My get up and go has got up and went!

How do I know my youth is all spent?

Well, my get up and go has got up and went;

But in spite of it all I am able to grin,

When I recall where my get up and go has been

All age is golden so I’ve heard said,

But sometimes I wonder when I get into bed,

With my ears in a dresser and my teeth in a cup,

My eyes on the table till I wake up;

Ere sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself,

Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?

I am happy to say as I close the door,

My friends are the same, and perhaps even more.

When I was young my slippers were red,

I could kick up my heels over my head;

When I grew older my slippers were blue,

But I could dance the whole night through.

Now I am old my slippers are black,

I walk to the store and puff my way back;

The reason I know my youth is all spent;

My get up and go has got up and went.

I really don’t mind when I think with a grin,

Of all the grand places my get up has been.

Since I have retired from life’s competition,

I busy myself with complete repetition.

I get up each morning and dust off my wits,

I pick up the paper and read the obits—-

If my name is missing I, know I’m not dead, So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.

This is an old one, but a good one that could apply to the Pandemic or old age. I do not know who wrote this to give them credit.

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Published by Time Traveler of Life

Biography Creating worlds, characters, and wielding power like a madwoman, making my characters happy, sad, angry, and some of them with no redeeming qualities. I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I sometimes laugh out loud when I am writing a scene, and I have been known to cry when one of my favorites has to die. I am a left-handed Gemini, what do you expect? Reading bedtime stories to my two children until they fell asleep or until they just told me to go away, was fun. Making up wild stories for my grandchild, and creating Halloween costumes from Cowboys to a Dragon, was another favorite thing to do. I missed that so much when they were grown, that I started writing. My yearly newsletters frequently were drafted third-person by my Love Birds, Miranda our motorhome, and by Sir Fit the White Knight, our faithful Honda. Throughout the years, some of my creative talents centered around writing letters of complaint expressing my displeasure with services or products. One crucial, at least to my Son, was a note to our local school bus driver petitioning her to allow him back on the bus. He was kicked off for making an obscene gesture at his buddy. I reminded her that it was not directed at her, and that “obscenity can be in the eye of the beholder,” kids use that gesture as a greeting. He rode the bus until he graduated. I loved driving my English teacher crazy. Leaving a “continued next week” at the end of my five handwritten pages required each week. He was one of many people that suggested I “do something about my writing.” I graduated from the School of Hard Knocks at the top of my class. After 30 years, in the trenches as a Real Estate Professional, I have found that truth is stranger than fiction. My books are filled with characters I met in that profession. Their names were changed to protect the guilty. Others were from people we met traveling around the country in Miranda, our Motorhome. I am married nearly 60 years to the love of my life, Shirl, and partner-produced two exceptionally talented children, and one grandchild who is our pride and joy.

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