
When the leaves were falling, or the rain turned to ice,
What his son had written, he tried to recall
The ones his son shared,
That’s all after all,
That was left of the poems of the son of the man
Who was famous in life and tenfold in death.
What goes through man’s mind whose son took his own life?
Could the words that he wrote cushion the strife?
Could he say, I am better at the end of the day,
When he remembered poor Carol, alone and astray.
Did he wonder if there was a path he could take
Less travelled or not
To avoid the mistake
He surely thought happened
When Carol was sad.
Was it all because of his famous Dad.
Did Carol wonder how he never could be
As great as his Dad and waited not to see
And never shared the poems that told
Of his father and family.
Did Robert wonder and cry to himself
And stood tall to others but inside he was dark.
In a small recess in a part of his brain
He recalled Carol’s actions again and again.
Late at night when the wind howled and he was feeling the pain,
Carol’s face would appear as a dream again
And again.
Haunting his sleepless nights with a fear,
Robert suffered plenty
With Carol not here.
The poems were elusive as Robert’s road not travelled
The road he had taken, caused the family to unravel.
Famous poet, though the world loved him greatly,
Wanted only the love of his son
Carol Frost was Robert's son who committed suicide after burning all his poetry. It sort of takes your breath away, the story of a man in the shadows of a famous poet, indeed one of the most favorite of our time.
First draft
By Mary E. Gerdt
Carol Frost’s poems
Were lost in a fire
Of his own making
A funeral pyre
Of all his Dad loved and all he would be.
Carol said take this, and then said take me.
Leaving his father to wonder on cold and warm nights,
When the leaves were falling, or the rain turned to ice,
What his son had written, he tried to recall
The ones his son shared,
That’s all after all,
That was left of the poems of the son of the man
Who was famous in life and tenfold in death.
What goes through man’s mind whose son took his own life?
Could the words that he wrote cushion the strife?
Could he say, I am better at the end of the day,
When he remembered poor Carol, alone and astray.
Did he wonder if there was a path he could take
Less travelled or not
To avoid the mistake
He surely thought happened
When Carol was sad.
Was it all because of his famous Dad.
Did Carol wonder how he never could be
As great as his Dad and waited not to see
And never shared the poems that told
Of his father and family.
Did Robert wonder and cry to himself
And stood tall to others but inside he was dark.
In a small recess in a part of his brain
He recalled Carol’s actions again and again.
Late at night when the wind howled and he was feeling the pain,
Carol’s face would appear as a dream again
And again.
Haunting his sleepless nights with a fear,
Robert suffered plenty
With Carol not here.
The poems were elusive as Robert’s road not travelled
The road he had taken, caused the family to unravel.
Famous poet, though the world loved him greatly,
Wanted only the love of his son
Monday, November 11, 2013
Veteran's Day
Veteran's Day
Had hoped for an end to the fighting,
The killing,
The pain.
The bad dream is passed down through the ages,
The wanting to fight,
Not for poets or sages.
Takes a strong man or woman to conquer a foe,
Many die, or are wounded, Body & Soul.
Once they're safely back home, adjustment is slow,
interrupted by pain, sorrow, regret and no dough.
The shelling a whistle in their deepest dark dreams,
The waking a panic,
Checking for their limbs.
My Dad, a Marine, 91 years of age, rugged WW2 Vet,
With a heart, if you let Him run the controls,
He's in charge & his old ways are set.
His grandfather came to US as a lad,
To escape Army service, in his Prussian native land.
Dad and his brother fought in the war,
Dad told me it was nothing,
He lied now I know,
Whether fighting or training or planning for war,
War is Hell, I know you have heard it before.
To all Veterans & families, friends, neighbors & all Americans,
Be proud of our nation,
We would not be here without them.
Had hoped for an end to the fighting,
The killing,
The pain.
The bad dream is passed down through the ages,
The wanting to fight,
Not for poets or sages.
Takes a strong man or woman to conquer a foe,
Many die, or are wounded, Body & Soul.
Once they're safely back home, adjustment is slow,
interrupted by pain, sorrow, regret and no dough.
The shelling a whistle in their deepest dark dreams,
The waking a panic,
Checking for their limbs.
My Dad, a Marine, 91 years of age, rugged WW2 Vet,
With a heart, if you let Him run the controls,
He's in charge & his old ways are set.
His grandfather came to US as a lad,
To escape Army service, in his Prussian native land.
Dad and his brother fought in the war,
Dad told me it was nothing,
He lied now I know,
Whether fighting or training or planning for war,
War is Hell, I know you have heard it before.
To all Veterans & families, friends, neighbors & all Americans,
Be proud of our nation,
We would not be here without them.
Monday, March 9, 2015
Mom's Dad
Mom's Dad
One of the few photos of Mom as a little girl she had a sad look.
I imagined it was.because her father died, when Mom was 5.
The photographer took pictures to mark events, birth, weddings, funerals.
