Guilty

Today’s topic is WEATHER.

So,first, an oldie many will have already seen:

“Look to the cows,” said Dad, the wise,
“And you will come to realize,
That by their actions, you can tell,
The weather patterns, fair or fell.”

And so I watched, and so I saw
That he was right, my smart ol' Pa.
And he knew what he talked about,
If you're predicting rain. Or drought.

The cows, they crowd together tight
And you know cold will be the night.
They seek the shed and shelter warm
If rain or snow will be the norm.

Then turn their tail and duck their head,
When wind is shrieking round the shed.
But stand out grazing peacefully,
If sun and warmth are meant to be.

But just today, I got a scare,
From cows around me everywhere,
For when I stepped outside my door
And glanced towards the purple moor . . .

(Oops, Alberta's where I live, you see,
And so I meant the wide prairie.)
My cows weren't where they're s'posed to be,
They sat on branches. In the trees.

So now I have to figure out,
What they’re predicting hereabouts.

And then something new.

It MENTIONS weather...

John and buddy, Keith, were on a golfing holiday,

But a blizzard came and forced them to postpone their play,

When it became too difficult to see through driving snow,

Asked at the nearest farmhouse if a roof they could bestow,

A pretty woman answered, said, “A widow, new, am I,

It would not be appropriate. My neighbours would decry.”

She nodded toward the barn, “But you are welcome, there, to stay,

“And you should be quite comfortable. It’s clean and filled with hay.”

The two men thanked her, headed to the barn to get some rest,

Then rose up in the morning after sleep that was the best!

They finished off their trip, the weather did cooperate,

And soon they both were back at home and working eight to eight,

Nine months went by, a letter came, t’was sent from where they’d gone,

And issued by a lawyer and addressed to our friend, John,

He read it. Then he left his office, walked along the hall,

Stopped at buddy, Keith’s, then smiling, asked if he recalled

That night they spent tucked in the barn (as weather boiled without)?

Well, Keith, he nodded. Asked his friend what this was all about?

“Did you visit our sweet hostess while I slumbered deep?

And did you give my name for yours before you fell asleep?"

Well, Keith turned red, embarrassed as he stammered a reply,

“I’m sorry, John,” he said. "What's up? Please know I will comply!”

Well, John just shrugged. “I’m happy that you can be counted on,

That lady died and left her fortune to your good friend, John!”

Karen asks, "Write for me, please?"

We write because she's our Big Cheese,

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.

BakingIn A Tornado                 

Messymimi’sMeanderings

Chocolatey

How do you get your motor running?

I had slept in. Again.

It was summer. I was seven. It was acceptable.

Everyone else was working outside.

Well, except for mom who was busy with my little brother and baby sister.

Somewhere else.

I had the kitchen to myself.

My day had come. I could get my own breakfast!

I got down the bran flakes and poured a generous helping into my bowl. I grabbed the sugar, the Nestle Quick and a spoon and assembled them next to my cereal, together with the tallest glass I could find.

Then I went to the fridge for the all-important ingredient to tie the whole meal together. That white miracle heavily flecked with cream that, when poured over cereal or mixed with chocolate powder, produced gustatory bliss.

Fresh milk. 

The door opened.

I know I must have let out a solid gasp. Because there, on the shelf that normally held the big, frosty-cold jug was . . . nothing.

Nothing?

How could that be?

Never had there been nothing!

Had Old Bossy passed on to greener pastures?

Had all of the cow milk-ers passed on with her?

I closed the door, then whipped it open again.

Still gone.

I tried a few more times, but with the same result.

My life was over!

I looked at the bowl and glass sitting together on the cupboard.

At the box of Nestle Quick beside them.

Then I looked at the tap.

The tap that was always full of fresh, healthy, sulphur water.

Hmm . . . could work.

I grabbed my glass and filled it nearly full of water. Then I carried it carefully back to my place and set it down.

So far so good.

Prying the lid off the chocolate powder, I scooped out a heaping spoonful and tipped it into the glass of water.

Then I mixed happily and put my spoon down.

