Dirty Dan

Not only am I writing a blog, but I am following a few, too.  A former neighbor started one when she learned she was expecting.  I got to see her nursery come together, and then of course, there were baby pictures.  It has been fun to follow along.  Naturally, seeing her little one takes me back to when my son was small.  Those years were the absolute best!  I remember the nightly baths and some of the conversations we would have.  I think he actually enjoyed bath time, but just to be sure, we made up "Dirty Dan" stories.  Years later I finally put pen to paper.  I hope you like this one.

          Dirty Dan

Long about seven every night
    Dan and his mother got into a fight
"The water is running.  It's time for your bath."
    But Dan never budged, he just started to laugh.
"Not on your life! I won't get in that tub
    With all of those bubbles, and allow you to scrub
My knees and my elbows, and especially not ears,
    And I won't use the shampoo, even if it's No Tears.
I like being dirty. You really can't smell me,
    Besides, if you could, I'm sure someone would tell me."
Though his mom disagreed, and she wanted him clean
    She was awfully kind-hearted and just couldn't be mean.
So inhaling quickly, she tucked him in bed
    Avoided a kiss and just patted his head.
Next morning Dan dressed in clothes he'd worn before;
    And grabbing his homework he dashed out the door.
He waited at the bus stop, and when the doors flew open,
    He spied a girl he liked a lot, and inside he was hopin'
That by chance she might invite him to join her on the ride,
    But when he got beside her, she just pinched her nose and cried,
"Someone open up a window; I have got to have some air."
    So Dan didn't sit beside her, and he pretended not to care.
The bus unloaded quickly, and Dan headed down the hall;
    He saw a gang of guys he knew and was just about to call
But Reggie saw Dan coming, and he told the others, so . . .
    They suddenly disbanded, having somewhere else to go.
Dan was almost to the classroom where his teacher always stood;
    She greeted everybody, and she made them feel real good.
She hugged Elizabeth Pennington who'd been absent twice that week,
    And she smiled and hugged Greg Friedman, and gave Liza's cheek a tweek.
She complimented Ralphie's shirt and said he smelled so clean.
    She noticed Sally's sweater and how she looked so good in green.
When Dan approached the teacher, she leaned back against the wall,
    Held a tissue to her nose and said, "Good morning." That was all.
They got in pairs to practice math, and when the pairs weren't even,
    The teacher glanced about the room and said, "Dan, join Rob and Stephen."
She announced that after recess they all had a job to do;
    They would rearrange the seating. Boy, that raised a hullabaloo.
All the girls grabbed hands and giggled, and they swore that they would mind
    If they could sit together; Then, Dan looked around to find
A guy to be his partner. Jimmy Toth would sure be swell.
    But he found that he was taken,  and all the other guys as well.
The teacher pushed the desks around. What noise it all created!
    She breathed a sigh when she looked around and found them all situated.
Then she looked in Dan's direction, and she saw him standing there;
    She wondered where to put him, but she couldn't think of where.
Dan tried to act real nonchalant; There wasn't much to say,
    But suddenly he realized how the others stayed away.
A seat was finally found for him in the corner with the plants;
    He hung his head and noticed there were stains upon his pants.
On the ride home he was thoughtful about the day that he had had;
    Perhaps there'd be some changes; Maybe baths were not so bad.
His mom met him at the door and asked, "How was your day? Did you get in trouble?"
    "It was OK, Mom, and by the way . . . Do we have any Mr. Bubble?"

