One More time, A Valentine, tponetom

“When I grow too old to dream, I’ll have you to remember.”


That is the way the old song goes.


I wonder if there are ONLY A FEW, OR MORE, young people, [[like around 50 or 60 years old) who have a Treasure Chest of memories, stored away, for less fruitful days and ways.


Carefree Days had ONLY 24 hours or so, for each one, when there was so much to do and accomplish. Those days flew by like lightening. Each one had its challenge to taunt you, to dare you to “jump over buildings in a single bound! [[Thank You, Superman.)


The reason for all this verbal folly, starts to fade.


At age 84 or so, the startling truth erupts. You are no longer growing old.
YOU ‘ARE’ OLD!


So, I wonder. What medicine do you might have to help you , not only survive, but to thrive, when you enter the Octogenarian realm.


Our meds, works for us. I can conjure up a milliard of extravagances of our early life that can make both of us giggle, gush, and sometimes, grieve, but with a pleasing memory.


Our meds are those incredible days of derring-do when I first held your hand, knowing that I would never let go.

Happy Valentine's Day, tponetom and Peggy!

I cannot remember the last time that I have seen the word milliard in print. Next time, I will think of both of you.
Peace.

Wowza. Thanks, Tp. Happy V-Day to you and Peggy...and the rest of y'alls, too.

Cheers!

Happy Valentine Day Tponetom and Peggy. You have a story fitting for the Story Corps.

I love these stories. I love how much he sees the girl that is in Peggy. How all the yesterdays tumble around come together in these glimpses of tomorrow.

i think about my uncle and what he is going through. My Aunt, and his bride for 60 years, recently was taken ill in Florida. While at the doctor's office she had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. Their son flew down and was with her when she passed.

All of that is terribly sad, but it took a tragic turn when the son flew back to Detroit, drove home and died while shoveling his driveway.

this is my uncle's third son he has had to bury.

And now he and I are planning the funeral for his bride of 60 years. Those funeral plans took a backseat when the son died.

Hence, I'm thinking about yesterdays a lot and the nature of grief and while I am not the first person to have thought this thought, it has brought me a tad of comfort. Grief is what we feel when we have been happy. If we had never had joy we wouldn't be sad. All that joy of going fishing and not catching anything, that time of building a crooked fence, of sharing a beer, of playing bad golf, all those times of being together and being happy is what makes us sad now when we know they can never be shared again.

That is what grief is, it is happiness. If we were never happy, we wouldn't feel it. It is why tears feel thick.

A belated Happy Valentine's Day to Tponetom and Peggy!! Thank you for sharing your wisdom and insights with us young 'uns!!

Gnome: So sorry to hear about your recent losses. You are spot on with your definition of grief. Take care! We're thinking of you and your uncle and family.

Tom, I must apologize. My earlier post detracted from your beautiful words and it made this thread more about my thoughts than yours. A threadjack is too soft a word for what it did. I am sorry.

i do love your stories, all of them. You are quite a story teller and I feel lucky to be able to read your tales.

bill

What touchings stories shared here. I must visit more often.

My condolences regarding your cousin Gnome.

Z341

gnome: This is a discussion forum. We discuss. No need to apologize.

Gnome:
Regarding your reply:


My reply:


I have never heard the word, “threadjack” ever before, but I do sense the meaning of it. However, without whim or wit, I have been grossly guilty of flaunting it during the last six years. That meaning, I run all of my posts in the Detroit Connections section and any purist would agree that I should be entering some of them some where else.


So why do I do that? Well, I am not competent to joust with the younger and more informed minds. My aphasia is gathering momentum. So, like ‘Quasimodo,’ I claim, and then scream, SANCTUARY, SANCTUARY! [[Meaning Detroit Connections.)
[[I assume every reader has seen “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” 1939.)


My “beautiful words?’ come from every piece of literature I have ever read. Two favorites come to mind. # 1. is, columnist George Will and, # 2, Author James Baldwin.


Will, is more times than not, indecipherable, and Baldwin is the champion of 300 word sentences.


Gannon:
“wowza” is improvising a simple word [[wow) into an eye opener. Only the Irish can do that.


BobI: A thousand million if your are British. Or thousands of millions if you are French.


Zacha: Zacha is a “Zinger’

tponetom: Yes, I remember learning of both versions in a mathematics class, when I was quite young. Had not seen or heard it since. I prefer the term "gazillion".
Peace.