Hearing Mom's Dad was a professional,
Started this drawing
He probably took the streetcar.
Mom waiting for him to come home.
In 1930 ish...
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Eating Disorders, What I know, Who I am, Where I came from
notes: even as I started to write this I was resistant. It is a tender subject. It cuts to the quick, the nerve, a shooting pain, an agony of sorrows, a remembrance of teasing, looks, reflections of repulsion, most of it imaginary. As a small child I was not obese. I was quite active as we all were with mandatory gym every day and recess and free time unencumbered by lots of techno crap. We had Mom & Dad's old console stereo, which was for dancing, too. If you got to jumping too hard the record skipped.
As a young child and as I grew older, food was important. There were 7 kids and 2 parents, all eating. I never knew what leftovers were when I met Fred. I still eat like a vacuum cleaner. My parents were born around the depression era. Dad's family had a grocery store in St. Louis and they did OK. Mom's Father died in 1930, leaving our widowed grandmother Fanny, their Son Jay, 15 and Mom 5. Mom had food anxiety. Hoarding. Nibbler. I am her clone. But add the not hungry, not full thing. I don't understand it. I don't want to understand it.
The farther back I looked, heavy, heavy, heavy people. My Dad was the skinniest that I knew, and Brother Dan. Was that because I stole his portions?...see I said this is painful. I will only scratch the surface of my culture about food.Jay was trim, solid. His sister, My Mom overweight. But not until she had kids. She thought the weight was from having kids. Then I never had kids and my weight went up in my 20's.
Yes I consume more than I burn.
I survive.
Right now, nausea creeps in from meds, diseased neurons.
My feelings about food, constantly change.
Except chocolate.
We do try to avoid processed foods, prepared foods, we try to choose healthy over not but we really must balance with desserts or other treats to keep us thankful we came down to this planet of plenty for one more spin. Growing up we did not have dessert with meals like my friends did. That is not to say we were not creative about cooking even at a young age.
So as this flows out, maybe it was not so bad. I get sensitive when I hear, eat healthy, live longer.
So many years working ICU. Healthy ones dropped too, sometimes more precipitously.
Then a nurse I knew, how did she stay so thin? Exercise, aerobics. And she ate the white part of the lettuce, you know, the stem end? She ate very little. I worried about her. Me plus sized. I worked hard but pretty sedentary, flat footed. Here was my friend, I was Envious.
It should have been a warning. We spent a lot of time together, 12 hour shifts, coding dead people,
chatting over half dead people, keeping people alive until the next shift.
I asked her one day when I gained the courage.How did she stay so thin?
She had been an exercise addict. She actually felt more laid back than before.
She weighed more than she ever had.
She moderated her exercise, she dropped the food obsessions. It was not easy.
She was pushed to the breaking point,
She was like a toothpick. I did not know her then. I was glad she told me.
Nothing is as it appears. You never know people's struggles.
I never looked at thin people the same.
Lastly, my ancestors did not think about eating too much or vomiting their excesses.
partly because there were no excesses.
Here is a link for the scientific low down on eating disorders.
There was in me more of a story. Perhaps more will come out later. Perhaps not.
Eating Disorders...
It is a modern phenonmenon, no??
We snickered in 6th grade when the boys talked about
the Roman excesses-they ate and then vomited at the Vomitorium.
Sunday, September 5, 2021
Dad
Dad
Was born 99 years ago today.
I miss him so
And Remember Him with
A Tear 😢 and a Smile 😊❤️
Rerun…
https://traveloguefortheuniverse.blogspot.com/2015/09/dad.html
Monday, April 23, 2018
Atmospheric Pressure
 |
| Dad Halfway home, We both have had our atmospheric damages. insults to our bodies Think of the neurological system as one big solar system. What if the moon went away? |
Found this amongst my Dad posts.
This one a happy sad memory. Rip Dad.
Thinking again how Are minds, our nervous system
Is really a Solar System in Complexity
And what it encompasses.
Meg
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Fred's Dad
Now I come to write of Fred's Dad's passing a few weeks shy of his 90th birthday.
Here are a few words to sum up the man as I knew him.
May Rudy Rest in peace.
Dad was a Dreamer, Inventor, Farmer, War Hero and Traveler.
Lover of sailing and the sea.
At home with his suitcase, he never failed to be ready for an adventure.
Story teller, Philosopher, a Simple Complicated Man.
Husband, Father, Grandfather, and Great Grandfather.
He lived through the depression and Wars. Good times and bad.
For those fortunate to know him, you know the sparkle in his eye and his dry wit, his stories that would catch you at the end and make you coming back for more.
We loved him dearly and
Pray he is at peace now and
By the side of
His Soul mate, his Friend, his Partner, his Confidant, and
Mother to his children,
And telling her stories of his mortal times.
And remembering the places he had been,
Things he had done, people he had met and family he raised
With a tear and a smile as he had remembered her always.
Love, Fred and Mary
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