Charlie, R.I.P.

Charlie (May 11, 2013 – January 21, 2021).  AKA: Charlie Barker, Charles Barkley, Charlie-Dawg, Charles the Reticent, Charles the Intransigent, Charles the Vigilant, Charles the Reluctant, Charles the Recalcitrant, Shade-Dog and many more appellations.

 

And a note of sympathy to sister Jan, who lost her cat Violet just a few days after Charlie departed this mortal coil.

A Poem for the 2021 Inauguration

The family poet, Dennis, tells us that despite not being invited to the Biden Inauguration he had nevertheless prepared a poem with such an eventuality in mind:

For the Presidential Inauguration, January 20, 2021
 
We’ll never see the comb-over flutter in the breeze
That stirs the perfect grass of the White House lawn.
We’ll never be told that our president was chosen by God
And therefore can’t be wrong about anything,
Because God is never wrong, although he (or she)
Can be capricious, and angry, and indifferent
To the cruelties that wrack those created in his (or her)  image,
And snuff out the lives of those that were not.
We’ll never be told that up is down, that night is day,
That our eyes deceive us and minds cannot be trusted
To the dials and levers of logic, we’ll never be told
That our duty is to believe, just believe.
The days will grow longer and knights will ride
Through our dreams, slaying the demons of fear
Set loose by the deranged and misbegotten.
The stars will arrange themselves into an omen of peace.
And the earth will move more quickly through its orbit,
Freed of the weight of tyrants who trust nobody, least of all themselves.
The endangered eagle will return to its perch. 
Torn flags will make themselves whole and gently ripple.
Lady Liberty will open her eyes and smile.  
We will breathe.

Dreaded Boxes, 2021

The Dreaded Boxes project is renewed for the new year. You may recall previous entries.  This weekend’s efforts have revealed a few new discoveries, again probably of interest only to siblings and offspring.

Here, myself at an alleged eighteen months of age, interacting with a dog of forgotten name, with my parents’ circa-1934 Chevy in the background, with Cousin Anita nearby and some hint of perhaps Aunt Libby, assuming that the photo was taken by my mother, Thelma. (One of my favorites yet unearthed, just on the basis of its compositional photographic value, subject matter aside.)  The locale seems to be the Onawa, Iowa farm owned by one Doc Martin, my parents’ then-landlord:

Next, I found some early evidence of the family poet, my brother Dennis:

Dennis, Age 16.5
Dennis, Age 2.5