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Phyllis T Halle Dec 2012
Caint Complain
                       By Phyllis T.  Halle  February 26, 2006
Growing up in a tiny coal mining town in the hills of Eastern Kentucky,
I frequently heard a response out of the lips of stooped, arthritic miners, toothless women, old before their time,
wretchedly poor widows with six children to feed.
It was just a common reply to the courteous, "How are you?" -
"Caint complain."
The high pitched voices of those descendents of English, Scottish, German, Irish pioneers still echo in my ears and I wonder always at the tenacity, strength and wisdom which resounded firmly in those two words,
                                          "Caint Complain."
Very few people had indoor plumbing, telephones, cars or two pair of shoes. Health insurance, retirement plans, paid sick days, furnaces, pizzas, air conditioners, jet planes, paid vacations, job security, career planning were all unheard of unknowns.
When someone became ill, the ‘‘kindly old general practitioner would come to the house and dispense his little pills and words of encouragement and instruction, knowing the limitations of his skill and ability to heal.
Mothers and fathers still buried their little children who died from diphtheria, pneumonia, whooping cough, measles, diarrhea, croup ( a disorder known in later years as asthma).
Husbands buried wives who died in childbirth, at an alarming rate. "Caint Complain," they'd say gently, with a soft 'almost' smile and deeply troubled eyes.
Sanitation was fought for, vigorously, by hard muscled women, who scrubbed and washed, and swept and mopped.
They'd boiled the family’s clothes which had been worn for a week, in pots in the back yard, "to get ‘em clean."  
Killing germs was not in their vocabulary, but that is what they'd were doing. Ask that little old gal who was out in the yard, stirring the clothes around in boiling water, over an open fire, "How are you doin’?"  
                            "Caint Complain, " she would invariably say.
WHY couldn't they'd complain? Where did their tenacity come from?
Where did that philosophy of not complaining come from?
Where did they find the resolve to place dire, critical deprivation, hard labor and malnourishment behind them and place a smile on their faces and say
                                Caint Complain?

I knew some of those people when they had grown very old and faced birthdays in their late nineties. Without exception, they had the sweetest dispositions, most grateful hearts, kindest words and calmest old ages of any among the many I have known who reached that age!
When the pressures of their life had faded and they had nothing remaining that had to be done except to live out the final part of their life, they did not have a habit of complaint.
Some recent phone calls I have received were what prompted me to think about this. One right after another, friends called and for the first ten minutes of each call, I listened to a long list of complaints about the trials and travails my dear friend was suffering.
Each friend has: no financial worries, a wonderful primary care doctor, prescriptions to keep their heart pumping, eyes seeing, brain focusing, stomach digesting and body sleeping, each night.
They are protected from financial ruin, by medicare and/or HMO, social security checks, pensions, savings and inherited wealth. They have loving, devoted sons, daughters, nieces and nephews who keep in touch and are there for them.
They each one have lovely heated and cooled homes, apartments or condos with every convenience known to Americans; cars or taxi/bus services to get them out and around. More than that, each has beautiful memories which they can call upon to bring a smile to their face at any moment of the day or night. But somehow we find plenty to complain about.
Why haven't we formed the habit of Caint Complain?
Maybe the philosophy of always seeking more comfort, more possessions, more money, more- more- more- of everything, has driven us to achieve, accumulate and accomplish but it required us to never know what the word contentment means.
Contentment doesn't mean having everything at one’s fingertips. It doesn't mean lacking nothing. It certainly doesn't mean every dream and desire fulfilled.

Yet there are many who have enough of everything except the common sense to know when they really "Caint Complain."
Happiness is a fleeting moment of joy. Contentment is finding peace in what you have, what you are and what you have accomplished.
Having the serenity to know which one brings lasting goodness into your life is wisdom.
A SMILE IS THE KNIFE GOD GAVE US TO CUT THE SIZE OF OUR TROUBLES DOWN TO A BEARABLE LOAD.    
Lots of love and hugs, Phyllis
Sandra Lee Oct 2016
Soycorn, rice-a-roni-what is all this baloney?
Genetics don't scare me none
GMOs sound like they could be fun.
Only thing that ever worried me
Was first cousins marrying on the family tree.
Now that's somethin to get your knickers in a twist about
No doubt we haven't seen the end of this come about.
GMO, HMO, what do you know
Where will it go?
Del Maximo Mar 2010
Heart ****** to death
“Do you need the paramedics?”
Life and Death is three quick breaths
And 15 pumps
Or was it 11, or 22?
Where are they?
One deep rale
Where are they?
"Anung nung yari qui daddy?"
Eyes rolled up to GodDid you see a light?
Fatal heart won’t live through night,
Weekend, two weeks, re-evaluate
“Dey dun’t know daddy.  He’s a fighter.”
Alone in CCU committed act of faith
with laid hands on experience.
Comatose body wholly heaving with Holy contact
Then silence, stillness
Transfers, therapy, rehabilitation
Sent home by HMO
Came home first night to check on you:
Blotted brow and utterance
“Just try to go to sleep”
Came home one day to check on us
Then entered Jacob’s sleep
Headstone scarred by lawnmowers
Grass envelopes me
Gives me hug…you never did
Yet tears are all I see
Heart knows utterance by heart
“Fin, take care of mama.”
Heart de-virged through pain and loss
Salamat po Pops
© 2005
Sam Temple Mar 2015
yo
need yo-self some coverage
what if you get in a ax-e-dent
I got a little something for you......
I’m pimpin pauly
a financial planner
insurance guru
no ones badder
he’s ****** with your lame rates
offerin you better bank states
better call for quote dog
don’t forget to say thanks
I’m pimpin pauly –
I’m pauly pimpin
sendin him diff-rent
clients on the real tip
lookin to save
for a dope trip
maybe you got your throat ripped
he works with HMO’s, *****
savin dollas
makin ya holla
give him a calla
no mo shoppin
middle of the malla
wont fall-a
be a balla
I’m pimpin Pauly –
One of my dear life long friends is in the Insurance game. Hit me up if you on the west coast and want better coverage LOL

