Best and Worst

 

Ready for anything . . .

Today our poets cover,

Our fav'rite holidays,

In truth I will go anywhere,

As long as Husby pays...

My Husby loves to travel,

It’s just the way he is,

North or South; East or West,

The world is truly his.

He loves to take me with him,

(It’s good I love to go)

Foreign or domestic,

Above or Down Below.

But there’s one thing problematic,

One teeny, little blight - 

To see most things he wants to see,

We have to take a flight.

To get us two from here to there

We hurtle through the air,

While all around me talk and eat,

I curl up in despair.

He says we’re safe, quotes stats galore,

The balanced dance of gear.

I see a tube with flimsy wings,

That gives me naught but fear.

At times, our target’s tropical,

We'll cruise and eat and swim,

But though I will be happy there,

The problem's flying in.

I love to go to a'traveling,

And be sunstroke aware.

I’ll treasure each small moment,

The pain is getting there!

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 a somewhat thoughtful chew…

Life from your pet’s point of view!

 

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...

From Your Pet's Point of View (February 15)

Favourite Word that Starts With D (February 22)

Peanut Butter Day (March 1)

Be Nasty Day (March 8)

Pi(e) Day (what else would it be?) (March 15)

World Poetry Day (March 22)

Something on a Stick Day (March 29)

Prayer Time

 

Ours is a house of prayers.

And of family meals.

Both of which just, naturally, go together—with each of us taking turns...

This morning, over a feast of dollar-sized pancakes, it was two-year-old, second youngest granddaughter’s (hereinafter known as Cutie#11—or C11 for short) turn.

Now, to this point, C11 had been stacking up her little mound of hotcakes and cooing at them because they were just ‘so cute!’

She wasn’t ready to stop.

Mama: It’s (C11’s) turn to say the blessing.

C11: No.

Mama: Dear Heavenly Father…

C11: No!

Mama: We’re thankful for this food…

C11: No! No!

Mama: Please bless it…

C11: No! No! No! No!

Mama: In the name of Jesus Christ…

C11: No!

Mama: AMEN!

C11: NO!

We’re all a work in progress…

 

 

High Strung

 

Okay, I’m a farm girl!

I had never heard of things like this!

Sigh . . .

I learned to play the guitar when I was twelve.

After an afternoon spent with my big brother, Jerry.

He made it look like so much fun.

We were sitting downstairs on the piano bench.

With an opened ‘Reader’s Digest’ music book propped up on the piano.

We were singing, “When You Wore a Tulip”.

Loudly.

And happily.

With Jerry strumming the guitar enthusiastically.

Picture it: “When you wore a tulip, a sweet, yellow tulip, and I wore a big red rose” . . . whereupon (good word) he’d stop and say, just under his breath, but completely in rhythm, “I don’t know that chord!”

“When you caressed me . . .” And the song would continue.

We sang and laughed for hours.

After that, I insisted on learning to play.

Patiently, he handed me the guitar and then taught me.

Fortunately for him, I caught on quickly.

And went on playing.

I was never an expert, but I enjoyed myself and played for family and friends.

Moving ahead . . .

I was happily playing “Puff the Magic Dragon” for my two young sons.

Well, ‘playing’ would be largely a misnomer at this point, because the oldest one kept trying to ‘help’.

Resulting in the dull ‘thump’ of a muted string.

Finally, one of the strings broke.

Rats.

I removed it and coiled it, then set it aside.

When my Husby returned home that evening, I handed him the string and asked if he could pick me up another.

He nodded. “Sure.” Then, “Do you know which string it is?”

“Yeah. G.”

“You want me to pick you up a new G-string?” He started to laugh.

I nodded. “Yeah. I need a new ‘G’ string.” I frowned at him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you just asked me to pick you up a new G-string.”

I stared. Was he getting goofy? Had marriage and fatherhood finally tipped him over the edge?

“Yeah. I broke my ‘G’ string and I need a new one.”

 “You broke . . .?” He laughed harder, bending over and holding his sides.

“Yeah. What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.” He wiped his eyes.

“Well, can you get me a new ‘G’ string?”

Another paroxysm (ooh, another good word) of laughter.

Then, finally, “You don’t know what a G-string is, do you?”

Remember where I said the words, ‘farm girl’? That would apply here.

“No.”

He explained.

“Oh.” I suddenly understood his laughter.

He got me the string.

After a laugh with the guy in the guitar shop.

But, in true Tolley fashion, never let me forget the lesson . . .

Not Quite Clean

Okay. Let's see you do this without getting grimy . . .

Ranching doesn't encourage cleanliness.

You heard it here first.