Lester's Quest

Lester had a quest for knowledge
   Couldn’t wait to go to college
At the tender age of three
   He mastered trigonometry.
While other kids read Dr. Seuss
   And prattled verse from Mother Goose
He finished reading War and Peace
   And mastered playing Für Elise
Young Lester soon spoke Japanese
   As well as French and Portuguese
His parents couldn’t hide their pride
   When Lester found he qualified
For Mensa’s IQ based society
   That brought him fame and notoriety
It wasn’t long before every book
   Had been downloaded to Lester’s Nook
He read and committed to memory
   The Iliad and the Odyssey
And all of this before turning five
   Would Lester ever have to strive?
At six he entered Harvard Law
   It wasn’t even hard at all
With so much knowledge in Lester’s brain
   It soon left no more to attain
And though for jobs he did apply
   An eight year old just didn’t fly
So Lester defeated and discontent
   Penned a letter to the President
And asked him for a face to face
   In the oval office or another place
Then Lester waited for his reply
   And passed the time reciting pi
One morning gazing toward the sky
   He noticed something way up high
Perhaps he thought a bird or plane
   With squinted eyes he peered again
And used his hand to block the sun
   That’s when he saw it, Air Force One
It hovered for a little while
   Then landed; that’s when Lester smiled
The blades stopped whirring and it was parked
   And soon the President disembarked
“Young man, you’re Lester, I suppose.”
   (He struck a Presidential pose)
And when young Lester didn’t speak
   The President kindly pinched his cheek
And said, “I think we need to talk.
   The two of us should take a walk.
I’ve heard of your accomplishments.
   It seems you have a lot of sense.
And though you seem to know it all,
   I wonder, have you tossed a ball?
Or made a castle in the sand?
   Caught a butterfly in your hand?
Played German Spotlight on a summer night?
   Or even tried to fly a kite?
If not, it’s time to be a kid
   And if you do, you’ll be glad you did.
Slow down and let yourself enjoy
   The fun of being a little boy.”
The chopper blades began to whir
   And Lester hollered, “Thank you, Sir.”
       *    *    *    *    *
You want to know what Lester’s doing?
   Today, I think he’s off canoeing
He likes to run and play outdoors
   And like most kids, hates doing chores
And though he still has all his talents
   He’s happier now, ‘cause his life . . . is balanced.

Cleaning the Garage

After years of shopping and materialistic excess

I've noticed our garage is a "mell of a hess."

It's time. I believe, to put things in order

Or risk being labeled a sloth or a hoarder.

I'll start in one corner and sort it all out;

I'm sure it won't pain me to do without

That old tennis racquet from back in the day;

See, I can do it; I'm throwing it away.

If I don't need the racquet, then the balls can go too;

With this kind of progress, I soon will be through.

That chair in the corner has one leg that's missing;

And why keep a rod when I never go fishing?

I'm pitching the cans filled with petrified paint;

I'll do it responsibly so I'm sure not to taint

The water that flows in our local watershed.

Who wants to see hundreds of fish floating dead?

But wait, I digress, and I must stay the course.

Oh, no!  Is that Little Jamie's rocking horse?

I never said I'd throw everything away;

And what if I have grandkids one day?

I'm starting to sweat, and I may need a break

From all these decisions I'm having to make.

Who thought all this junk would make me so sentimental?

I'm starting to think . . .

                              I need a storage pod rental.

Happy Anniversary

It just so happens that today is our 37th anniversary . . . and I'm cleaning out the garage.  Well, let me say I'm starting to clean it out.  It obviously will take several cullings (and weeks) to get the job done.  Some might suggest today wasn't the best day to begin the challenge.  Afterall, it's our anniversary.  I should be at the salon getting a mani/pedi, or devotedly preparing George's favorite dinner to serve by candlelight, or at the very least scattering rose petals throughout the house.  But if you think about it, it might be quite apropo to be cleaning the garage; for an anniversary is a day to reflect on the years you've spent together, and let's just say the garage is filled with plenty of momentos.

Did I mention that it's 94 degrees today?  That would be outside the garage.  I'm inside, and I refuse to open the garage door.  You see, we live on the corner, and our garage is highly visible to anyone who passes by.  Athough our garage is a mess, we ourselves have managed to present a fairly normal image to our friends and neighbors.  Opening the door would change all of that.  I'll probably wait until dark to load the car for my first trip to the dump.

I considered writing to HGTV.  They have that one show where they come and help you clean the garage.  I  like their process.  The husband and wife each get a blue tarp that is placed on the lawn (for the whole world to see).  A third tarp is there for "throw away" items.  If and when you run out of tarp room (and they always do) then the item has to go.  It's a reasonable strategy if you don't mind all of your trash or treasures (depending on your mind set) on display. 

You may have heard the term "goumet garage"?  That's my goal.  Cabinets installed around the perimeter.  Tools hung neatly on a pegboard.  Clear plastic bins neatly labeled and organized.  Does it get any better than that?

