Why this blog?

Around 25 years ago, I convinced my grandmother to write a memoir. Naturally, it was in pen on (gasp) paper. That, of course, would never do. I was blinded by new technology. I was an idiot. I convinced (read "paid") my daughter, Miriam, to type Bubbie's manuscript up on my Commodore 64. Then, to make matters worse, I edited the typescript. Then I printed it out and had it copied and bound.

Now, the actual original manuscript, what Bubbie actually wrote with her own hand, is lost forever. It's probably somewhere in the house, but that pretty much counts as lost forever.

Now, I'm at that age. My kids have not asked me to do this, but I'm doing it anyway. I'm still amused enough by technology that I don't want to do a handwritten manuscript. I also don't think I can achieve the kind of dramatic impact that Bubbie managed with a formal autobiography. So, instead, I'm doing a blog with random memories from the past and the present scattered in a disorganized way.

This blog is linked to my two other blogs.

http://henryandcarolynsecondhoneymoon.blogspot.com/ is the blog I started when I came down with cancer and pretty much stopped when Carolyn died.

http://henryfarkaswidowerblog.blogspot.com/ is the blog I started after Carolyn died; when I decided to continue blogging.

For what it's worth, there's a search engine attached to this blog right below this intro. That won't be worth much initially, but if this blog gets long and stays disorganized, then my kids and their kids will be able to use the search engine to find stuff if they're interested.

Search This Blog

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Poem

I missed the LunchLines meeting two days ago, but I did write a poem for it and emailed it to the group. Now I'm putting it in this blog. The topic for this week was, of all things, rabies. Here's what I wrote:
_____________________________________________

Mad Dog Joe
b. 1860 d. 1884
R.I.P.

Joe Czarnecki grew up,
but he didn't grow wise.

He was a hod carrier
In Chicago.

They were doing lots of building in Chicago
Back then. They'd had a fire.

It was honest work,
But those hods were heavy.

He decided to go west,
And become a gunslinger.

It was dangerous work,
But guns are lighter than hods.

When he got to Tombstone, Arizona,
He needed a moniker.

One that would inspire fear
When he was out gunslinging.

He slung his gun
Only once.

Below the R.I.P. on his marker
on Boot Hill, it said.

Here lies Mad Dog Joe.
He slung his gun too slow.

_____________________________
by Henry Farkas
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