The Stamp Collection

My Aunt Dofeen was the culprit
Who got me involved
In stamp collecting
Back when I was about
Seven or eight years old.
It was an old collection
That she gave to me,
And I dutifully added to it
For quite a number of years.
I spent many happy hours
Working with that collection.
I would go through phases
Where I would concentrate for a while
On US commemoratives
Then switch over to stamps of Italy
Spain, Germany or the Vatican.
I especially liked the stamps of Laos
Thailand and the Soviet Union.
At one point I bought a collection
Of more than 30,000 different stamps
Which got added to the pile.
There was a period when I spent
Nearly every penny I had
Enlarging my collection.
As time went on
I got interested in other things,
But whenever I got a chance,
I would still dump a few more in.
As I traveled through various countries
I also added their stamps
To my collection,
Building a legacy that someday
Will be passed on
As it was passed on to me
So many years ago.
I don’t think any of my kids
Are all that interested
In that old stamp collection
But some day
One of their kids
Just might be!
I smile to think
What a treasure they will find.

Coin Collecting

I have fond memories
Of my father bringing home
Sacks of coins,
Pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters
For us to search through
For the occasional rarities there.
My brother, Lee,
Had the most extensive
Collection of any of us.
He even managed
To find a 1909 svdb penny,
A gold coin
And quite a number
Of other valuable pieces.
Back in the early sixties,
There were barber dimes,
Buffalo nickels,
Indian head pennies
And lots of others coins
That would make the collectors
Of today drool,
And they were all
Still in general circulation.
Since we lived in Las Vegas
Silver dollars, the real ones
From the 1800’s and early 1900’s
Were as plentiful as dollar bills.
That was before the silver in them
Became more valuable
Than the coins themselves
And most of them were melted down.
We certainly weren’t
The only ones looking though,
Because in a few short years,
There wasn’t much left to be found.
Eventually we gave up collecting,
And what we each hoarded
Disappeared, was sold off
Or was simply added to the stuff
We accumulated over the years.
Just imagine how many
Such coin collections
Are hidden away in storage
Just waiting to be found
By someone sorting through
The piles of junk
That some coin retentive person
Horded in years past!

Uncle George

Uncle George
Is long gone now,
But while he lived,
He flavored
My childhood
With his presence
And stoked the fires
Of my curiosity.
My father and him
Shared a passion
For fishing,
But Uncle George
Was much more than
Just a fisherman.
He had invented
Several types of
Rods and reels
Along with
A wide variety
Of fishing lures.
He apparently earned
Some royalties
From his inventions,
But largely lived off
Aunt Dofeen’s income
And never had a job.
He had a penchant
For unexpectedly
Showing up with
Odd creatures
Like the live octopus
Which he allowed
To squirm around
On the floor.
I never knew
What to expect
When he came over,
But he made sure
To always bring
Something to share.
Occasionally it would be
A Yellow Fin Tuna
He had caught
Deep sea fishing
Which we would than
Have for dinner,
And one time,
He brought
A couple lobsters
For dinner.
Uncle George
Had a series
Of aviaries
Where he raised
Canaries, finches
And love birds,
And he would
From time to time
Bring one of them
For us to keep.
Being a naturalist,
His back yard
Was a child’s paradise.
In addition to the birds,
He maintained
A lush tropical garden
With meandering footpaths
Surrounding a pond
Full of large goldfish
That I could hand feed.
My Aunt Dofeen and him
Were quite a pair,
And they used to bicker
Over the stupidest things
Like which end of a loaf
Of bread to open.
Uncle George was supposedly
Distantly related
To the Swedish monarchy,
And somehow or another
Aunt Dofeen tied herself
To English royalty,
And they used to argue
Over which claim
To royalty was superior.
You would have to
Have known Aunt Dofeen
To understand
How dubious her
Claim to royalty was.
She just didn’t fit
The stodgy English
Royal mold at all,
And if she was
Somehow related,
Her brother,
Who was my father,
Certainly wasn’t!
Uncle George
On the other hand,
Was always a dapper dresser,
And carried himself
With the dignity
Befitting someone
Of royal blood,
At least in our eyes.
He was the family aristocrat,
A man who
Deemed himself
Above manual labor.
There was something
Slightly odd
And a bit mysterious
About Uncle George,
But I didn’t ponder such things
As a child.
I heard plenty of stories though,
And I am not sure
Which, if any, of them
Were true.
I was told that he was
A draft dodger
From World War One,
That he hid out in Cuba
During the war.
Nonetheless,
He stoked the flames
Of my childhood curiosity
With his indomitable spirit,
Sophisticated airs,
Rouge independence,
And his obvious
Love of nature.
Sadly, after our family
Moved to Las Vegas,
Aunt Dofeen and him
Went their separate ways,
And he later died
A very lonely old man
With no one there
To hear his stories
Or enjoy his antics.