as with all of these "rap" pieces, they are works in progress
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
"I've got good news and bad news,"
said the pharmacist.

"The good news is
laughter is the best medicine."

"The bad news?"

"Your HMO doesn't cover it."
anastasiad Dec 2016
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Amid nature’s finest things
That make the taste buds sing,
Are summer-fresh cherries.
Deliciously mouth-watering.

Ruefully, as summer wanes,
Cherries go out of season.
But upon their due return,
I’m cheery for a reason.

The most delightful of fruits—
In my HMO.
Perhaps for they’re exquisiteness,
Or that I love them so.

The cherry, a gift from God,
Spruces the daily diet.
It grows on trees and tastes so good.
The perfect dessert.  Try it.
(Revised 2/2018.)
Footnote: a good word in favor of ‘fresh cherries.’ Sweet cherries contain a small amount of quercetin, which is among the most potent in terms of antioxidant activity including a wide range of other health-promoting properties such as fiber, vitamin C, carotenoids, and anthocyanins, each of which, it is said, may help play a role in cancer prevention. National Cherry Day is celebrated on July 16.
© 2017 Walterrean Salley
Love gets buried
under bad days
in the trash
forgotten to be taken out.
And that one loose handle
on the kitchen cupboard door
that
no one
ever
*******
fixes.
Love gets buried
under bills
and no jobs
crumbling buildings
and terrorism.
Love gets buried
screaming and muffled
under the sound
of alcoholic neighbors
who always win
because they’re drunker and louder.
Love gets buried
and forgotten
under countless
unpaid parking tickets
lost souls for loved ones
and motel drug overdoses.
Love gets buried
under friends dying too soon
before they ever had the chance
of a fully realized life.
Love gets buried
under the heartless shuffle of HMO’s
finding things that aren’t there
and not treating things that are.
Love gets buried
under lost blood tests
and bad carpet.
Love gets buried
and sometimes love resurrects.
And sometimes
love just gets buried.
Where do we put our pain
How do we deal with the stress of the pain
Why is the pain so unbearable as the same
Who can we turn to for comfort
What can we do to make the stress of this pain go away

The answers lies in 66 letters from our creator.
Who gives us comfort and minimized the stress level.

Only time can release the stress of pain unwanted constant stabs is the same as unbearable pain.

Can I hold on to everything but the pain Can I remember more than the last day the last time I seen my mother in pain

Who can I blame the local government employees under HMO gang

I just want to know where can I put this pain
getting fitted for a new pair of dentures
at Liberty Dental in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania;
The tab picked up courtesy
Aetna Medicare Advantra Cares (HMO D-SNP).

Unfortunately said outcome
represents the exception
(regarding measuring success or failure
in the school room or work place)
rather than the rule,
whereat scattershot academic,
and employment history
reveals mine curriculum vitae
chock-a-block extant
with poor scholastic performance
and termination (as if pierced
with a terrible swift sword)
from one job after another respectively.

I made an absolute ZERO effort attempt
to score high marks or earn kudos,
no rhyme nor reason why
yours truly rarely
if ever sought to persevere,
and essentially did not try
though forever dog gone tired
donning figurative dunce cap -
a pointed hat, formerly used
as an article of discipline

in schools in Europe
and the United States—
especially in the 19th
and early 20th centuries—
for children who were disruptive
or were considered slow in learning,
(where classmates or other employees
assailed ready made fodder
made snickering snide remarks
in tandem with

swashbuckling sword play - nah
akin to the three musketeers -
barred from Mars)
toward extremely socially withdrawn boy
whispering under their breath at a lad,
who owned an inferiority complex
the size of Pennsylvania)
exhibiting faith no more in self
at a painfully early age
found him eager, ready and willing
to allow, enable, and provide

ripe opportunity for others to ply
name calling and bullying,
experiencing trauma analogous to
British POWs ordered
by their Japanese captors
to construct a bridge
of strategic importance
over the river Kwai
but never did tears of sadness
simultaneously emanate
from left and right eye.

— The End —