A Very Tall Tale

It's Poetry Monday again!

Today we're discussing Vacation Days.

My joy of vacation days? The freedom to continue telling silly stories . . .

The good Lord read a new report that made him feel quite grim,

Now I have to tell you this report did really not please Him,

It said, of his retirees, only 5 percent were good,

While 95 percent were doing other than they should!

The good Lord was admissibly dismayed by all He read,

And sent another angel to endorse what had been said.

Sadly, when the man returned, he’d confirmation, true.

95 percent were doing things they shouldn’t do.

The good Lord sent an email to the 5 percent who tried,

To tell them they were doing well and he was satisfied.

But now a question I must ask, you really can’t ignore…

I haven’t got my email yet. Have you all gotten yours?

Mondays to get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we three besought,
To try to make the week begin
With pleasant thought--perhaps a grin?
So Jenny and Delores, we,
Have posted poems for you to see.
And now you've seen what we have brought . . .
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week as we come and go,
We'll talk of people that we know!

The Un-Party Party Line

See? Behind my dad? Entertainment in a box!

My brother recently blogged about the fun/mishaps of people ‘rubbering in’ on the party phone lines.

It’s here, and is great fun to read.

Go ahead. We’ll wait . . .

But the history of the party phone line wouldn’t be complete without the following story:

Still further west of the Stringam Ranch was a community known as Twin River.

It’s accepted social leader was Alfred Jones.

Successful farmer and all-round good guy.

One morning, Alfred received a phone call from a concerned and upset member of the neighbourhood.

She had been listening in on the party line and overheard the news that, “Bert Sibley had died.”

Now Bert had farmed in the area for many, many years. He and his wife had raised their children.

Sold the farm.

And retired to the nearby town of Magrath for some well-deserved rest.

As a stalwart of their community, his death was something of note.

The woman thought that, at the very least, friends and neighbours of the Sibleys should supply flowers at the soon-to-be-announced funeral.

Alfred agreed.

“In fact,” he said, “I’m heading to Lethbridge on business right now. I’ll stop in while I’m there, and order the flowers.”

The woman agreed and hung up.

Alfred started out.

The road from the Jones Ranch in Del Bonita, to Lethbridge, runs directly through the aforementioned Magrath.

As he reached the outskirts of the town, Alfred decided it would be proper for him to stop in and offer his condolences to the grieving widow.

He pulled up to the house and made his way to the front door.

While he was waiting for his knock to be answered, Alfred happened to glance into the front room through the large window.

There was Bert.

Lying on the couch.

Oh, my word! thought Alfred. They haven’t even taken the body away yet!

But that wasn’t his only shock of the day.

Just as the door opened, the ‘body’ sat up.

Alfred stared.

And gulped.

Then turned to Mrs. Sibley, standing in the doorway and stammered out something inane about stopping in to see how they were enjoying town life.

Etc.

Then got out of there.

Mrs. Sibley never knew how close she was to being offered flowers and condolences.

For a husband who was very much alive and sitting in the next room.

The good old party line.

Originator of all things informative. Mis-informative. 

And entertaining.

How can anything in this modern world compete with that?

The Birthday Present

Another of Daddy's favourite stories . . .

For years, she worked untiringly

In times of calm, or urgency,

In office work, traditional,

Her business place so integral.

Her husband was so proud of her,

His sweet, but strong entrepreneur,

So, for her birthday, he’d reward

The lovely woman he adored.

And straightway took her to the store

To blow all he did budget for,

For something pretty she could wear,

Unmatched by all who might compare.

And so received from her dear spouse

A lovely suit, with silky blouse.

A gorgeous jacket: shade of blue,

A pleated skirt of matching hue.

Then marched herself to work that day,

Receiving greetings on the way,

Confident in how she looked,

As pretty as a picture . . . book.

Her boss was in when she got there,

She checked her image with due care,

Then to his office, she did trot,

To show the suit her husband bought.

But just as she had stepped inside,

A customer with needs, applied

For entrance to their workplace there,

The boss sprang up from his wing chair.

“So sorry that I made you wait,

(Today my girl’s a fashion plate),

But she was looking oh-so-cute,

When showing me her birthday suit!” 

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