Roller Skates

Roller skates
Were primitive
Steel contraptions
Which fastened onto
The soles of our shoes
When I was a kid.
This was ages before
The advent of
Polyurethane wheels
And skate boards.
We were lucky
If our wheels
Spun at all
With the crude bearings
We had back then.
We needed
Those steep
Point Loma hills
In order to achieve
Any speed at all,
And speed was king then
Just as it is today.

Poor Man's Caviar

Neither my father
Nor Uncle George
Could have imagined
Returning empty-handed
From one of their
Deep-sea fishing trips
Without a yellowtail or two
For us to eat,
But it wasn’t just the fish
We loved.
The eggs of the yellowtail
Were a special treat
Which my father
Fried like sausage.
Not knowing what
They were missing,
Most fisherman
Just threw them away
When they cleaned
The fish.
It has been
Over forty years
Since I last enjoyed
That delicacy,
But I still savor
That taste.

Pocketknife Curiosity

It was one of those
Swiss Army Knives,
The kind with
An assortment
Of foldout blades.
If there was ever
An attractive nuisance
For a five year old boy,
That certainly was it.
It was on open display
At the store,
And the temptation
To check it out
Was far more than
I could resist.
I fiddled with
Those blades
Trying to open them
And in my struggle,
Nearly amputated
The end of my thumb.
I have a rather
Prominent scar
To show for
My juvenile efforts.
I can just imagine
The disruption
That must have caused,
And I suppose
That might have had
Something to do with
Why my parents
Were so reluctant
To take me shopping
Ever after.
When I had
Kids of my own,
You can bet
I was vigilant
About such hazards,
Fearing the possible
Genetics of my curiosity.

Paper Witch

Aunt Dofeen had
Her share
Of eccentricities
And then some.
She had a thing
About conserving
Wrapping paper
That drove the rest
Of us nuts.
She valued the paper
Far more than
The gift it enclosed.
Opening a present
In her presence
Required the skill
Of a surgeon
And the patience
Of a saint,
None of which we could
Pretend to have.
Many years later
I was to find
A treasure trove
Of used wrapping paper
She had meticulously saved,
Neatly folded but ruined
By the elements
There in Hawaii.

Hammer Head

I have no idea why
Best friends fight,
Or what insignificant
Disagreement
Joey and I
Might have had
That particular day
That had us
In a standoff,
On opposite sides
Of his yard,
Each of us
With a hammer
In our hand.
Joey threw his at me
And missed,
I then sent mine
Back at him,
And didn’t.
In that mindless
Moment of retaliation,
I came close
To killing Joey.
Luckily he survived
With only a dent
In his head.
We both are graduates
Of the school
Of hard knocks.
I’m not sure
What he gained,
From the incident,
But I learned
Not to act
Before I think
My action through.

Fountainhead

I must have been
About five years old
When I tried to pass
Under the handrail
While running
At full gallop
Across my Aunt’s yard.
I may have done that
Countless times before
Without a problem,
But I was a wee bit
Smaller then.
I didn’t realize
I was hurt at first,
But I was spouting blood
Like a fountain
And splattered my aunt
Fifteen feet away.
It took seven stitches
To calm my Aunt down.

Connect-It Toys

I remember the fun
I used to have
Building boats, houses
Planes and trains
Out of “connect it” toys
As a kid.
The infinite ways
Of attaching
The various pieces
Were a catalyst
From my imagination.
Over time
I advanced from
Tinker Toys castles,
To American Log forts,
To cities
Of red plastic bricks,
And eventually,
To an excavator
Made out of
An erector set.
No wonder
I eventually became
An engineer,
And it is Tinker Toys
I have to blame.