My taste buds gleefully anticipating the first chocolatey contact, I took a sip.

I probably don’t need to tell you that my little experiment didn’t . . . work out. That the liquid refreshment I had hoped to create wasn’t refreshing.

Or even palatable.

Even after the addition of several more spoonfuls of chocolatey deliciousness.

Yes. My first attempt at culinary creativity didn’t get a passing grade.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop me.

P.S. Sulphur water on cereal. Also horrifying. Even with extra sugar. Just FYI.

And a little bonus today:

A picture of Husby, camping in the rain. Any resemblance to any garden figurines you may know is entirely unintentional.

Sort of . . .

Superior

A bunny munching in the garden, happy as could be,

Was startled by a hungry fox who pounced on him with glee!

“Lunch!” the fox said, licking lips, preparing for his feast,

(This shouldn’t come as a surprise; you know they’re hungry beasts,)

But Bunny cried, “Don’t eat me! You must wait a day or two.”

The fox, he frowned and stared. (He thought the bunny’s brain askew!)

“Why must I wait?” old Foxy asked. And Bunny said, “Because…

I’m finishing my thesis. The result will give you pause.”

“What on earth could you write that would make me miss my lunch?”

“‘The Superiority of Me o’er Things with Teeth and Munch’.”

The fox, he laughed. “I’m greater far than ever you could be!”

“Well come into my burrow, Fox, and you and I will see!”

The fox just shrugged and followed Bunny deep into his den,

Did not emerge and strangely, he was never seen again.

A few days later, Bunny friend, again was out about,

Was cornered by a wolf this time. (It made him want to shout…)

Instead, he told the wolf exactly what he’d told the fox,

Presenting to the predator what surely would flummox,

Just like the fox, the wolf just laughed. “What could a bunny do?

You know I’m far superior to all you could construe!”

But Bunny shrugged, said, “Follow me!” and led that wolf away,

And never more would wolf be seen right to the present day!

A day or two went by and Bunny saw one of his own,

A chap who’d witnessed both encounters, wanted to be shown

This thesis mentioned--all about how rabbits were so great,

Was it really true? Or did our Bunny merely prate?

Bunny shrugged and led the way, down, down into his lair,

Showed off the desk and clutter caused by days of writing there,

A pile of fox bones to the left, with wolf bones on the right,

And in between a well-fed lion, munching a last bite…

The moral of this story’s clear, your title doesn’t matter,

The subject and the research? Less important than the latter,

What could you do that instantly makes you the ‘thesis whiz’?

What’s most important has to be who your advisor is!

Making Do(n't)

Mom and Aunt Grace.
Making do. Even on holidays...

A friend told me a story.

A true one.

About his grandfather during the food rationing days of the Second World War.

The friend's grandmother had been to the grocery store and purchased, among other things, a new tin of pepper.

Which she set on the table.

Her husband picked it up and studied it for a moment. He looked at her and said, “This pepper is half peas!”

“Oh, for heaven's sake!” she said. “I thought I looked at it!”

I should explain, here, that, during the war, creative ways of extending food were discovered and explored. They called it ersatz. I'm not sure where the name came from, but it was expressive. Many different readily available foodstuffs were dried and powdered and added to other foods not so easily come by. Corn meal, for example, was widely used.

The use of dried peas, though not as usual, was not unheard of.

Back to my friend's story . . .

Another can of pepper was procured the next day.

Again, the grandfather picked up the little tin.

“Huh,” he said. “This one is half peas, too.”

His wife snorted in disgust. “Well, there's only one kind left,” she said. “I'll try that one tomorrow.”

She did.

She proudly set the third little tin on the table in front of her husband and proceeded to get his dinner.

He picked up the tin and peered at it closely. “Yep,” he said. “Half peas.”

“What?! I looked at it! Where does it say . . .” her voice trailed off.

Her husband was pointing at the 'Pepper' part of the label. “Here,” he said. “See? P-E-P-P-E-R. Half of the letters are P's.”

Oh. P's. Not peas.

She didn't upend the tin over him or anything drastic like that. I know I would have been tempted.

