Cousins

     The Cousins

I'm locking my closet
And hiding my toys.
The cousins are coming,
They're two little boys

Who'll drag out things
I'd forgotten I had,
And when I get angry
They'll run tell my dad

That I won't let them
Play with my things;
Can you imagine
The trouble that brings?

My dad comes stomping
Right up the stairs.
The back of my neck
Gets prickly hairs.

"What's this I hear?
You're not willing to share?"
And then he gives me
That long, cold stare.

My cousin just grins;
He thinks it's so funny.
Then dad pats his head and says
"It's alright now, honey."

So I'm left to play
With the horrible brat,
Who breaks all my toys
And squeezes my cat.

My toys are askew
And my room is a sight,
And then Aunt Ginny yells,
"Tell your cousins good-night."

"What?  You're leaving?
Huh-uh!  No way!
Not until you help
Put all my toys away!"

But next thing I know
They've donned their coats
And thrown their mufflers
Around their throats

Climbed in their car
And driven away.
I think to myself
I hope they'll stay

Away until
Their kids are full grown
Or at least next time,
Bring toys of their own.

Wrinkle Free

I'm an ironer; I thought you should know.  I spent the morning working my way through a basket of clothes, and there's a second one still to do.  You're probably thinking, "Poor girl.  What away to spend her time off!"  The next time I run into you, you'll tell me how you grab your clothes from the dryer as soon as it goes off and they look great.  Which must be true, because honestly, I am not tsk-tsking behind your back.  What you do is fine with me, but . . . I am an ironer.  It's in my genes.  And yes, speaking of jeans, I iron mine.



 I started ironing at a very early age.  (My husband says I exaggerate this, but I really was three.) Oh, I didn't do the difficult pieces.  I began with Daddy's handkerchiefs and graduated to pillowcases.  Too short to reach the ironing board, I stood on Daddy's footstool.  We didn't have a steam iron in those days, so the clothes had to be sprinkled.  Mother had a coke bottle with a little cork sprinkler that fit into the neck. After bringing the clothes in from the line (No dryer, we hung them outside on the clothesline that stretched from one corner of our yard to the other.) she would place them on the kitchen table where she would sprinkle each piece, roll it into a little ball and place it in a plastic bag to "cure" in the refrigerator until Tuesday, which was ironing day.

After pillowcases came petticoats. It was a great place to learn some of the finer techniques of ironing.  There was a ruffle at the bottom of the petticoat, and one had to learn the proper way to iron "gathered" fabric.  There's a lot of smoothing and holding of the fabric just so, to allow for placing the nose of the iron in each gather.   My early experiences weren't without mishaps.  Little girls dresses tended to have puffy sleeves, make that "the dreaded puffy sleeves."  (Seinfeld had nothing on me.)  You really had to work to create a flat surface to iron.  I remember trying so hard to get it right that I accidentally placed the iron on top of my fingers.  To this day I can show you the faint battle scar I received from that early endeavor.  (Thanks to my big sister who took me for a walk around the block to get my mind off the pain.  Some things you just never forget.)

And so I iron.  I find it deeply satifying-the removal of wrinkles.

I was afraid I had failed my son.  At three, he was watching Sesame Street, at five, he was riding bikes.  I'm pretty sure it was the summer before he left for college that I introduced him to the ironing board.  Fortunately, he was a fast learner (gifted even).  Apparently, he had inherited my ironing gene and was known for it in college.

Well, there's that other basket that needs to be done.  However, before I end this piece let me just mention that I also like to vaccuum.  Stay tune for my next blog "Streaks in the Carpet."

           Laundry List

White sheets
Snapping
Flapping
Waving
Sunlight
Toasting
Slowly
Dry
Clouds
Appearing
Laughing
Leering
Storm clouds
Forming
Angry Sky
Mother
Dashing
Grabbing
Snatching
Folding
Scolding
Quick
Inside.

Jack and the Beanstalk on Shine

Saturday morning, and I'm sitting at my desk sipping coffee and doing my "computer thing." What is that, you ask? Let's be real, you do it too. I see you there. I begin by checking my emails. I must admit, there's little action there these days. It's mainly, advertisements and such, whose email addresses I've permitted (in a weak moment) to slip from spam to inbox . It seems that facebook is where it's happening; so, of course, I go there next. I read what my friends have to say and make empathizing, witty, or non-committal replies. If time allows (Afterall, there are Scrabble games to play.) I view the videos you download. And here's my segue. Speaking of videos, I found one this morning. I connected to it on both the mom and the teacher level. As a mom I chuckled and remembered my own son reciting: Are You My Mother? by P.D. Eastman. I experience a little sadness knowing that we didn't record it and never got to post in on You Tube. In those days, we couldn't even afford a video camera. So it resides in my memory, and is remembered at the dinner table on Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and Mother's Day, and Father's Day, and . . .

As a teacher, I couldn't help but hear the inflection in the aunt's voice as she led the toddler through the story. If you watch it, you will notice what an excellent job the child does of mimicking her tone. Already, he is speaking with expression and appropriate emphasis. I am struck by the positive impact of modeling. Wouldn't this be a wonderful clip to play at a parent/teacher meeting. The video says it better than any words. If you want your child to be a good reader, then read with your child. Predictably, my thoughts didn't stop there. I got hung on the word "positive." In the vernacular of an educator, my metacognition, or the awareness of one's own thinking process, led me to the opposite of positive, which, as you know, is negative. And I pondered for a few moments the negative impact of modeling. The child in this video is quite young; and yet, he takes in and copies what he sees and hears. Although this child appears extremely bright, I don't believe he is selective in what he mimics. If something is repeated enough, his sharp little mind is going to grasp it, and put it back out there. As parents, grandparents, teachers, citizens, etc., it should make us think. What are we modeling for our children? or What's wrong with our country? Hmmm. I wonder.

2 year-old recites Jack and the Beanstalk on Shine

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?