Reboot-ed

I’ve heard this word a lot, of late,

REBOOT. You know I’ve wondered some,

It’s not a word accustomed to,

But I’ve been learning…I’m not dumb!

 

I’ve several sons who rescue me,

When with technology, I fight

They fiddle with a key, or two,

Then hit Reboot and it’s all right!

 

I’ve watched some movies now and then,

Familiar as I watch each time,

I’m sure I’ve seen each one before…

Reboots, all, but that’s just fine!

 

A local business struggled some,

Décor and food were out of date,

They told me they’d Reboot, and they’d

Bounce back. You know, that will be great!

 

A friend was trying to be heard,

She had a presence there online,

Then someone helped Reboot her name,

And last I heard, she’s doing fine!

 

But in my youth, if you messed up,

You’d ‘Get the Boot’—it wasn’t nice,

And if you didn’t learn from that…

To Reboot was to get it twice!

Karen asks, "Write for me, please?"

We write because she's the Bee's Knees!

And we love her, you know that’s true,

So this is what we writers do . . .

We craft a poem based on a theme,

With pencils, sharp, and eyes agleam,

Each month we write and have such fun

We can't wait for another one,

Sooo...this month, how well did I do?

Please go and see the others, too:

Baking In A Tornado: Reboot

Messymimi’sMeanderings

Being At the Top

You see trees. They see . . .

Being the eldest girl has its challenges.

And occasionally, its perks.

And Gerry was very clever.

And athletic.

These become important later.

Let me explain . . .

Gerry had six younger siblings.

Many of whom were boys. Competitive boys.

And there were 25 neighbourhood children, a large percentage of whom fell into the ‘boy’ and ‘all things competitive’ categories.

Keeping ahead of them took courage, forethought and ingenuity.

All of which Gerry had. In spades.

The Ackroyd family lived in the town of Raymond in southern Alberta in a grand old neighbourhood. A nieghbourhood with many mature trees.

There were fifteen trees on their family property alone.

Trees that offered shade and/or fruit and/or shelter and/or climbing apparatus in the seasons.

And it’s this last that finally brings me to the point of the story.

I know you knew I’d get there. Eventually. . .

These trees were tall. To the kids in the neighbourhood, mountain-climbing tall. Those ultra-competitive (see above) boys began to eye them as their next horizon. Their next ultimate challenge. The next rung on their road to manhood.

There was just one problem.

Remember when I mentioned that Gerry was courageous, forward thinking and ingenious?

Yeah, that comes into play here.

Because Gerry, seeing those giant trees, and knowing her brothers and neighbours well, decided there was something she had to do.

And she did it.

Before anyone else could try it, and unseen by the others, she climbed each of those trees.

But that’s not all.

To prove her feat, she carved her initials at the tip top of every. Single. Tree.

Forever after, when anyone would get the wondrous idea of conquering the great Ackroyd trees, they would know that ‘someone’ had already been there before them.

Well played, Gerry. Well played. 

Puppy Love

What's not to love, right?

I was in grade four.

Nine years old.

And at the dawn of a new age...

I had discovered boys. Or more specifically, boy.

KS was smart.

Cute.

Sweet.

Taller than me.

And my neighbor.

He had everything important going for him.

At first, I didn’t know what to do with my newfound crush. I really didn’t know what it was. I had had plenty of boy friends in the past.

Boys that I competed against at every opportunity.

Sports.

Schoolwork.

But none that I just wanted to . . . be near.

Puzzled, I did all the normal things.

Followed him around at a discrete distance.

Hid behind cars and buildings if he looked in my direction.

Stared across the room at him in class.

Avoided him at recess.

What was this weird attraction?

I had suddenly developed mental ‘global positioning’. I could tell you the precise location of KS at any time of the day.

Without ever seeming to look at him.

I’m sure I was pretty obvious in my interest. But when you’re nine - and you wish it - you’re invisible.
And then . . . that day . . .

First, our class had a Box Social.

Okay, I know that dates me, but the fact remains.

All of the boys brought a box lunch for two and then shared it with his assigned ‘girl’ partner.

We lined up and the teacher numbered us off.

I tried to position myself so that I would match KS.

But my counting was off.

I ended up with a boy who brought peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

Peanut butter and banana? I had never heard of such a thing.

Nor had my stomach.

And the two of us agreed that we'd be happier with our mutual ignorance.

I looked longingly across the playground at KS and his partner.

Happily munching on whatever KS had brought.

Sigh.

Later that day, tired of listening to my bleating, my friends cornered KS and his friends and wrung a confession out of him.

He liked me!

It was the happiest day of my life!

So what did we do then?

Nothing.

We were nine.

Oh, occasionally, we would . . . you know . . . talk. I called him on the phone once, to beg a ride to church. And once, I sat next to him in Sunday School class.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

But that’s about it.

My family moved. And soon another crush filled my life.

Moving ahead.

I hadn’t seen or thought about KS for nearly fifty years.

Then, one day, there he was in my church congregation.

Now, until that moment, I couldn’t remember what the nine-year-old boy had looked like.

But I knew him as soon as I saw him.

Strangely, he hadn’t changed much at all.

Taller.

And definitely older.

But still that boy.

My first crush.

It made me smile.

Lifted

 Two teachers brought their students on a field trip to the track,

So they could pet the horses; maybe sit on someone’s back.

But all the kids were little and the first thing to be done,

Was a potty-break; that bus ride was a longish one!

One woman took the little girls. The other all the boys…

Then stood outside the washroom while those lads made lots of noise,

Then one came running out in panic, “Teacher, help!” he said,

“The urinal’s not made for kids—it’s higher than our heads!”  

So she was forced to enter; and then, one-by-one, raise up,

Each and every one of all those busy little pups,

Her arms were growing weary and when she fin’lly reached the last,

He seemed heavier and more ‘endowed’ than others in her class,

“Whew, you’re getting heavy!” she said, feeling slightly miffed,

He said, “I’m riding Snowdrift in the third. Thanks for the lift!”

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So Karen, Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

They're with us going near or far,

Sometimes we like to Name Our Cars!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...

Field Trips (September 26) Today!

Name Your Car (October 3)
Octopus (or something squishy) (October 10)
Most Memorable Italian Meal (October 17)
Bathtubs (October 24)

Halloween -or- your favourite Knock-Knock Joke (October 31) 

Oatmeal (November 7)