In fact, ranching and cleanliness don't go together.

At all.

Let me tell you about it . . .

I had worked on the ranch all my life and had finally been promoted to 'herdsman' where I served for two glorious years.

This included such things as:

Riding herd.

Checking herd.

Feeding herd.

Treating herd.

Worrying over herd.

Hovering when herd was ready to calve.

Calving out herd.

Recording herd.

Eating and sleeping with herd.

Okay, maybe that last is a little extreme, but you get my point . . .

Sooo . . . cleanliness.

Cows aren't naturally clean.

I know this will come as a shock.

I'm sure you've seen the romantic pictures of mama cow licking her baby.

I have one thing to say about this.

Cow spit.

How clean can that be?

Cows also have other orifices that are . . . nasty.

And to which I have one response.

Cow pies.

Enough said.

On with my story . . .

I was ready to go to work.

Clean shirt.

Clean jeans.

Clean kerchief.

Clean socks.

Recently cleaned boots.

I headed out the door.

Bridle and riding pad on my horse and I was away.

We made good time reaching the calving field. And almost immediately spotted a cow.

Calving.

But having difficulties.

I decided to take her back to the corrals. And restrain her. And help.

That's as far as my plans/actions went . . .

I grabbed the protruding calf feet.

And that's when the cow broke out of my hastily-built restraint.

Grimly, I hung onto those feet as the cow started across the corral.

Dropping me and baby in the middle of a puddle of - let me put it this way - it wasn't spring water.

I got up.

Carted the calf to safety.

And headed for the house.

My mother met me in the doorway. Her clean daughter had gone out the door only half an hour before.

Now, dripping from head to toe with--barn puddle, said daughter had returned.

Mom stopped me in the porch.

“You just left here. Perfectly clean!” she said. “What did you do out there?!”

“Well . . .”

“Never mind. Clothes off here!” she ordered.

I was divested of anything gooey.

Whereupon (good word) I sprinted for the shower.

In my underwear.

Ranching.

Not for the faint of heart.

Or the fanatically clean.

Okay, let's face it . . . not even for the somewhat clean.

Don't you wish you were here?

Honoring the Women

 

First, there were great grandmothers, I love them, one and all!

Supported husbands, working hard, raised fam’lies large and small,

Bore the biases and duties of the women of their day,

Then packing all and sundry, left their countries far away.

 

My maternal grandmother left home and family, too,

To carve a legacy with a young man she hardly knew,

Together knew disasters, lost their work to treachery,

But managed, still, with grit, to carve a life they’d not foreseen!

 

My Grandmother paternal left her comforts far behind,

Moving north to Canada, she knew not what she’d find,

Took on the rancher’s life which oft proved perilous at best,

Nursing, caring, weaving, bearing—helped the world progress!

 

My mother had eight brothers, she grew up as ‘one more boy’,

Inside or out, housework or chores, wow, that girl was employed!

But she withdrew from scholarship, a pro career as well,

To be a Rancher’s wife—have kids—and ring a dinner bell.

 

My elder sister’s graceful, prone to fashions (more than me),

My younger and I have some laughs, both filled with fun esprit!

My sisters both are redheads, (who know where this blonde came from?)

But they both helped me be the woman I’d one day become.

 

My daughters (and in-laws) are grown and raising families,

All girls that I am proud to know and bring along with me,

Their daughters, too, all have my heart. Don’t know what e’er I did,

Before I knew them, everyone, and claimed them as grandkids!

Now in a small addendum here, I will, to you, explain,

That what was once pejorative, is something else again,

Cause ‘spunky’ is a word that means courageous; full of cheek,

And a ‘broad’ ‘s a girl who doesn’t take herself too seriously.

 

So, when I think about the women I have in my life,

Past or present, young and old, in days of sun or strife,

Daily, I am praying, thanking God for what He’s done,

Cause he gave me my ‘Spunky Broads’. I’m proud of every one!

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 Jenny, 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, if you come here, you'll see,
Our craziest vacation memory!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?
We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...
Craziest Vacation Memory (February 8)
From Your Pet's Point of View (February 15)
Favourite Word that Starts With D (February 22)

Peanut Butter Day (March 1)

Small Leading

 

If you’re ever in the jungle, you will know that Jungle Law

Decrees (you’ve heard it) Lion is the king of one and all,

With Elephant upon his right—the brains of what they do,

It’s been that way for centuries, well, give a year or two.

 

But after a particularly trying pronouncement,

The Elephant had had enough, sought Lion in his tent,

He said, “We need new leadership. Your subjects don’t want you,

It’s time for change, my folks are angry. They will stage a coup!”

