Published Thursday, April 24, 2008 1:53 PM
Updated Thursday, April 24, 2008 1:53 PM

 

Inklings 04/25/08

Ageless humor


            Three decades ago I was a full time staff member of The Journal Scene. During that time a senior citizen named George Buell was a frequent visitor to the paper. A resident of The Presbyterian Home, he remained an active and concerned citizen up into his nineties. George wrote frequent letters to the editor and when he was able, brought them in personally. At one point he was the oldest living graduate of The College of Charleston and was much feted as such. Our daughter Cathy was then a recent diploma holder from The C of C and was an active alumna. The two often met at college functions and were fond of each other. When he came by, he usually stopped in the newsroom to say hello and get news of “our favorite girl.”

He walked slowly then and with a little difficulty. When I’d ask how he was doing, George would always grin and come up with some quip about aging. I’d walk him to the door and he’d make his exit, quoting from what he explained to me were the fifth through eighth lines of a favorite poem which made us both laugh. I came across the entire doggerel the other day and the words still make me chuckle – although now my 30-year-older body understands both the comedy and the candor of the sentiments.

If you’re not there now, you know somebody who is, so you’ll understand where the anonymous author of this rhyme got the inspiration.

 

But God, I Miss My Mind!

Just a line to say I’m living

That I’m not among the dead,

Though I’m getting more forgetful

And mixed up in my head.

I got used to the arthritis

To my dentures I’m resigned.

I can manage my bifocals

But God, I miss my mind!

For sometimes I can’t remember

When I stand at the foot of the stairs,

If I must go up for something

Or have just come down from there.

And, before the fridge so often

My poor mind is filled with doubt,

Have I just put food away

Or have I come to take some out?

And there when the time is dark

With my nightcap on my head,

I don’t know if I’m retiring

Or just getting out of bed.

So, if it is my turn to write you

There’s no need for getting sore,

I may think that I have written

And don’t want to be a bore.

So, remember that I love you

And wish that you were near,

But now it is nearly mealtime

So I must say goodbye dear.

There I stand beside the mailbox

With a face so very red,

Instead of mailing you my letter

 I had opened it instead!