But I'm sure they had pepper to last until the turn of the century.

This story reminded me of my Mom . . .

Raised during the Depression years, Mom knew very well the days of rationing and going without.

She learned very early to 'make do”. And to purchase things quickly, when they became available.

She often spoke of a large, twenty-five pound tin of peanut butter, for example. Oil on peanut butter rises. The first two-thirds of the container were edible. The last third had to be run through a meat grinder to make it spreadable.

But they ate it.

Several large cans of cherry jam appeared at the local grocery. Her Dad quickly snapped one up.

At first, cherry jam was a treat.

Served at every meal, it became a bit tiresome.

Still, it disappeared.

In her own home, Mom tried to practice what she had been taught throughout her life. Waste not want not, she often told us.

Some of her attempts were successful.

Others . . . not so much.

When buying frozen orange juice, she always added an extra can or two of water to make it go further.

It certainly went further--actually lasted for days. (and days...)  

When there was no milk cow on the place, she tried to extend the life of the milk container in the fridge by added powdered milk to it.

Fooling no one.

She tried purchasing the cheapest brand of peanut butter.

Unfortunately, her children hadn't been raised during the Depression and were finer-mouthed than their parents.

The cheaper peanut butter languished on the shelf.

Finally, in desperation, she bought the favourite kind. Which disappeared in a flash.

Coining the phrase, “I'm going to stop buying that peanut butter. You kids just eat it!”

She made her own roast beef sandwich spread by running cold roast beef through the meat grinder, along with some pickles. Then mixing in some mayonnaise.

That one was a hit. We kids loved sandwiches spread with beef and pickle hash.

I'm sure that, through the years, Mom saved our family a boatload of money with her careful ways.

Unfortunately, my children were even finer-mouthed than we had been.

One day, one of my kids saw her adding water to the ketchup.

I had seen her do that before. It made the ketchup a bit runnier, but still tasted okay.

The child was horrified and told all of his siblings.

And she became, forever, the grandma who put water in the ketchup. The lesson in frugality and making do was completely lost.

Pity.

P.S. I've been known to put water in the ketchup, too. Don't tell my kids . . .

The Test

From an old story/joke my Daddy liked to tell. 

Oddly enough, it is true!

Her family had all been awaiting this call.

When at last they could meet her intended.

Unsure if a wedding ball’d someday befall

Or if spinster-hood ever portended.

But a young man, she'd met who was perfect, she'd bet,

In whose honour and love she felt sure.

So homeward she'd set, their opinion to get,

(And to say that her choice would endure.)

Her father shook hands with her handsome young man

And questioned him closely a while.

They talked of his clan, and he asked him his plans,

Then he turned to his girl, with a smile.

“From all that I hear, you have nothing to fear.

But if his standards aren't mine and your mother's

Don't worry, my dear,” he said. "When that's clear,

He'll be buried out back with the others!”

Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.com

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?

Next week, I hope will never end...

I’m talking of you, my girlfriends!

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!)...

Old Jokes (July 25) Today!

Girlfriends (August 1)

Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night (August 8)

Lemon Meringue Pie Day (August 15)

Be an Angel Day (August 22)

Bats -or-  More Herbs, Less Salt (August 29)

My turn for My BBBs!

 

It's my turn and I couldn't be happier!
Once every eight weeks, I get to host my amazing friends for our Best of Boomer Bloggers recap.
It's fun.
It's informative.
And I still can't believe I get to be one of them!

Let's just start right in, shall we?

First up, we have Jennifer of Unfold and Begin!

Feeling motivated and ready to tackle the projects at hand can be daunting, especially if you're just watching the clock unable to figure out how to start? Jennifer, of Unfold and Begin, suggests these 25 affirmations for productivity and to conquer procrastination.

 

 Then we have Carol of Carol A. Cassara: Writer!

Semantics. They're important. We want to be sure we are saying what we mean. And on some hot button topics, we ned to do more listening than speaking. Over at Carol Cassara's blog today, she talks about the common claim "I don't see color" and what it really means to the people involved. 

