Friday, July 20, 2018


Tonight's's been quite a while, I know, but I'm here now.  Anyway, this is the last thing I ever thought I'd write about but what prompts a poem is never predictable.  I recently heard of a new product that's been tauted as marijauna without the THC, a great pain reliever, no side effects. As far as I'm concerned, anything that would address my pain and would be better than an opioid is worth taking a look at. So I went to a pharmacy in Little Chute to get more information.  I just began limited use and the jury  is still out.
I'll let you know...

By Patty Lynn

I wonder if you've tried the thing they often call “a joint?”
You heard me right, I really need to know to make my point.
Why do I need to know, you ask, why do I need to know?
Because I never have, though once, I smelled the afterglow.

The story of just how I did is really rather comical.
The man I worked for liked to “smoke" whenever it was possible,
But since I didn't know the smell, I didn't recognize it
Co-workers said they always knew; I guess that verifies it.

You see, I cleaned the bathrooms, ‘cause I liked them to be clean.
I smelled a smoky smell in there that wasn't nicotine.
I mentioned it, got raucous laughs, they asked if I was kidding?
I told them I was serious, they thought that I was fibbing.

It only goes to show I'm not a worldly average Joe..
I've never smoked or rolled a joint so how was I know.
I’ve got to say I'm curious ‘bout pot for pain relief,
If I could ease my pain with it, my source of daily grief…

Why, you can bet I'd learn real fast just how to roll a joint.
I'd revel that somehow it worked and didn't disappoint.
That day will be glorious one, pain gone & feeling good
Medicinal marijuana should be legal, yes, it should.

But I have found the capsule kind that has no THC.
It's legal & I'm trying it and it may work for me.
So at my very “tender age" still wouldn't know the smell,
But that’s OK, maybe someday, I'll smoke it, who can tell.

Friday, June 15, 2018

The Older We Get....

It seems that as we age, health questions are plentiful but answers aren't easy to come by. This latest poem is a good example of just that.

Getting to the Bottom
By Patty Lynn

So here I sit just waiting, waiting for the doc.
She wanted to re-test me, my BP’s not so hot.
I don't know why it suddenly became so elevated.
It never was before, in fact, “just perfect" it was rated.

“So why the change, how come,”I ask,”I need an explanation.”
“Well, Pat, you suffer from old age, now that becomes your station!”
“Who me,” I say, “that can't be right, old people have that spot.
And I'm not old, you must be wrong, an oldster I am not!”

“Now, Pat,” she says,” your body, well, it isn't what it was.
Your BP sometimes bottoms out, you wonder why it does?”
“Of course, I do, and suddenly, why has it changed so much?
My dad, he was the only one whose BP wouldn't budge…

But Dad was grossly overweight so understandably.
So even though I'm not, we've got to find what works for me.
Now, there is something else for which I need a remedy
My balance problem’s getting worse & falling’s plaguing me!”

I'm glad I've finally got a chance to talk about my issues.
She's tested and ruled out so much, she’s thorough, it's official.
I'm thankful that it's not my heart, my brain, we've ruled those out,
But balance plagues me constantly, so PT is the route.”

I’ve started with a therapist, a guy I really like.
He helped me with my knees post-op, he'll know just how to strike…
A balance of what I can do and what I must accomplish,
A  way that I find doable, results that just astonish.

He put me through my paces, recorded how did,
Establishing a base line, a place from which to build.
I really think he'll help me reach my goal of finding balance
All I can say is that I'll give an effort that is valiant.

My hope is that when the Summer's gone my balance will be better.
And I won't live each day in fear, that I will take a header…
Down basement steps or in the tub or falling in my garden,
“Excuse me hosta, lilly too, and weeds, I beg your pardon.”

It's easy to get down about the things I'd like to do,
And figure that I'm just too old to learn a thing or two,
But with this special therapist who feels I can improve,
With practice, I'm determined to stay firmly “In the groove.”

Friday, May 4, 2018


Today's poem was one of those that took a lot of time.  Why?  I really don't know, it just did.  Suffice to say, it may be that it was difficult because it is so true. You see, 2 weeks ago I wearing two shoes that were the same size (what a concept!) and now, they don't fit.  My left foot is a 6 1/2 and my right is now a 7.  But rather than go into a long explanation here, this poem will tell you all about the situation.

By Patty Lynn

We've heard it said, well, most of us, the phrase that Sherlock spoke
“The games afoot!” he'd just announce, to find the guilty bloke.
But when I hear that said I think, my foot’s no game at all
If only someone could provide a major overhaul.