Lazy, Hazy Summer Days

Bring 'em on. Those lazy, hazy, days of summer. Yes, I know I omitted crazy, and there was a reason for that. I'd prefer they weren't. I do crazy all year long, and in the summer, I just want calm. And most of all, I want to piddle. I looked it up to be sure it was a real word. It is. It means to dawdle or trifle time away. This morning I did just that.

There were a few remaining flower pots on my deck that needed to be filled. I transplanted some geraniums from their plastic containers into two large pots, and then I began filling my strawberry pots with the begonias I had purchased. I say began, because I discovered something about piddling. It contains a large dose of ADD. I could have finished up the flower project in twenty minutes, swept up the mess, and moved on to . . . well, whatever, but I suddenly remembered the tilapia I purchased at the store yesterday, and felt the need to research a recipe for tonight's dinner. Research took me to my computer where I did indeed find a recipe that looked tasty. I printed the recipe and placed it in my recipe binder.

I love my recipe binder. It has little dividers with pockets, and acetate sheets to protect all of my favorite hand-written recipes. I love to purchase recipe cards-really cute ones-(You may remember that "I like cute.")and write out my recipes on them. There's no time to do that most of the year, but in the summer, with a glass of peach iced-tea, sitting under my patio umbrella, I can write. Some may question if this activity truly qualifies as piddling. That's where the dawdle part of the definition comes in. No hurry, no pressure, just spending a little time doing something I like to do.

Ah yes, but the flowers call to me again. The sun has moved to the front of the house, and the deck should be much cooler now. I think I'll go finish that task, which doesn't seem like a task at all . . .when you're piddling . . . on a lazy, hazy summer day. :)

Sometimes You Laugh

George and I made a quick trip to Louisville this week end. It's home. All of our family is there, but mostly I needed to see my mother. We talk frequently, but Mother is nearly deaf now and it is difficult to communicate much. Fortunately, she can still understand the words I love you that end each call.

It didn't take long to realize that Mother's hearing was even worse this trip. I had purchased a whiteboard last trip so I could write the words she didn't understand; however she misplaces a lot of things these days, and the board was no where to be found. We tried.
"Could I have some water?"
"Whose daughter?"
"No, WATER. Could I have a glass?"
"Last? You got here last night?"
"No, Mother. We came this morning."
"Mourning. So she died?"
"Who died?"
"The daughter."
"There's no daughter. No one died. I'm just thirsty."
"Thursday. I thought it was Saturday."

It's not funny, and yet it is. People say you have to laugh to keep from crying. I've probably even said it. The thing is . . . you still cry.

But there were precious moments even with the challenges of communicating.

Mother has never been one to embrace new things. She didn't purchase an automatic washer
until I was in college (1970). A computer was never an option. But, I had my iPad with me, and I thought she might enjoy seeing some of what it could do. I was surprised to see that she was fascinated by it. We played around with the camera and laughed at some of the funny pictures we took. I showed her some of my poems. She read them from start to finish and was amazed that I had written them.

That was Friday. We visited, we laughed, we ate lunch, and played with the iPad.

On Saturday, George and I stopped by for a final visit before heading out of town.

"What are you two doing in town?" she asked.
"I was here yesterday. Remember?"
"December? I thought . . .

Sometimes you have to laugh.

Read it and Weep

I've always heard that in order to be a writer, you must write everyday. On a day when you have no inspiration, you must write anyway. I believe it's true. The "nothing" you write may contain a kernel that can grow into something meaningful at a later date.

As the end of the school year neared, and the lazy days of summer loomed, I often "thought myself to sleep" at night by imagining how I would spend those delicious hours of freedom that lay ahead. I promised myself I would write. I pictured myself sitting by an open window with a cool breeze drifting in (we've set record high temperatures), with the summer sounds of bees buzzing and children laughing (we've had cicadas screeching) as background music for my ruminations. But, as you can see, it hasn't turned out quite as I planned.

To those of you who visit my blog, I must apologize. You'll find no creativity here today. I'm just not feelin' it. But thanks to a gentle nudge (you know who you are), at least I wrote. Day 1