Then on to Rebecca at BabyBoomster!

Rebecca Olkowski, with BabyBoomster.com is up in Napa, California taking care of her brother’s pets for a few weeks, so she wrote a post on the benefits of petsitting for seniors. In addition to enjoying the beautiful scenery, drinking great wine, and exploring, she is managing a menagerie of 3 large poodles, chickens, 4 cats, and a bird.

And Laurie of Laurie Stone Writes!

Sometimes we discover sides of ourselves we never knew we had. Laurie Stone’s recent find happened as she scrolled down her favorite videos on Instagram. Reels of beautiful nature scenes, lovely interiors, and inspirational people often help her escape the stress of today’s world. Then she had an idea. Why not post her own videos? Little did she know that moment would change her life in three wonderful ways…

Then Meryl of Beach Boomer Bulletin!

Summer ushers in the season of farmer’s markets. Meryl Baer of Beach Boomer Bulletin is a proud member of a group of volunteers offering a unique market service - free advice. Folks of all ages consult on any topic, and as the group’s motto states, "“it may not be the best advice, but it’s free.” Baer describes the team in this week’s post, Open for Business: Old Coots Giving Advice.

And Tom from Sightings Over Sixty!

Tom from Sightings Over Sixty has some friends who recently retired and are now thinking about relocating. They were looking for some advice since they knew Tom and his wife relocated after they retired a couple of years ago. The friends are considering several locations on the East Coast as well as possibly Colorado. So to help his friends -- and maybe the rest of us -- Tom has come up with Relocating in Retirement: A Checklist -- things to consider when scouting out a place to live after you retire.

Followed by Rita at Rita R. Robison Consumer and Personal Finance Journalist

Raspberries are delicious and nutritious, says Rita R. Robison, consumer and personal finance journalist. Read all about these wonderful berries in her article “How to Freeze Raspberries.

And lastbutnotleast...ME! Diane of On the Border

Diane's Dad was full of advice learned from over nine decades of 'doing'. One gem of wisdom he shared has mapped out her life!

And that's a wrap! Tell me you enjoyed this as much as I did! 

Shining Optional

Go ahead! Sing!

How do you 'rise and shine'?

Throughout my life, I have been summoned from sleep in various ways.

Some gentle.

Some strident.

All annoying.

My mom, a member of the 'never wake a sleeping child' sorority, let me sleep in till I woke up on my own.

Well, until I went to school, that is.

Then, her usual wake up call consisted of, “Diane! Get up! The bus will be here in ten minutes!”

Okay, I will admit that she usually called me much earlier than that.

I just wasn't listening.

Ahem.

Dad's form of summoning consisted of one word. “Spring!” And it was always obeyed instantly.

Mom, you could coax and cajole, but dad?

You moved.

Because.

Often, I found myself standing beside my bed with no idea of how I got there.

My Husby took a more creative, albeit (Oooh! Good word!) equally annoying route.

He would sing.

Badly.

And loudly.

In our house, 'Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!', the usually bright, happy, uplifting anthem from Oklahoma, sounded more like . . . honking. Or ball-bearings rolling around in a hubcap. (Don't ask me how I know what that sounds like.)

His 'singing' brought instant . . . let me put it this way: No one slept through it.

“Dad! Aarrgghh!”

Moving ahead . . .

Our oldest son had recently become engaged.

To a beautiful girl.

Our entire family had traveled to Fort Macleod to a reunion.

Our future daughter-in-law was bunking with our other daughters.

It was morning and there was far too much sleeping going on.

My Husby decided he needed to do something proactive.

He went to the door of the girls' room.

Cleared his throat.

And started singing.

You really haven't heard 'Oh What a Beautiful Morning' sung quite like he sings it.

Our future daughter-in-law looked at her future-sister-in-law. “Does he always do this?”

FSIL's answer was muffled by the pillow over her head. “Yes.”

“Oh. Maybe I'll have to rethink my joining this family.”

She did join. She comes from hardy stock.

I thought I'd tell you that in case you were worried.

Back to my story . . .