 

He added, “I have had a thought and it will be a thrill!

Let’s use our wits to choose up sides, then have a game of skill!”

The Lion nodded sagely, “Sir, your challenge I accept,

And thanks for your idea of this daring new concept.”

 

“A game of football, I propose. We each will choose a side,

And demonstrate our leadership and strength, along with pride.”

The Elephant agrees. And Lion chooses for his first,

The speedy cheetah, sure to give the other team his worst!

 

The Elephant then counters with the rhino, large and tough,

He knows with that guy on his team, he’s sure to have enough!

The draft continues back and forth, past chimp and through gazelle,

Down to the very smallest of the jungle’s clientele.

 

And then they started. Lion got the ball, went all the way,

A touchdown! And the game had barely gotten underway!

But when the donkey kicked for field goal, Rhino nabbed the ball,

And reenacted Lion’s team’s first goal (passed one and all).

 

It went like this throughout the game. Yep. Back and forth they blew,

Till fine'ly at the end and tied, each wanting to break through!  

But once again, the Lion scored, and once again the kick

Was caught by Rhino. And his final run was hard and quick.

 

But somewhere there between the lines of twenty and of ten,

Ol’ Rhino tripped and lost the ball, Lion pounced upon it then,

And just like that, the game was won and Lion was decreed,

The rightful king. And Elephant and all his friends agreed.

  

Amidst the celebrations, Lion thought about his luck,

Then went out to field where the Rhino hit the muck,

Found, battered but still quite alive, a tiny centipede,

A creature unknown for his sports ability (or speed!)

  

“Did you trip him?” Lion asked. (The insect on one paw),

“Yessir,” his small friend told him. Lion said, “I’m filled with awe!”

And then King Lion realized just what had happened, when

His team had won the battle. It was Centipede, his friend.

 

“But if you had the skill to do that at the very start,

Why wait until the end? You’re very hard on my poor heart!”

The centipede just smiled, said, “I'm sorry for your blues,

“But you know it takes some time to finish tying all my shoes!”

 

There is a moral here beyond a simple jungle game,

When choosing who would lead you in your future and to fame,

It isn’t just the loud who’ll gladly give you their two cents,

Sometimes it is the little guy who’ll make the dif-fer-ence!

Today's a challenge--po-et-ry,

We're having fun, my friend and me,

And you get rhyming all for free!

Now you've read mine, so go and see

The other. I know you'll agree,

It's everything a poem should be!

Karen of Baking in a Tornado

The Bench at the End of Pederson Street

 

My Husby and me, when our walks are complete,

Well, we both need somewhere to rest our poor feet,

So we two make our way (in a manner discreet),

To our bench at the end of Pederson Street.

 

It is peaceful right there and the sun, we do greet,

We watch people go by, casual or athlete,

Yes, from there we watch life, it seems pretty complete,

From that bench at the end of Pederson Street.

 

We talk of the past and the memories sweet,

Of those days—what we’ve learned in the world, bittersweet,

Of the triumphs (they’re there), and the breakthroughs complete,

All discussed on that bench on Pederson Street.

 

Diseases removed and some new ones to meet,

A wide-reaching pandemic with terrors replete,

And a host of world problems designed to defeat,

Covered best on the bench on Pederson Street.

 

When climatic changes, our planet mistreat,

Disasters of nature, or manmade appete,

When the natural world thrums like a drumbeat,

We’ll solve all on that bench on Pederson Street.

 

A bunny hops by, leaving tracks small and neat,

A soft breeze wafts on through and it smells warm and sweet,

There is peace come to life with no trace of deceit,

And we see it all there on Pederson Street.

 

If it’s peace that you lack and you feel incomplete,

And this life’s become worrisome, don’t state defeat!

There is peace and a place for you here. Take a seat,

On our bench at the end of Pederson Street.

The Leading EDGE in Home Security

Beware!

We were visiting/staying with my husband’s sister at her home in the country.

Surrounded by acres of Adventure.

Our kids loved it.

They had worn themselves out running outside.

Created worlds with Lego inside. 

And were finally tucked into their respective beds.

The visiting adults had visited a while, then followed their example and were peacefully snoring.

My Husby and I were on the hide-a-bed in the family room.

All was quiet.

I should explain, here, that the family room was situated at the top of the stairs.

That the master bedroom was down said stairs.

And that anyone wanting to use the bathroom would have to walk through our room, between our bed and the only source of light in the entire house, the glass patio doors to reach the only bathroom in the house.

Back to my story . . .

I heard a noise.

As the mother of six, I was instantly awake.