You see, they've got what I'd describe as a mind that’s all their own
They change their way of walking, just never know.
Now though my shoe size, 6 ½, is just right for my left
My right foot pushes forward and it really has me stressed

So what to do, I'm telling you, I see no compromise
Than buying up 2 pr. of shoes, can you see dollar signs?
But me, I’m trying to create the same, that's space enough
By buying one size larger and the other I will stuff…

With pads and such to fill the space, so that shoe won't off
While everyday I still will pray that both my feet will morph...
Into a pair of healthy feet with perfect toes so straight
No bunions, corns or callouses, in short, they’d just be great!

“The game’s a foot?” no game at all, no game as feet evolve,
I know, I know, ‘twas mysteries, Ol' Sherlock loved to solve,
But Sherlock, I've got news for you, ‘tis the mystery of MY feet!
Why must they switch the way they walk,’twould make my life so sweet…

If I could wear a shoe that's cute, a shoe like others do
That's feminine and with a heel to make me tall, like you.
I'd be the happiest girl in town, I'd simply jump for joy.
I'd pile up all the shoes I have and with a match, DESTROY!

Friday, April 20, 2018


First, let me say that we are blessed with exceptional neighbors, there when you need help, always willing and able.  When my husband was recovering from back surgery, one neighbor, for instance, came and walked our little dog once a day Monday through Friday for weeks because he knew that the dog was used to having walks with Frank.  Now that would be a nice thing to do especially by someone who was a dog person but, come to find out, he wasn't, he was a cat person.  So I guess I'd have to say we've experienced a lot of acts of kindness since we moved here 10 years ago.  That said, I suppose this isn't the best title for tonight's blog.

For the most part, I think random acts of kindness describe a one time act, unexpected, unsolicited, and one that's a surprise to the recipient. One of our outstanding acts of kindness came last year when my husband had back surgery.  I was facing life without Frank's help.  You see Frank does so much around the house from vacuuming to what he does to help me with cleaning to garbage duty to taking the dog out for a walk 3 times a day to...  The list is so long that I dreaded being the one to handle it all.  Cooking I could handle but additionally, there was helping Frank himself.  His sister came & that was a welcome assist but she couldn't do the personal cares, things like helping him wash and get dressed, etc.

Something I dreaded was shoveling our enormous driveway and I mean shoveling.  I've never used a snow blower and although my sister-in-law was more than willing, I wouldn't let her.   After the first real snowfall, I managed to shovel a path on the deck and out to the backyard for the dog, but that was all I could handle. And then it happened...the family across the street, Dad, sometimes Mom and one or two of their long list of kids were over here first thing in the morning shoveling our driveway! And if the snow continued they came again and if was necessary, again.

That continued through the entire Winter season with one exception.  Dad felt it necessary to stop by one afternoon and let us know that they all were going on a week-long vacation and didn't want us to think they had neglected us.  Now that would have been exceptional kindness in and of itself, understanding my husband's limitations following back surgery, but we never expected that this Winter the family was back at it, shoveling our driveway every time it needed it.  So you see what I mean when I say KINDNESS, but this is kindness beyond simple kindness. To show our gratitude we always give the family some sort of gift card as they would never accept cash, but this year I wrote a poem to accompany it.

By Patty Lynn

There’s people all around the world, like us, they're in their 70's,
And all those folks, like us, have found that bodies have their enemies.
Yes, aches & pains are typical and weather plays its part,
But spines are their own problem, their failings at the heart…

Of so much that you want to do, the impact’s undeniable,
And shoveling snow’s impossible with a back that’s unreliable.
A privilege to own a home, we're thankful that we do,
But when it snows, our drive-way is too much for us, it's true!

Now I could say you’ve helped us out by clearing this expanse,
I'd even say that you're the best, whenever there’s a chance,
But that would never be enough to tell you what you've done,
This gesture’s made a difference, allowed us to outrun…

The move the two of us must face now sometime down the line,
The one that age will clearly show the one you knows not fine...
But, realistic, can’t be helped, that comes when we can't handle…
The upkeep, daily maintenance, when all of it's dismantled…

Because the two of us have found that all of it's too much.
We've reached an age (I hate to think) it's clear & must be judged...
That we're too old to do it all, we're forced to the alternative
Assisted living, senior care, we find it all perturbative…

For no one wants that kind of change, a move we two both dread.
We'd sooner stay right where we are, right in our little homestead.
I'm sure you know how much this means, postponing such a move,
And your kind gesture gives us time, believe me, we approve.

What you have done is so much more than shoveling the drive.
By your removing snow for us, you've cleared the way to thrive…
As happy owners of our home, postponing those concerns,
While from your selfless act for us, our neighbors all will learn.

Thursday, March 1, 2018

What's the Remedy?

The following poem needs no explanation.  It's a true accounting of everything that took place last Friday morning.  If anyone has a theory as to why this happened, please let me know.  I go for further testing next week and am hoping that I will get some answers.  I pray that I don't ever have a repeat performance!


I never thought this word would cause such fear & trepidation.
I never thought each step I took might bring a complication.
And, oh, it brings back memories of days when my own mother
Would somehow find a way to fall, what was the cause, I wondered.

