Baby Safety Time

 

Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top,

When the wind blows the cradle will rock,

When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,

And down will come baby, cradle and all. 

Let’s tackle this little conundrum, shall we…?

The first line starts out well…

I mean, the ‘rocking-the-baby’ part.

I freely admit, I may have rocked a baby or two in my lifetime. 

It’s soothing.

For both baby and me.

It’s that tree top that rather sticks in my craw, so to speak.

This just sounds dangerous on so many levels.

How do we get the baby with said cradle into the treetop? Hmmm?

I’m picturing a ladder.

Iffy steps up.

Reaching from.

And somehow fastening at the same time?

This sounds like a job for several strong persons with proper safety equipment...

Employing modern methods of upping and fastening.

A lift complete with security rails.

Hardhats.

Safety vests.

Okay, those last probably aren’t necessary. But I like safety vests.

Bright colours.

Enhanced noticeability.

Go with me on this…

So we’ve raised the lift.

Now how do we ensure said cradle with baby stays where it will be put.

Hey. I’ve watched trees in the wind.

They get rather…boisterous and enthusiastic.

Like small children let out for recess.

But I digress…

That basket has to be fastened securely.

Bolts.

And maybe a steel beam or two?

Now the cradle is safely rocking in the wind.

Okay. I’ll accept that.

Ahhh…

Could we just stop the poem there?

With the baby happily—and safely—rocking in the wind.

You have to know the next lines are—needless to say…disturbing…

Because the poet (poetess?) blithely informs us that when the bough breaks…not if, but when…that sucker is going to fall?

BABY AND CRADLE AND PART OF THE TREE?!

FALL?! What the heck???!!!

And what idiot chose that bough?

Excuse me while I speak to my safety crew…

I’m going to have to re-do…

Rock-a-bye baby, safe on the ground (Can’t you just picture his little hard hat with safety vest?)

When the wind blows, it doesn’t matter because he’s inside being, you know, safe.

When the bough breaks no cradle will fall…because it’s outside, being a tree, and our baby is inside being a baby.

And down will come the bough, but sans baby and cradle (see above) because we’re not stoop-id.

I think it’s better…

And now, my Dad’s take on the whole strange tale of baby, cradle, bough, wind and tree…

My Dad had a speech impediment.

Sometimes, he said things backwards.

Oh, he could control it.

He just chose not to.

An odd trait for someone who was such a stickler for proper pronunciation at all other times.

And don't try to tell me that doesn't have any effect on a young child learning to talk.

For years, I thought the song, Rock-a-Bye Baby went like this:

Rock a bay bybee

On the tee trop.

When the blind woes,

The radle will crock.

When the brough bakes,

The fadle will crawl.

And down will bum caby

Adle and crawl.

You’re right. That’s not even English. But that’s how I thought it went.

And Dad said it made just as much sense his way.

I heard some kids singing it the right way and totally confronted them. 

Our conversation was as follows:

Me: What are you singing?

Them: Rock-a-Bye Baby.

Me: That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

Them: Let’s play somewhere else.

As years went by, I realized that we really didn’t put the dirty dishes in the washdisher.

Or that salt didn’t come out of a shakesalter.

And that my favourite ice cream wasn’t scutterbotch.

I said it anyway…

What did you think?

Today is Fly on the Wall time!

Where my blogging sisters, 

Karen and Marcia and I reveal 

what's been going on in our hearts, 

lives and/or minds this month!

You've read mine...

Now go and see what they've been doing!

You'll be glad you did!

Baking In A Tornado 

Menopausal Mother

Really Thumbthing!

Scott Gustavson

Sometimes, dreams are answered and then prove to be anything but what the dreamer was expecting.

With me so far?

Maybe I should explain…

Many years ago, a hardworking farm couple were visited by none other than Merlin, the magician.

Yes. THAT Merlin.

The couple, not suspecting that they were entertaining royalty, welcomed the man warmly and gave him food and conversation.

Culminating in a very pleasant afternoon.

At the end of his visit, Merlin made a rather personal inquiry.

Apparently, despite the fact that the couple was generous and thoughtful and infinitely kind, he could see that, deep down, both were sad.

When he inquired, they finally confessed that their greatest wish—to have a baby—had never been granted.

The woman exclaimed that, even if she could have a child no larger than her husband’s thumb, she would be happy.

Okay, I just want to say here that I've always been afraid of getting a small dog for fear of stepping on it or, heaven forbid, sitting on it.

So I'm thinking this definitely wouldn't be MY wish.

Who's with me?

Ahem...

The idea tickled Merlin somewhat.

Okay, a lot.

And his next stop was to visit with the Queen of the Fairies to arrange it.

Because, of course he knew the Queen of the Fairies.

The two of them put their heads together and…erm…arranged.

Okay, I admit I have no idea how a Human Magician and an Elven Fairy Queen could possibly grant this wish.

