I am what I am….

“I am what I am,
and that’s all that I am.”

Popeye

popeye_black_white_cartoon
(Popeye the sailor man)

I grew up watching, and loving, the old black and white cartoon exploits of Popeye the Sailor man–
That one eyed, pipe smoking, old salt of a sailor…
Along with his sidekick and girlfriend Olive Oyl, the antagonist, Bluto (later known as Brutus),
as well as little Swee’Pea, Wimpy, Poopdeck Pappy, the She Hag and Alice the Goon…
Popeye has been one of the longest running cartoon comic strips having made his debut in 1929.

Popeye was a bit of a rough neck yet was always the good guy.
Whenever he found himself in a jam or was having the living tar beat out of him by Brutus…
which always stemmed from some sort of fight over a girl, in this case the skinny and whinny Olive Oyl…
Popeye would always pull out, from nowhere, a miraculous can of spinach…
He’d bust open that can,
swallowing the contents whole,
then he would proceed to swell with muscles and superhuman strength…
all of which would allow him to beat the ever living slop out of Brutus…
or whomever was causing him woe.

Moms all over the country used that idea and image of Popeye eating spinach in order to get their kids to eat their spinach. And back in day, spinach came from the grocery store in a can…nothing like the healthy fresh stuff of today.

And as far as I was concerned, it worked…I’d eat my spinach every time…

Popeye was famous for mumbling and singing to himself but one of his more vocal and
enunciated phrases was
“I am what I am and that’s all that I am”

And out of the blue…this morning…that very expression…
came racing back…
out from the depths of a stored away childhood,
racing to the forefront of now…

“I am what I am and that is all that I am…”

Me…
yes…
simply me…
nothing more, nothing less.
Just me.
No spinach,
no bravado,
no pretense,
no falsehoods of expectations or promises…
for good and for bad…
just me.

Striped away of everything and anything that gives off some sort of “other than”
and false perception…
I am…
just me…

And given my life’s precariousness of these current days…
the fact that I am not super human, despite ingesting as much spinach as I can, I am…
simply…
me…
nothing more
and nothing less.

My dad loved seeing / reading Popeye in the “funnies”…
as he still calls the comic strip section of the daily newspaper to this day, the funnies…
as in funny papers….

It’s the fist section of the paper he pulls out.
No longer does he scour the front page with its gloom and doom…
nor the stock section with its constant state of ebb and flow….
Dad has always scoured over the comic section of the paper first and foremost.
Because he likes to, needs to, laugh.

Just as he has always gravitated to watching cartoons….
preferring, always, those cartoons from his day and time….
Popeye,
Dick Tracey,
Buck Rogers,
Little Orphan Annie
and Superman.

My dad has, for better or worse, always been a kid…
Which was great when I was a kid and when my son was a kid…
but not so great as I grew up and needed a “dad”…

That whole dad thing…responsibility, paying bills, working, caring for a lawn…
you know,
dad things…
none of those things were his cup of tea.

Oh don’t get me wrong,
he did it all, worked, cut grass, paid the bills….
but it was always obvious he hated it and would get out of it as much as possible—
which usually meant every weekend.
Sleeping away the day and doing as little as possible.
While my friends dads were all out and about…
I had to make excuses that my dad had worked all week really hard, so now he was tired.
I now know that it was just a matter of my dad being lazy….

And now, at 88, he’s wanting to get out of all this cancer business…
which I can’t say I much blame him—
because who in their right mind wants to deal with that devastating “c” word….
None of us,
that’s who!!!

I learned a while back that I had to accept dad for who he was / is…
and that’s a man who is simply more kid than adult,
as that meant I had to be more adult than kid…
not exactly fair, but no one ever said life was fair.

Yet during these coming days…
days that I know will only grow more weary and taxing…
for both dad and myself….
I’m thinking I might just need to stock up on some Popeye’s spinach…
because I’m going to need all the muscles I can get!!!!

God said to Moses,
“I AM WHO I AM”;
and He said,
“Thus you shall say to the sons of Israel,
I AM has sent me to you.'”

Exodus 3:14

Praise the Lord and pass the Chocolate. . .

“It is nothing to die. It is frightful not to live.”
Victor Hugo

IMG_1437
(blooming beauty coneflowers / Julie Cook / 2015)

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. . .!!!
That’s me bursting into song. . .
And for whatever reason, whenever I’m heard to mutter the phrase “Praise the Lord” it is instinctively followed with another phrase. . . “pass the ammunition. . .
Which, I might add, is actually the lyrics to a real song—so don’t think I’m daft or crazy.

Praise the Lord And Pass The Ammunition was a song written in 1942 in response to the bombing of Pearl Harbor. . .now as to why that phrase flows forth as part of my singing repertoire, I couldn’t say- – -maybe it’s because of some sort of deep-seated Broadwayesque hidden desire on my part—or maybe it’s more aptly because I am now very tried and perhaps a bit slap happy. . . either way, I’m bursting forth in song as well as praise. . .

Dad came through the anesthesia like a champ.
For a shriveled up 87 year old, pale, bone thin individual, Dad is like the energizer bunny who just keeps taking licking after licking but keeps on thankfully ticking!
Inflammation and colitis sure beats what it was thought to have been!!

He’s barely eaten in 3 weeks. No sustenance nor nourishment to speak of nor nutriments staying in.
Weak and frail has been the name of the game.

After waking up, with the doctor telling him there is no cancer, Dad immediately wants to know what he can and can’t eat. He keys in on the doctor saying, ” Well I don’t think we need to starve him. . .”

Fast forward to our trek back home.

“Dad, would you like for me to stop by Chick-fil-A so I can order you a little bowl of their chicken noodle soup?”
This on a day that it’s 91 degrees outside.
“Well, that sounds good, but I’d really rather have one of their chocolate brownies”

“DAD, YOU CAN’T EAT CHOCOLATE BROWNIES, NOT YET!”
I practically scream as I then rationally try explaining that he’s barely eaten anything in 3 weeks and that his guts are still irritated and inflamed—he needs to go slow as he now needs meds to help bring a healing. . . needing to gradually build back up to eating “real” food.
Chicken noodle soup is a good start. . .

“Well”, Dad counters. . .”I’d still prefer a chocolate brownie—they’ll keep. . .just get me one for later”
Knowing good and well that his idea of later is in later this evening when he knows I’m good and gone, headed back out of town. . .I do not order the brownie. . .”Maybe for Father’s Day you can have chocolate. . .” I counter, much to his chagrin. . .

Yet despite ailments and chocolate requests, I want to offer my heartfelt “thank you” to each of you for your good wishes, thoughts, love and prayers.
Hopefully the meds will bring a healing and he’ll slowly get to add back real food, gain some strength and get back to what he enjoys most in life. . .sitting in his chair, watching Buck Rogers (yep, they still replay the 1930’s childhood favorite) all while eating, noshing, snacking and savoring on all things chocolate. . .
Praise the Lord indeed!!!