This morning, my alarm woke me.

“Bla-Bla-Bla-Bla-Bla-Bla . . .”

Suddenly I missed my Mom's repeated time updates, my Dad's single word warnings and my Husby's singing.

It's all a matter of perspective.

Putting In Everything

I’ve mentioned my new fitness craze, Aqua Fit.
Right?

Well, something occurred to me today whilst I was in the pool. Somewhere between ‘Lift! Lift! Lift!’ and ‘Push! Push! Push!’

But first I have to tell you something about my Daddy...

Daddy was the youngest of 11 children. When Mama met him, she thought he was nice but a rather spoiled youngest son.

She wasn’t far wrong.

But it was nothing that 65 years of husbanding, fathering, ranching, veterinarian-ing, Cattle organization-ing, production sale-ing, neighbouring, friending, teaching…and a host of other responsibilities couldn’t teach.

I think he was one of the wisest men I’ve ever known.

Finally I’ve reached what I’ve been wanting to say…

We were sitting in church. Daddy and me in the middle of the pew with assorted family members spread out on either side. I had just told him in my loudest six-year-old voice that this meeting was boring.

He looked down at me and made his patented ‘shushing’ motion. Then he leaned over and whispered, “Diane. You get out of something what you put into it.”

That was the first time I remember him saying that particular statement.

After that, I heard it a lot.

And it became a pattern for my life. If you hear my kids and grandkids claim they’ve also heard it a lot…believe them.

Now, back to my class.

I push myself. I do. I try to make each movement count. Keep in time with the music. ‘Push! Push! Push!’

Then I’m that annoying person at the end of class who announces how many calories we burned that day.

One of my fellow Aqua Fitters (is that a term?) laughed. “Diane,” she said. “You’re moving twice as fast as the rest of us. You burn way more calories.”

I stared at her. Surely not.

Next class, I looked around. Many of the women were chatting while they worked out, their movements slow and leisurely. Some weren’t even doing what the instructor…erm…instructed.

I’m not condemning them for it. They are happy and still benefitting.

But all I could hear was Daddy’s voice. “Diane. You get out of something what you put into it.”

I will continue to put in everything. 

That way, I’ll get everything out.

See you there?

 

A Notable Talent

Don't let the innocent expression fool you!

Our eldest son (hereinafter known as ES) had a world class talent.

World class.

If it had been an event in the Olympics, he'd have taken home the gold.

But there wasn't.

And he didn't.

Maybe I should explain . . .

ES was born with the ability to throw a tremendous, colossal, stupendous, prodigious, enormous, fantastic, howling, mind-blowing tantrum.

I know that many children do.

Even some adults.

But no one has ever done it quite at the same level.

And he saved his best performances for when we were in public.

Usually in the toy section of the local department store.

Sigh.

When he was three, he gave his most memorable performance.

Well, I certainly can't forget it . . .

He wanted a toy.

I can't remember which one, but he wasn't getting it.

The family budget was already suffering chills and fever.

Any unnecessary purchases would have surely sent it into a coma.

We started to move away from said toy.

ES realized that his begging and pleading had come to naught.

He dropped to the ground.

And began to flop around like a landed fish.

Then the screams started.

Ear-shattering. Air raid worthy.

Now, my Husby and I had learned that that proper way to handle a tantrum was to just keep walking.

Which we did.

To this point, it had never worked.

We discovered that ES could flop and scream AND keep up with his moving parents.

See?

Skill and talent.

But this day was a little different.

This day, we had unexpected . . . help.

As we ducked around the corner, and before ES could start after us, an elderly gentleman walked up to our writhing boy and stood there, looking down at him.

ES finally realized that someone was standing beside him.

He opened his eyes.

To see a perfect stranger.

“I guess you'd better come with me,” the man said.

Tantrum instantly forgotten, ES scrambled to his feet.

“MooooOOOOMMMMM!”

His father poked his head around the corner.

ES ran to him and grabbed him about the knees in a grip fuelled by three parts fear and one part . . . okay, four parts fear.

My Husby silently looked at the man.

