Okay. Still in the mechanical chair, with Simon sitting beside me. I also found Pookie’s obituary, which had a “null” under it on the “Blog” app image. I would have hated to lose that, for it may be the best thing I ever wrote; but it is here somewhere: actually it is dated July 31, 1914, in the archives. She was Simon’s predecessor. I’m glad my smart iPad knew how to spell predecessor.
Little Brother
Little Brother’s lost the use
Of hind legs, each and all;
Thus, every day I sit and pray
And love that left in thrall.
I had trouble getting the formatting the way I wanted; it still isn’t quite right, but every time I try to correct anything, I throw something else out of whack. “Whack,” what a delightful word; as is “thrall,” though the line may not work as well as it should, even though it says exactly what I mean. Actually, the second line should be somewhat humorous (“each and all”; he has two!); the final line is, may I say, profoundly serious. “Profoundly,” truth will prevail.
I need to finish this entry, for every thing I attempt to write goes somewhat—here comes another one—askew. Again, I am exceedingly grateful to my smart pad for knowing how to spell “askew.” I blush to admit that I thought there was a “q” in there somewhere. I am profoundly ignorant of oh so many things. Probably why I love Jeopardy so much: facts, details, correct pronunciations of so many details and facts that I have been mispronouncing for a lifetime.
While I am at it. What I really like about phone poems is the possibility of getting the truth of an idea, an emotion, a detail, a fact, etc. precisely said. All the great poets accomplished that over and over, which is why I used to memorize so much verse from Shakespeare, Dante, Milton, Keats, Wordsworth, Eliot and so on. Even in old age, many of the things I loved and learned stay with me. You might also understand why I hate the use of the word “like” so predominant in our culture, the word that undermines the entire notion of truth. “The woman was, like, really beautiful.” No, she was really beautiful. In fact, “She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes.” Byron, I think. And “like” put to one of its most effective and best purposes.
Time out, Time to walk 250 before 6. Like Benedict XVI in “The Two Popes,” whose watch kept announcing that it was “time to walk,” usually at an inappropriate time.
An operation to correct Simon’s back and leg problems, we have heard, costs 8,000 dollars and is only available in either Louisville or Cincinnati. If we had 8,000 dollars to spend on such a thing, I would be glad to do it. The only hesitation there would be that when we had that operation for Pookie, in 2011 or 12, she never fully recovered the use of her hind legs. At least she was no longer in pain. The operation was 2,000 dollars then and took place in Lexington, but she still could not walk, as I said.
Simon and I are about the same age, when we consider “dog years”; we are both in our late seventies. The last time we walked on the Stevenson Trail, the day was a Monday, and I kept watching him, as I always did, to make certain he was doing well. I can still see him trudging along beside me. Thursday of that week he couldn’t walk. Now he lives on “underpads”and pain pills. Simon, little buddy, little guy, little brother. We had a good run, so to speak. Now, when he’s asleep, I sometimes call him “Chupacabra,” little monster. Mostly I just like to say the word, “Chupacabra.”
So, as the contestants say on Jeopardy from time to time, I made last hour’s 250 steps and have only this hour’s 250 steps to go to make the complete 8 hours. DONE!
