He’s in a Dash

Not yet a man, no longer child,

Benji sleeps, or he’s in a dash

Loved dearly, drives his mother wild

Forever hungry, needing cash.

Here, our breakfast, eaten, done.

And from my daughter, good morning wishes

She’s off to work and on the run –

“Last night your grandson did the dishes!”

Fixing stuff, he’s sharp, he’s quick.

And finding out just how stuff works

The Wifi’s down – “Oh just a tick.”

Once, that was me, now “Damn!” it irks

Swimming togs, ‘n socks ‘n towels,

His mind just flicks from now to next.

He’s become immune to mother’s growls –

And me, his Poppa? Amused ~ I’m not at all perplexed.

from Our Back Deck

The sunshade cloth has long been up

The setting up reminding me of the sailing ship days, the rigging I read about from borrowed books in my early teens – I have long since sailed into old age.

Contented pensioner-hood.

Shade cloth aloft, our back deck is still hot. It is our ‘summer seat’ for meals, visitors, that extra coffee.

It is from where I gaze across the back garden at jobs undone. But guilt sleeps in the summer heat.

From this back deck I look at individual plants, their bright, cheerful summer flowers, most of which I don’t know their names.

Nearby, quite prominently a light green display

“What is that?”

The reply is patient, clear, “It is a fennel seed head.”

Thence the contrasting sentiments on my social networks

“Great pic, but yuk!”

“Oh that makes a great herb for . . .”

Summer time

Coffee is drained. Shade cloth ‘n all pur back deck is hot.

Back to the unhurried pace of being a pensioner

Three of us


Family
Sunshine
Making our way downhill.
A field of daisies
Daisies nodding, weaving about in a vigorous breeze
Blue Sky

Next the call of Canadian geese.
Beautiful in flight
In tight formation they circle, calling to each other.
Locals shoot them. They foul our waterways,  restricting the life of native species.

To steady ourselves we carry sticks, walking poles. The stability. The comfort, a reassurance of grasping something.

Not long ago, alive with energy, , I’d rush down that slope. Stride up again. It was all about energy, that zest for life. I’d see very little about medium.

Below us a  contentment of ducks drift across the dam, which is lazily eking it’s way through rocks, plants, debris, into an unhurried stream.

Ham, Cheese and Brown Onion

Just to my left
A cafe
I’m hungry
Late morning, an active, ‘useful’ morning.

I buy a toasted sandwich
Yes, I could have made one at home
But

No 44 is perched on my small window table.
Moving pictures of Thames people going places along the pavement.

An old bloke
My age
No sure where he should be going
Trousers too big
He’s probably shrunk
He’s happy to just be
To stand there
And not go anywhere

Car stops out pops a guy out pops a dog they both know where they want to go but in different directions.

I finish my chunky toasted sandwich of ham, cheese, and brown onion.

Thirty Five Coffees

When I was seven, I was told, “You must clean your teeth!”

Regularly – told and brushed that is.

Now that I’m older, much older, I enjoy cleaning my teeth. I feel completely dressed, ready to face the day.

Yesterday, a visit to my dentist. One of those regular checks. You never know, the Apocolypse could be tomorrow. Must have clean teeth.

While there (always a pleasant ‘mouth open’ chat, families, trips away, etc). While there, he cleaned my teeth. Sure, with a buzzy brush and a classy toothpaste.

To the cost of thirty five coffees.

I came home. My teeth so far have been cleaned twice today.

Winter
Too cool to ride
An E Bike, yes
But no provision for heated handlebars

Sunny day – I’m like a kid out of school
Out I go
On the trail
The loved and familiar sounds
Sights
Contented cows
Munching
Always munching

Roll on summer

Our Steps

The steps at the end of our street.
Some days I walk up two at a time. Exercise. Coming Down always one at a time – easier to take a spill coming down. Not a agile as I once was.
Coming down I often up I meet up with a dog walker. If we know each other the doggo is released for a chat. I speak fluent dog. Also a good way to meet neighbour’s.
On ‘one step at a time’ days it is usually for a good walk around the block. Or even downtown. But less so these days, lugging shopping uphill best left for the young ones. Who don’t walk but drive cars.
On solitary days the magic is in the birdsong about me. Particularly now in Spring. Loud, assertive they do get to know me. Stay perched she were they are and watch.
Rewarded now and then by a Kingfisher.
There is one goldfish missing from our pond.

Sparrows

In city life, or country he’s quite a common bird
The male quite distinct, a black bib on his chest
And if not seen, they always can be heard
Bread maybe, though wild bird seed is the best
Just now he’s got a straw, I guess to build a nest.
Erratic flight, he’s nothing like an arrow
That aside, endearing, our common garden sparrow