From our teens through life we
play the waiting game, seeking
perhaps longing for that one very
special someone that will fulfill
our dreams and desires, a soulmate
extraordinaire.

Few of us are fortunate enough to
find and actually hold close that
special person, where love comes
easy and somehow lasts forever,
an anomaly of the highest order.

Lots of living creatures' mate for
life, beavers, swans, penguins,
albatrosses, even wolves, but
for most of we humans, it seems
we are not that committedly inclined.

So, what is the formula for that
so elusive of goals, of finding that
special person and everlasting love?

Frankly my friends other than dogged
perseverance and serendipitous, good
fortune, I have no earthly clue.

The traveling Butcher has recently arrived.
I just heard two shots ring out down by the
barn as my grandson's last two swine of this
year's 4-H and Fair met their final demise.

In perhaps an hour both will be butchered,
halved and hung in the refer truck for transport
to the butcher's shop for cutting up and packaging.
I did not attend this ****** and squealing affair,
as the older I get the more I appall that process.

Over the years I have chosen to not partake in
the eating of beef or swine meat, from our barn,
preferring to buy my meat from the store, the
contents having no remembered faces, names
or relationship to me or mine.

At least the boys have ceased naming the critters,
when they realized they were not pets, but meat
on the hoof destined for the table, a sound mature
decision in ones so young. In this at least my hands
and soul remain clean. Silly old soft-hearted fool
that I am.

It’s a little complicated - what isn’t? But my plans have changed (again).
Under some pressure - but not really - I was able to switch schools.
From Johns Hopkins university to the Université Paris Cité.
No doubt, the Hopkins acceptance helped.
It’s like when you have a boyfriend - how the other boys suddenly find you more attractive?

There was a comment someone made here, SbySW, I think - he said,
“No more early jogs in Baltimore,” (as in danger-city) and that was a tumbler for me - I started checking and, yeah, Baltimore is very.. Baltimore-ish. Then my little mind started grinding.

‘If I’m already switching schools and since Peter (my bf) is still ‘stuck’ in Geneva.. Isn’t Paris closer?
TRIGGER WARNING  
So, here’s where the 'nepo baby' magic happens.
I called my Grandmère. ring.ring
“Umm, I’m thinking the Université Paris Cité might be better than Baltimore.. Is that CrAzY?”
After a moment's silence, Grandmère said,
“Can you forward me your Hopkins acceptance letter?”

And thirty minutes later (9pm Paris time, mind you), I got a call from Université Paris Cité admissions. I’m in. The program starts September 1st.
Then François, one of my Grandmère’s corporate minions called and said:
"Johns Hopkins appreciated the quick notice.
The movers will be there, for you and Charles @ 9am tomorrow morning.
Your flight (to Paris) leaves @ 9:22pm tomorrow night..
Your TSA PreChecks, and Global Entry passes are complete.
I mailed you your flight passes and "Imagine'R" (unlimited Paris travel) cards. A car will be waiting when you arrive.”
François doesn't mess around.

I looked at my watch, it was 2:45 in the afternoon.
****, I need to tell Charles we're moving to Paris tomorrow.

Yes, I exist in a charmed circle - if you discount the contentiousness of the choice - my Mom’s now mad at me and my sister’s not too happy 
- I’m totes charmed.
Of course, the Hopkins acceptance (and the full-ride scholarship I declined) will now pass on to another lucky student.

Sometimes what you want
is lurking in the shadows
just out of reach - do you dare disclose it -
risk exposing it, when some might oppose it?

The bible says “Ask and you shall receive.”
In real life, that may require more than belief,
if your secret wishes, you are to achieve.
.
.
Songs for this:
Give Paris One More Chance by Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers
The Paris Match (feat. Tracey Thorn) by The Style Council
Nostalgie Du Voyage by Tape Five

Get maybe six or seven hours sleep,
wake and struggle out of bed.
Stretch to get out the kinks,
living with pain from head to toes,
Visit the bathroom in a hurry,
urgent needs attended to.
Shower and shave for no real reason.
Put out the dog, let in the cat.
Feed both and give each a pat.
A bowl of cold cereal with fruit
Lactate milk, brew hot tea, one sugar,
a little cream, English muffin with
honey, tidy up the kitchen.
Turn on the morning local news,
avoiding the "Breaking News"
channels that mess with my head.
Maybe watch a game show or two, just
to lighten the mood. Return to the kitchen
and for a second or two forget why I am there.
I seem to do that a lot lately.
Mount the treadmill for 20 minutes or so.
Take my meds, drink three glasses of water,
hydration being very important it's said.

And so, it goes each day a duplicate of the
one before and the one tomorrow. A captive
caught in a repetitious bubble of advancing
age, kept company by a lifetime of memories
of all that I once was and shall never be again.

Not complaining, I have all I need, a good roof
overhead, food, a home of my own, family close
by, reasonably good health and not homeless
or on welfare. Go to bed happy, arise the same
way. Living well with No real regrets.

Getting old is a double-edged sword, it cuts both
ways and can leave some scars in the process.
Quiet pragmatic acceptance is the key, along with
realistic expectations.

I believe I have reached a point
of creative decline. Been on HP
since 2013. Close to 350 poems.
I may have thought and said
about all I have to offer.

Hard to come up with any real
original worthy material, the
old well might have run dry.
Or maybe my brain is growing
addled. That happens in our 80s.

In idle times I will still look in
on you all. I have enjoyed my
time here and made some fine
and talented writer and poet
friends. Thank you.

Adieu good and gentle people.