Half Way Back to Normal

I took a bunch of hormone shots

To help my bones, by golly

They surely messed up my physique

I looked a lot like Dolly

I’ve started taking treatments

I thought I should because

I wanted to reduce my form

And get back like I wuz

They cost more than I thought they would

And I ran out of money

So far I’m only half way there

And gosh do I look funny

I’ll have to write to Medicare

And plead with them I guess

To pay a few more bills to help

Me get out of this mess

If I get back to normal

And I surely hope I can

Then I won’t look so funny

I’ll look more like a man

There’s one thing that I know for sure

I’ve learned by lesson good

I’ll stay away from hormone shots

So I’ll look like I should

D.B.

The Development is getting more Revoltin'

Those hormone shots to help my bones

Worked wrong as you can see

They sure messed up by boyish form

I look like Dolly P.

I’m out of shape, I’m sure a mess

I’m taking them no more

I’ve got so big my shirts don’t fit

I don’t look like I did before

I hardly go out any more

I think the neighbors hate me

But some of those of bums down town

Would really like to date me

It’s cost about a thousand bucks

And that’s not all because

It’ll cost another thousand

To get back like I was.

D.B.

This sure is a Revoltin' Development

I have some softening of my bones

So treatments I am taking

I’m getting some male hormone shots

To try to stop their aching

I’m getting one every three weeks

For six months I’m to get ‘em

They want to give them all to me

But I’m not sure I’ll let ‘em

I’ve only taken them three months

That isn’t very long

I have a little tiny hunch

That something must be wrong

I think they’ve made a big mistake

With the wrong shots, by golly

If I take them for three more months

I may look just like Dolly

D.B.

September the 7th 1981 was such an Exasperatin' day

I realized right after dawn
This was the day to mow my lawn
And as it was no longer dark
I was happy as a lark

I started my mower up in high
And really made the old grass fly
Then I stopped to empty the sack
And things went wrong when I got back

I pulled the rope, alas, alack
I them wound up flat on my back
No wonder it didn't want to start
The starting assembly had few apart

I says go get your gun and shoot
A few holes in the dad burn brute
Then I says cut out that talk
If you do that you'll have to walk

So I says to me, cut out that jive
And push it around on the front drive
So I then knelt down to get a start
And decided to finish taking it apart

There was lots of bolts and nuts and keys
It sure was hard on my old knees
I found the trouble, fixed it and then
I finally got it together again

I got everything put back in line
I started it up and it ran just fine
I'm all set now to let the grass grow
If it does that next time I mow

I have a scheme that can't be beat
I'll cover the lawn with green concrete
Then I'll be happy with nary a care
And just relax in my easy chair

I'll type this up for you lads and lasses
If I can only find my glasses

D.B.

A Bit Of An Explanation

My grandfather, D.B. Cox, was the very best kind of Grandad...the kind that would get down on the floor and play with you; let you braid his ridiculously long comb-over and put barrettes in it; put a swing up in his basement so you could swing even when it was cold and snowy outside; build you a perfect small-person-scale kitchen cupboard, fill it with with awesome play dishes - including little pots and pans - and then have dinner with you in your little kitchen on your little dishes, even when the dinner was made of water and pork rinds.

He was also a very accomplished amateur photographer, cataloging the lives of his granddaughters (my sister and I) on a very regular basis, recording all his and Grammy's (the incomparable Marie Amend Cox) retirement trips (and there were plenty!), and photographing the beauty of the Cody (Wyoming) country he lived in and loved.

After Grammy died in 1976, Grandad had a few years of sadness, understandably. But as he came out of that sadness, he found his joy and his humor again. And he started writing poems and taking photos to illustrate them. All his poems were typed on an old manual typewriter (thus my choice of Courier font), and all his photos were taken with an old Polaroid.

My mother recently gave me all the poems he'd created. They are funny, poignant, joyous tidbits...a lot of them about family and a lot more about the perils of aging. They all make me smile and laugh, and I hope they will do the same for you.

And so begins this blog, a record of my grandfather's humorous poems...A Revoltin' Development.