No post this evening…

…for reasons which are obvious.

Please keep the victims and families affected by the Boston tragedy in your thoughts and prayers.

Thank you.

Happy Father’s Day!

Each of us is granted only one father and one mother.  As you honored your mother this past Mother’s Day, please do the same for your fathers today.

Below is an image of my own Dad and his cousin in 1993.  Sadly, they are both passed…my Dad on June 7, 1994, and his cousin on May 7, 1994.  That Spring was very tough for me, losing two wonderful men I loved so very much.

Two Retired Coppers  Copyright 2012

While walking today…

…and contemplating life (and death), I came upon this.  I was going to pass, but turned back and quickly shot a few frames.

New vs. Old  Copyright 2012




It is difficult these days,
To think in the past.

The future will not cease
To expand


As we decease,
It continues.


Copyright  2004




Each morning

The reflection is more faded,

The eyes less clear,

The stress-wrinkles deeper,

The throat saggier

And the teeth more rotten.


I ask:  What was it all for?

To end up like this?


Parents and sons dead,

Friends lost,

Alone and poor of pocket

And spirit.


A birthday to be uncelebrated

Is only two weeks and three days off.

I wonder if I will see it

Come and go.


I’ve been feeling ill


As though

I’m coming down with



Copyright 2012

Before I was born…and then some….

Grandma and Grandpa’s house  Copyright 2012

This is the house of my grandparents, immigrants from Slovakia, where I lived from the age of 6 months until I turned 10 years old.  The photo was probably taken in the late 1930s by my father, who always seemed to have one camera or another.  He let me take my first photos at age 4 and a half (perhaps, he helped then to make me what I am?).  The woman on the back porch is my grandmother, my father’s mother Martha, to whom I owe much of my being.  I was her first granddaughter…and she loved me until and beyond her passing in 1973.

The gate in the foreground is open to my grandpa Benedikt’s garden, where I spent much time with him, learning how to plant and grow vegetables.

My Grandpa and me, 1946  Copyright 2012

Our family lived upstairs from my grandparents, who were so proud their oldest son was a Milwaukee police officer.  The upper porch collapsed in the early 1950s (it made the newspapers!); Mother and Dad plunged to the ground as she was showing him a rocker she had just refinished.  Mother’s head was saved by a bale of newspapers my grandfather saved to sell to the one we called ‘the junkman’.  The rocker obviously did not survive–I have no memory of it.  Thankfully, they both did.  She passed in 1982, at almost 63, from the ravages of ALS;  he, in 1994, at 79 and a half, from the too many strokes and multi-infarct dementia caused by a seizure in 1989.

Needless to say, as my 66th birthday nears, I miss them all…yet, they are somehow still with me.



Who have gone before me

Do not call me to them.



They insist I keep plodding


Into experiences untried,



As I balk

And grumble negatives,


Encourage at every moment.

Even in my hours of sleep.


At times, the voices.

Their voices,

Are near, at my side,

Voices wrapped

Around my shoulder

Guiding my uncertain step.

Copyright 2004