That part is rather fuzzy in the details.

Regardless, a few months later, the good farm folk were blessed with a perfect little son, no larger than his papa’s thumb.

The Queen came to his christening and he was duly named, Tom Thumb.

For obvious reasons.

Okay, imagination only goes so far in these stories…

Moving on…

He was dressed in the finest, from a spider silk shirt to mouse skin shoes.

And treated with the kindness and love that only two thought-they-could-never-have-a-child-and-now-have-realized-their-greatest-wish parents could muster.

And he thrived.

Sort of.

I mean, there was that time he fell into his mother’s bowl and ended up almost being cooked with her pudding.

And the day he went with his mother to milk the cows and ended up being eaten by one of the aforementioned bovines.

What was a rare treat.

Oh, and the time he went to ‘help’ (I use this word hesitantly) his father plow the fields and got swooped up by an eagle, dropped on the head of a giant, eaten by said giant before being spit out because—let’s face it, no one wants to try to swallow something that fights back—and swallowed by a fish.

Did you ever have one of those days?

Fortunately, the fish was caught almost immediately and taken to the kitchens of the palace to be served to the King for his dinner.

And out popped Tom.

I’ve always wondered about that. I mean, how much air do you suppose there is inside a fish?

That brings up the whole Jonah and the whale story.

Or Pinocchio.

But we’ll save those for another time…

Where was I?

Oh yes. Tom. Fish. Palace kitchen.

Tom immediately captivated both the staff and the royals and quickly became a court favourite. In fact, the King was so taken with the little lad that he carried Tom around in the pocket of his waistcoat whenever he was out riding.

How’s that for a little favouritism?

Plus the fact that there are generally no puddings, cows, eagles, giants or fish in a King’s pocket, so Tom was infinitely safer.

Tom did go and visit his parents, who were always tearfully glad to see him, but his home now was with the King and court, so his visits were relatively short.

All was well.

Except for that day when he and the King had a misunderstanding and Tom, to escape what he thought was the King’s wrath, leaped onto the back of a butterfly and took off.

Of course you know he would fall off.

And land in a watering pot.

Where he nearly drowned.

But was saved at the last minute by a gardener’s child.

Whew.

The king was so relieved, he completely forgot he’d been upset with the little lad and made much of him instead, by ordering the royal tailors to make a new wardrobe (size 0000000000) and the royal harness maker to craft a tiny saddle, bridle and accoutrements to fit a Tom-sized steed—a

mouse, of course— and welcomed him into his Round Table of Knights.

And just so you know, our little Tom Thumb, he of the humble farmer/pudding/cow/eagle/giant/fish/butterfly/flowerpot upbringing became one of the best loved of King Arthur’s knights.

Proving once and for all that greatness isn’t always measured in size.

It's Fly time again!

That day when Karen, Marcia and I reveal what's been happening in our homes, minds and hearts this month.

Thank you for joining us!

I hope you enjoyed my contribution.

Now hurry over and read theirs.

You'll be glad you did!

Karen at Baking In A Tornado 

Marcia at Menopausal Mother   

And while I've got you here...
My book, Tom, Becoming, has been nominated for the Author of the Year award.
Could you...would you pleeease go and vote for me? Just click Here!
I'll love you forever!

Gardens by Mary

First of all, it will come as no surprise to many, because I may have mentioned it a few (dozen) times, but my mother was a major gardener.

We’re talking two acres of straight, weedless rows of amazing deliciousness.

From peas to pumpkins, corn to carrots to cauliflower, they were there. And grew due to my mother’s—and often my siblings’—extensive efforts.

You notice how I left me out of all of that.

That’s because most often Diane could be found under a tree at the edge of the garden.

Planting her own stuff…

Maybe I’d better just get to the poem:

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells and cockle shells,

And pretty maids all in a row.

First of all, who was Mary?

Queen?

Horticulturist?

Avid gardener next door?

Whoever she was, she was obviously a bit…cantankerous. Thus the whole ‘contrary’ moniker.

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be known by another characteristic.

‘Sweet’ or ‘kind’ come instantly to mind. But I’d take ‘agreeable’. Or even non-threatening’.

But then we’d find ourselves in difficulties with the rhyme.

All I could come up with to rhyme with Sweet was Pete.

And though there were many words that rhymed with Kind: blind, find, re-find (snicker) but none of them were names I was familiar with.

And just try finding a name to pair with Agreeable. Or Non-threatening!

Yikes.

So Mary it is.

You know, now that I think about it, we could change Mary’s descriptors with little problem. Dairy, fairy, hairy (shudder), nary, scary…even very.

Just putting that out there…

So Contrary Mary (CM for short) had a garden.

And the writer wants to know how her garden grows.

Now, to me, this would suggest gardening tips.

