20 Lines A Day

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I shall tend to your feet Pop

The other week-end I gave my Pop (dad) a pedicure. At almost 86, he has trouble bending down to tend to his feet.

I slowly removed his sandals and sat beside him on a small stool. He was worried that I would hurt my back by sitting this way….

Yours nails I cut carefully
and removed old skin
then massaged cream gently
along each of your feet

You thanked me for what you called a
‘laborious task’, to me it gave
me joy
to help see to the feet of my
father who was once a
little boy

My Dad

My Dad

As I massaged the cream
into your skin
I thought of where
your feet had been

These feet that were bare and told to stand in snow in a European Winter.
These feet that walked to the timber pile to chop wood for your step – father, the fire you were not allowed to be warmed by.

These feet that had to walk up the staircase where you were told to eat your meal, alone,  whilst the rest of the family ate downstairs in comfort at the table.

These feet that gave you the strength to escape from Czechoslavakia during the War, to cross mountains, hide on trains, trudge through forests, swim through rivers and nearly have your life ended twice by a gun held at you by the KGB.

These feet that brought you to Australia, to start a new life, to build a house for a family that you knew you would one day have, though you had no carpentry skills.

These feet that ran and played shuttlecock with us, the times that we went camping.

These feet that walked next to me on the day that I was wed.

These feet now older
that hold your struggling
legs and body
these feet are not a ‘laborious chore’
to me, my father

These feet have travelled many miles
through great adversity
saw you start a business
accomplish many things
I shall tend to your feet

as I love you
I shall tend again, again
and again

 


2 Comments

The Man In The Window….cont

I got up this morning , made a cup of coffee and had a conversation with my mom about the people who lived here before us . I learned many things , I guess I was never  aware of . The Daughter of the man in the window was still alive . She moved from here one week after her father died and never returned to this house . She continues to live in this small village , but refuses to come back in this house . There was a few other occurrences I was interested in , my mom came clean on some of them . It would seem this presence is nothing new , they ( my parents ) hid this entity from us taking blame for certain instances themselves , not wanting to get their children involved or excited .

I plan to go and visit this lady ( hopefully) today , if she will talk to me . I do have many questions for her . I have known her most of my life , she was always so nice to me , but I think she was to almost all that lived here. I just want to know the true reason for her moving and never wanting to come back in the house . I feel something happened here that she wanted to bury with her dad . My mom has even told me there have been other pictures over the years , with faint presences she has discarded not to let anyone see.

I would have argued about this kind of thing with you all day long . I have never been a big believer in the spiritual world or even religion . I have done a lot of soul-searching , being a recovering addict I have come to know there is a higher being than us all . I know what I heard , and I can see with my own eyes . I hope everyone makes up their own minds . I’m not sure why this happened at this specific time in my life , I am going to research this though . Thanks for reading…

  • The man in the window… (anexerciseindiscipline.wordpress.com)
  • COPYRIGHT…

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This blog contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.


19 Comments

The man in the window…

It’s no secret , while I’m going through rehab and recovery I’m staying at my mom and dads . Growing up here was rather unsettling at times , and grand at others . An old story my dad would tell us was “Peg leg Wilson ” a made up tail about an old guy with a wooden leg . I wont lie , it scare the crap out of me and I think the other kids as well . We grew up in an old two-story house with plenty of noises on its own , without the manufacture of them . My younger brother and I shared a bedroom , it was the biggest bedroom in the house . It had a small closet in one of the corners that I was always scared of . When the lights went off the noises always began .

I have visited my mom and dad over the years many times and always felt a presence around me . This time visiting I am feeling this a little more , but i put it off due to my body healing . The other day I was wandering around the yard , Taking pictures of some flowers . I actually posted them on 20 lines under the heading of Sights of summer . Anyway , I walked into the garage and heard something , I listened a little closer , It was my name . Someone was calling my name in a weak whisper two or three times . I looked over towards the window of the garage and quickly took a picture . I couldn’t see anything so I blew it off to my imagination and returned inside . Today I looked at the picture , to my amazement there is someone in the window . Now I showed this to my mom ( it’s no one I know ) And she tells me it looks identical to a man who lived here before them . Here’s the thing that has my skin crawling …He died in this house the day I was born….

This is the presence following me….I know now I’m not crazy…..

 

COPYRIGHT…

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This blog contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

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