Both of them smiled.

And just like that, ES’ public tantrums were finished.

Oh, he still treated us to private performances, but never again were we humiliated in public.

We often think of that man.

A father?

Grandfather?

Whoever he was, his wisdom . . .

. . . and timing . . .

Were one of the greatest blessings of our parenting years.

I wish we could tell him.

Fiddled

Okay, yes, I’ve recited/ sung this rhyme all my life. It’s only now I’m trying to make sense of it:

Hey, Diddle Diddle,

The Cat and the fiddle,

The Cow jumped over the moon,

The little Dog laughed to see such sport,

And the Dish ran away with the Spoon.

Okay, let’s try to unpack this whole thing from the beginning. First off, who names their child Diddle? Especially when said child has (sadly) already been saddled with the surname ‘Diddle’. Isn’t that just cruel? At the very least it shows a distinct lack of imagination! What are your thoughts?

Now on to the main part of the rhyme…

Right off, there’s the ‘Cat and the Fiddle’ thingy. Am I right in questioning what that cat doing with that fiddle? He surely wasn’t playing it. I’m no expert, but from observation, it appears one needs the use of one’s thumbs.

One thing I do know is this: no self-respecting cat has ever been caught with even one such digit. Tell me if I’m wrong. Sadly, the idea of a fiddle-playing cat conjures up the scary sound of the scrape of horsehair against strings that could only be labeled: ghastly. 

Moving on…

And now let’s tackle the cow. 

This particular bovine seems capable of heretofore unheard of altitudinal achievements. I owned cows. And watched as one in particular, who had been happily grazing with a herd of deer, tried to follow said deer as they lightly leaped our pasture fence.

She applied bovine brakes in the nick of time. What followed would have doubtlessly been an udder disaster. (*snort*) 

So, if a cow is physically incapable of leaping a four-foot fence, how could she possibly achieve the 405,500 km (251,000 miles) or the estimated distance between the earth and moon.

Not only that but there’s the whole ‘breaking-free-of-the-earth’s-gravity’ to be reckoned with. You’ve seen the power and force needed for rockets to achieve this. I have yet to see a booster rocket affixed to a cow. Though the thought does conjure up a unique visual. 

Nope. The only thing I’ve ever seen coming from the back end of a cow is…quite disgusting. And, I should point out, something that definitely wouldn’t be capable of sending said cow very far up. Although it has been known to send someone (ie. me) pretty far away… Just sayin’.

Then we move on to the little dog. Laughing. Now this one I can believe. Oh, you know I’ve seen my dog crack a grin or two at my calamities. And I’m pretty certain that, when she and her goofball buddies get together, they only pretend to be off playing.

In reality, they are snickering together over their respective master’s/mistress’ misfortunes. Tell me you’ve seen them. Jerks. And then they have the nerve to come back, tails wagging and doggie kisses ready. Not that I’ll ever succumb… Nope. Nope. No… Awww, I can’t stay mad at you!   Where was I…?

And that brings us to the whole dish and spoon debacle. Or, more precisely, their ‘running away’. I want to know, first off, if the spoon was a willing participant. I mean, the dish ran away with it. That sounds highly suspicious to me. Shouldn’t they have run off together?

And another thought: Often this phrase, ‘running away’ is used to express some sort of sordid affair. In which other parties (not included in the tale) may be elsewhere being betrayed and thusly: sad.

That or they were joining a circus. Either way, I’m not seeing a long-term relationship resulting. 

I say we give the whole rhyme a do-over…
Hey, Michael Diddle,
All cats are a riddle,
The cows only look at the moon (405,000+ km away).
The little dogs laughed cause they're all just jerks,
And the dish and the spoon had a mutually fulfilling relationship.
You’re right. It was better the other way.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Each month one of the participating bloggers pick a number between 12 and 50. All bloggers taking part are then challenged to write using that exact number of words in their post either once or multiple times. 

This month’s word count number is: 50
It was chosen by: Mimi!

Links to the other Word Counters posts:
BakingIn ATornado
Messymimi’sMeanderings