But now it’s me who's falling like I did the other day.
I climbed the basement stairs and then, fell backward all the way
And landed at the bottom where the floor, it made me stop,
Bewildered why I fell at all, had almost reached the top.

I do remember falling and to myself, I said, “Oh, shit!”
Those words they would reverberate while falling, that was it.
I don't remember landing, just that I made a thud,
And wondered just what product I would use to clean that blood.

I don't know how my husband walked me slowly up each stair…
Got on my coat and to the car, just how he got me there.
I kept on asking what had happened and where we were going,
And each time he explained to me the things I should be knowing.

I do recall emergency, the lights, but little else.
I don't remember ex-rays, scans, felt I was by myself.
I guess that’s further proof that I had I suffered a concussion.
The signs and symptoms are clear-cut, an obvious deduction.

I do recall a rigid brace that kept my head from moving.
It kept on rubbing on my wound, believe me, NOT amusing.
But when they finished all my tests, were sure that I was fine,
The brace was gone, relief was sweet and happiness was mine!

My head wound was at last addressed and closed up with some staples,
And I was free, the worse for wear and with Frank's arm enabled…
To go back home complete with sling, so tender but not broken.
But still, I felt through all of it that I was in slow motion.

Now these events they all took place last Friday in the morning.
The question is just why I fell, it took place without warning.
That bothers me, of course, but even more no memory…
Of all the things that happened, tell me what’s the remedy?

Monday, February 26, 2018

It's His 70th Year

My husband is about 2 1/2 years younger than me and I've been waiting for him to finally catch up with me.  So, today is his 70th birthday and I'm happy to finally say, "we're in our 70's."  The following poem is his birthday poem.

by Patty Lynn

You've finally reached the pinnacle, the pinnacle of age.
At last you’ve joined the 70's, you know how long I've raged…
For you to join me here, I've raged, with me, to share my plight,
An oldster just like me you are, yes, youth is “outta sight”…

Because it's so far back, you see, but can you see, now can you?
Yeah, gone the days it all was clear, no matter what the venue.
But don't lose heart ‘cause you & I, we're in this place together,
Through rain or shine I'm yours, you’re mine, regardless of the weather.

And you'll adjust, what choice have you, the 70's are great!
You stayed there in the 60's for so long but couldn't wait…
To be among the peeps like me, who have this marvelous view.
You know, the view of which I speak, the forward looks for you…

‘Cause this one is a shorter one, yes, forward, that’s the way,
A shorter distance on this side, complete with hair of gray.
But you’ve had that part covered, and for some time you've been...
Aware of how time’s slower now and not like way back when…

There never was enough time to do the things you wanted
And tasks were hard to do in time and often you felt daunted.
But now your time’s in surplus and what seems hard to do
Is just because you're old now, you're not expected to…

Accomplish what you used to do, forgotten are the methods.
Besides we're different, we're excused from doing what's expected.
The two of us still do our best, but tire easily.
But that’s OK, it’s our new way, we do things leisurely.

So, Happy Birthday, Sweetheart Frank, I'm glad you’ve joined me here.
We BOTH are in our 70's but, please, don't you shed a tear.
The years ahead will still be good with limitations, sure,
Just face the facts, old age it lacks, but, honey, there's no cure.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018


It's been so long since I've written a blog post, that I ask you to indulge me one
more time with this rather silly poem.  It's at least something.  As a very wise person said, "Something is better than nothing."  WOAH! That sure is deep!  This little poem is just that, it's, well, better than nothing.

By Patty Lynn

I think it’s just despicable no poems of mine I've posted.
I haven't felt the urge to write, but still I haven't coasted,
Because I've had occasion to write poems for special people,
A wedding and a baby's birth, those things, they make me gleeful.

And since those poems were written for some special friends of mine,
I don't feel it appropriate to share them and combine…
Those poems with this my blog, you see, so this one's independent.
I know, if it was my poem shared like that, I'd be offended.

So now I've got to pick a theme and write a little ditty,
A subject you'd find interesting with rhymes that are so pretty.
I’d wow you ‘cause you'll never find another one that’s like it.
You'd say I really hit the mark and that you can't deny it!

I guess I better start my poem, in short, I'd best get started...
Before you think I'm stalling here, my good intentions thwarted.
I know it’s been a little while since I have been inspired
But rest assured that rusty me will do what is required.

It doesn't matter if it's been a week, 6 months, a year.
Before you know it I'll have made it so completely clear...
That I possess the kind of gift that's always at the ready…
To take the stage, is all the rage, my writing talent’s steady.

And you will see the majesty with which I write my poems
That makes you say there’s few like me whose work, it stands alone.
But here I am, write more, I can, but space is surely lacking.
I've filled the page, I'll disengage, in short, this poem's sent packing.