A Seven Decade’s Ode
(But Never “Old”)
According to a hearsay bio,
Something happened in Ohio.
It all began in 1950,
A year both frightening and nifty:
The birth of the hydrogen bomb so grim,
And then the “explosion” known as “Jim”!
Seventy may make him groan,
And Heaven knows he’s not alone!
For Tempus Fugits all the time,
Even while we read this rhyme.
But, it’s nice to reach this noble stage
And look like some much younger age.
Still, good ol’ days we must extol…
The very beginning of Rock and roll!
McCarthy and his McCarthy-ism
Ruined lives to fight communism.
There began Jim’s lifelong trek…
A fresh-faced kid, but what the heck?
Sowing his wild oats by the ton,
While full of zip and,
O, sooooo young!
Hats off to his exhausted mother,
Ignoring self to care for others.
And, just when she thought she’d never rest,
Jim left her with an empty nest.
To find a job and make a living…
Adulthood’s never as forgiving
As teenagers so oft assume,
When freedom calls and love’s in bloom!
His early stab at this was fraught
With efforts to survive, but caught
On all the barbs and verities
Of life’s responsibilities.
Time worked upon Jim’s Karmic plan,
The destiny of every man,
Until two lives were coincided…
Then his and Cindi’s paths collided.
Cindi’s grown babies…one and two…
She’d already done what parents do.
Wiped their bottoms and dried their tears,
Helped solve their problems through the years…
Jim brought seven as progeny….
Can anyone spell “vasectomy”?
And, thus began a whole new life,
As Jim became an Airforce “wife.”
Did he even dream as they did marry,
He’d be bag man at the commissary?
Did they assume parenting was done?
Old challenges gone….new ones begun!
Few “definites” and lots of “maybes,”
But the big reward is, of course,
Grandbabies!!!
Thus life rolls on, our fortunes swing,
The winners of “Idol” dance and sing.
Human events still rise and fall,
And we wander dazed amid them all.
The military, with wisdom true,
Moved them from here to Timbuktu.
Whenever Cindi went off to war,
Her Jim stayed home to “mind the store”.
No matter where the soldier roams,
They also serve who guard the home.
Who call all kids…keep them informed,
Who keep the home fire nice and warm,
And no matter where or how long it took,
To whip out an apron and be the cook.
Perhaps in an apron Jim was attired,
When Cindi informed him she’d be retired.
With Cindi’s career, Jim’s, too, was done:
Some plastic bags and a roll of ones
Commemorated without a doubt
His loyal service and “piped” him out!
In a final move, they had a voice;
So, Wesley Chapel was their choice.
Thus, a birthday, perhaps,
Is no big deal,
Just one more “spoke” upon the “wheel”
Of life with its complexities
And muddled idiosyncrasies.
Yet even in our paltry place
Upon this planet’s tired face,
It surely wrings from us wild cheers
When a fellow human hits seventy years!
In terms of Tyrannosaurus Rex,
Seventy years is just a speck.
But, viewed in our more limited way,
It rightly takes one’s breath away.
Imagine seventy years ago:
The world was different then, I know.
Space travel was a random thought:
Computers?
There were not a lot…
The few we had were giant-sized,
When Jim first opened up his eyes.
Sean Connery’s face had not yet shown,
And Disney World was still unknown.
The Peanuts strip had just begun,
And many a song was not yet sung!
Sinatra had plenty of job connections:
Few knew about his Mob connections.
Who needed “Crack” when tobacco was fine?
You couldn’t find a psychic hotline.
Shopping malls hadn’t yet been built;
Lake Erie had a LOT less silt.
Big Band leaders were household names;
A Young Sam Snead enjoyed his fame.
Trees had seventy fewer rings,
And people’s homes held fewer “things.”
We just made do, as we were able…
And families gathered around the table!”
Homes had radios…one or two,
Televisions? Just a few.
A working Mom might have a permanent wave,
But definitely no microwave.
Dads went to work, all strong and steady;
Mom raised the kids, got dinner ready.
The I-phone would’ve scared them sick:
No doubt some wild-eyed Commie trick!
A few magazines and a few good books
Relaxed the fathers and soothed the “cooks.”
People still spoke to one another,
And children had more baby brothers.
Life back then was far from hard
With games of Monopoly, checkers, cards.
Somebody somewhere had a whim
Married, had kids…and there was Jim.
The world rolled on, as it had before,
Despite the curse of Korean War.
Governments still used aggression
To cure any sign of a dread recession.
About the time Jim went to school,
Those Big Band tunes were losing “cool.”
While Moms and Dads were daily stressing
Over the likes of Elvis Presley!
As a kid, he played and rode on bikes,
Swam in the summer, and went on hikes.
Ways to get in trouble? There were gobs!
The cure?
More chores or part time jobs.
But, nothing and no one stays the same;
As change to life and family came.
Remember all that has come between
That natal day, and this birthday scene.
Yes, the crazy world that today we ken,
Wasn’t even dreamed about back then.
We wallow in mega-technology,
And anguish over ecology.
Climate change has stolen the scene;
And whatever we are, we have gotta be “green.”
If Jim looks good and full of zing,
It’s his DNA and his chicken wings…
His kids and grandkids keep him young;
They want his birthday song well sung.
The blessings of a long life blend
In the love of family and of friends.
So, here we are,
On this Birthday boat:
Though change happens,
We’re still a-float.
This silly rhyme is our paltry gift,
Intended to give your soul a lift…
To remind you of milestones like this week,
When those who love you take turns to speak.
Yes,
Turning seventy’s NOT the end,
If you don’t count candles,
But DO count friends!
Here’s a birthday toast to
Our Buddy Jim,
And all that the future holds for him:
Have a Happy Birthday and dozens more,
Whether you do or do not keep score.
May life be better as each year passes,
May you always be able to find your glasses.
May your friends grow older along with you,
Your descendants grow up strong and true.
No matter your age, may youth light your face;
May you bloom where you’re planted
And savor your space.
Until you’re so old and feeble and gaunt
That everyone lets you just do what you want.
In short,
Dear Jim,
We think you’re swell…
And now let’s raise some
Birthday #@%%!!!
Happy Birthday!!!
Love, Lida B…..The QOE and Company
Written for you on March 14, 2020
XOXO