Monsters of the Dark

It is such a spectacular world
When we are young
And able to let
Our minds run wild.
We concoct frightful ghosts
Which lurk in the dark,
Hideous monsters
Which hide in our closet,
Or under our bed,
Boggy Men
Who threaten to grab us
The moment we fall asleep.
Fiendish wonders
Of our youthful minds
Entertain us each night.
You in your foolishness,
And limited imagination,
Ask us why
It takes us so long
To go to sleep!

Mashed Potatoes and Gravy

In spite of motherly admonitions
Not to play with their food,
Children instinctively know
The true purpose of
Mashed potatoes and gravy.
They build mountains on their plates,
Castles with meandering moats,
Inland lakes and reservoirs
And dams which they break
With reckless abandon.
Eventually they stir the two
Until each is unrecognizable
From the other
And only then
Will they begin to eat.

Dinosaur War

A young boy,
Probably only
Three or four years old,
Is sprawled out
On the floor
With an army
Of plastic dinosaurs
Borrowed from the rack.
He is fully engrossed
In playing,
Oblivious to where he is,
Battling one dinosaur
Against another
In the middle of the isle
Of the department store.
It is a moment
Of pure innocence,
And I can’t help but smile,
Wondering how soon
A less than amused
Sergeant Mom
Or some store employee
Will discover what he is doing
And curtail the war.

Youthful Imagination

In our youth,
Our imaginations
Were free to roam,
Our fantasies
Knew no bounds.
The world was
A wondrous place,
Mysterious and wild.
We could dream
Without concern
For what might
Or might not
Be possible.
As we grew older,
Most of us learned
To put brakes
On our minds,
And much of
The excitement of living
Was lost.

Unanswerable Question

As a three year old
Sue was scolded
By her mother
For interrupting others
With her babble.
It was a seemingly
Innocuous incident,
But Sue interpreted
It to mean
She was bad,
Not good enough
To be heard.
From then on
She questioned
Whether or not
Anything she did
Was good enough.
She was driven
To perform,
To be the best,
To prove herself,
But nothing she did
Ever proved a thing.
No matter what
She accomplished
Or what acknowledgment
She received,
The question still remained,
“Was she good enough?”
It was a question
For which there was
No answer.

The Making of Me

Some of my
Earliest memories
Are of building blocks
And tinker toys,
Lincoln logs
And red plastic bricks,
Erector sets,
And countless hours
Contentedly spent
Building fortresses,
Houses, bridges, roads,
Boats and trains.
One construction phase
Passed to another,
And soon I was assembling
Scale plastic models,
And mastering the art
Of paint and glue.
I went on to spend years
Teaching myself
The rudiments
Of carpentry,
Haphazardly building
My tree fort sanctuary.
I discovered an interest
In drawing
And an aptitude
For mathematics.
In retrospect
It seems there was
An obvious pattern
To my childhood activities
That inextricably led me
Down the path
Of life I chose.
No wonder
I eventually became
A civil engineer.
It was almost as if
It was preordained,
As if I had no choice
In the matter.
Not a moment
Of my youth
Was apparently wasted,
For had I not utilized
The days of my youth
As I did,
I might have missed
A step along the way,
And that single step
Could have changed
The course of my life,
And I could easily
Have missed
My calling.

Ping-Pong War

Ping-Pong was a game
We took seriously
When I was a kid,
And our house
Was the center
Of the competition.
To stimulate our battles,
I came up
With the idea
Of playing for countries.
I drew up a large map
Showing all the nations,
States and areas
Of the world.
Those lands were divided
Between the competitors,
And each player
Was assigned a color
And given pins
To serve as flags
To mark their territory.
We went to war
With each other
Battling for countries
Trying to dominate the world,
Winner take all.
English was used
To put a spin on things
And to rebuild
The British Empire.
Even the Ottoman Empire
Was reborn.
The Soviet Union,
Canada and the United States
Were splintered
As state battled state.
We were Ping-Pong dictators
Long before Forest Gump
And the advent
Of Ping-Pong diplomacy.
Years later I traveled
Through many of those countries,
Chuckling as I remembered
Staking my flag in their soil.