You know, watering, ph balance, nutrition, drainage.

But obviously this writer was interested, not in the ‘how’, but in the ‘what’.

And CM had an answer:

Silver bells, for one.

Now the term ‘silver bells’ conjures up a few lovely things for me.

None of them eat-able.

In the real world, they are either a “broadleaf evergreen perennial or a deciduous plant”.

Both recognized for their ornamental value and unique 

characteristics.

But not their eat-ability.

Ha! See? I was right! Non-eat-able.

So, obviously, CM wasn’t intent merely on esculent cultivation.

But was in search of something pretty and see-worthy.

And now on to the ‘Cockle Shells’.

???

Definitely not plants!

These are exclusively marine bi-valves.

Found in the…marine.

Certainly not in a garden in the…non-marine.

Trim, maybe. But not plants. So probably not ‘growing’ at all.

I’m beginning to think that CM’s garden is more of a ‘stroll-around-and-see-stuff’ place than a ‘let’s-raid-the-garden-and-eat-stuff!’ place.

I mean, both have their…erm…place.

Moving on…

Lastly we have the ‘Pretty Maids’.

Again…flowers. (“Perennials known for their airy clouds of white, pink striated flowers” to quote Gardener’s Weekly.)

Not veggies.

I’m beginning to think Mary’s garden isn’t what I imagined at all.

Okay, yes. Walking around a garden is peaceable and enjoyable and lots of other ‘-ables’.

But when one is hungry?

That one is heading for the picnic basket or to the food truck parked on or near the premises.

Am I right?

So I’m thinking our Contrary Mary is needing a bit of a re-do…

Scary Mary, very hairy

What does your garden grow?

There’s peas and beans.

And other greens,

So come and eat them…row by row!

I like mine better.

At last it's time for our Fly-on-the-Wall group to reveal what's been going on in our hearts, minds and/or homes this month!

You've read mine.

Now go and see what my Sister Bloggers, Karen and Marcia have to say!

You'll be glad you did!

Karen at Baking In A Tornado

Marcia at Menopausal Mother

How We Survive the Winter

How does this Canadian survive the Great Canadian Winter?

By abandoning Canada for someplace warmer.

Okay. I admit it. I'm a coward...

But the thought of Barbados and its current and steady temperatures of  +28C (+82F) just really sounded appealing compared to our usual Northern Alberta January/February temperatures of -28 (-82F) (Just kidding. -18F)

Plus, there were the added incentives: Sunshine. Beaches. Caves. Monkeys. Flowers. Great food. Meeting wonderful people. And lots and lots of visiting with family and friends who joined us this year.

Ahhhhh!

Having said all that, I'm back in Canada. The current temperature is -23C. I'm sitting at my desk with the trusty heater at my toes...

And fingerless gloves on my hands.

Just kidding about the gloves.

The rest? Truth.

And I have the memories of somewhere warm to keep me...warm.

Let me tell you about it...

First, we flew to Barbados and climbed aboard our favourite mode of transportation: The Royal Clipper.

Go ahead. You can just say she's beautiful!

And yes, I have had a chance to steer. Places where there's nothing to run into...

Looking back at Barbadoes as we sail out into the Caribbean.

We stopped off in places like Union Island, Grenada (above pic!)...

Tobago Cay (Pic of one of the locals!)

St. Vincent, Bequia, and Martinique. (Where we went for a walking/tasting tour.
Here we are 'tasting' fresh Pain au chocolat! Yum!)

Fort-de-France. Okay, yes, I took out the hotel. It was spoiling the view...
Then Soufriere and St. Lucia and we were back on Barbados.

Our home away from home on Barbados.
The magic for our group of mostly-seniors?
It has four bathrooms!

Final pic of our new friends, Jo and Garry before they headed back to chilly England.

We sank into the warmth and life of Barbados like it was always meant to be! 

The snorkelling...

Exploring...

Seeing the local crafts...

And the truly unique artwork...

The kitchen of George Washington House.
Because I like kitchens...

Our eldest GrandLittle and my first pic of our first Great-GrandLittle

The GrandLittles having a grand look at the ocean...

Yes. It DOES look like a car...

More local life...

Outside the fish market.
The supper crowd, hoping for...supper.

GrandLittles and another sunset...

Cousins in the Hunte's gardens...Truly spectacular.
Both the gardens AND the cousins!

Husby and me on Brownes Beach.

More pics of the Littles with their Little.

Ditto...

Last night of...this.

The balcony of our room where I worked out most mornings. Yow!

A sad good-bye to Barbados. But SO grateful for the memories!

Thank you for touring with me!

It's that time again. When my blogging Sisters and I share what's been going on in our lives, hearts and minds this past month!

Me? I've been...escaping!

Want to see what my sisters have been doing?

Karen at Baking in a Tornado 

Marcia at Menopausal Mother