A floor was creaking.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

An adult-sized figure materialized out of the gloom beside me making their slow, careful way towards the bathroom.

For a moment, they were silhouetted against the patio door.

Then they disappeared.

I’m not making this up.

They disappeared.

One moment they were there.

A black cutout against the lighter door.

And the next . . . gone.

I sat up.

“Who’s there? What happened?”

My whisper sounded loud in the stillness.

My Sister-In-Law’s voice from the end of the bed, #$%&! Lego!”

The figure reappeared, rising up from the floor.

Its gait subtly altered, it continued towards the bathroom.

Lego is the best, most imaginative toy ever, but those who have had the misfortune of stepping on one of those little blocks with an unprotected foot know the pain.

We weep with you.

P.S. I've just had an amazing thought! Spread Lego blocks around the house for defense. As long as the enemy approaches barefoot, you've got them!

Calliope

 As a bit of a precis…

 

A member of the Bourgeoisie,

My ride I called Calliope,

Centurion, officially,

A sport coupe—early ‘70s.

 

We had such fun, were so carefree,

Ripped up the roads from A to B,

Music screaming like banshees,

From bush party to bush party!

 

Filled with fine teenaged esprit,

(But also strength to some degree…)

E’en went ‘sparking’ (Oh, dear me!)

In the shade of some old tree.

 

The chores were done, I grabbed the key,

An evening’s fun was meant to be,

But first some fuel from gas tank ‘three’,

Or was it ‘one’? Oh, Lord, help me!

 

Decision made, this devotee,

Filled half the tank, then turned said key,

The engine knocked alarmingly,

“Need gas, not diesel,” my Sweet Pea!

 

With fortune smiling at my plea,

(I’d filled it just half-way, you see)

“Top it with gas,” my dad decreed,

Said, “Burn it off!” to Bro and me.

 

Adventure followed, some whoopee,

Car pounded like some timpani,

Cruising ‘Main’, the sights to see,

With all our friends. So young. Carefree.

 

My sweet car aged despite my pleas,

The two doors sagged to vast degree,

Her parts no longer guaranteed,

And way past her own warranty...

 

Calliope went across the lea,

Retired, spent, discharged, set free,

Replaced by new and great. ‘Gutsy’,

But never quite the same. To me.

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 Jenny, 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, we'll write (You will be awed!),
Of SPUNKY, OLD and AWESOME BROADS!





Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?
We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks...
Craziest Vacation Memory (February 8)
From Your Pet's Point of View (February 15)

Favourite Word that Starts With D (February 22)
Peanut Butter Day (March 1)

To Smile is to...

Today, I`m thinking about smiles.

I love smiles.

Smiles make you feel good.

They cross all language barriers.

And ages.

One of the first milestones we watch for in a newborn baby is that first smile.

 A smile from someone in nasty traffic is a sure-fire way to put the sun back in the sky and help you relax.

A smile is wonderful news.

A smile is friendship.

A smile is love.

But smiles are weird.

Really.

Can you think of any other species that shows its teeth (Or gums. Remember the baby…) as a sign of friendliness and/or encouragement?

Okay, I’ve seen a few dogs, cats and horses and even a couple of bears use their teeth in an ‘affectionate’ gesture of correction toward their young.

Well I assumed it was affectionate.

But seriously, who figured out that smiling was a sure fire way to say, “Hello! I’m so happy to know you! I hope you have a great day!”

It must have started somewhere.

At some point in time, someone said to themselves: I’m going to show my teeth to those people as a sign that I really like them.

See what I mean?

P.S. I did have a dog that smiled. Muffy. (She of the long, shaggy hair and the wiggly bum and the heart of sweet, sweet marshmallow.) She really smiled. But one day, when she was in the yard and I wasn’t, she smiled at the letter carrier, who then called her supervisor to report a vicious dog.

Yep. Smiles are weird.

Death by Toddler

Oh, she only looks innocent...

The soft cascade of warm water and sweet-smelling soap caresses the aged body, following every curve.

And/or bulge.

Problems and irritations disappear down the drain with the water as total relaxation is, finally, achieved.

The warm water continues.

A state of near-bliss is achieved.
Ahhh . . .

Cue: Sharp strings played in a tight Eee! Eee! Eee! Eee!

The shower curtain is pulled back abruptly.

The shower-er spins about with a startled gasp.

A shadowy figure sticks its head into the cubicle.

“Hey! Gramma! What’cha doing?!”

And ‘Gramma’ collapses and dies of a heart attack.

Okay, it doesn’t quite have the punch of the original Psycho. But the death is just as real.

And permanent.

Death by Toddler!

Coming soon to a shower near you.

Rated: ‘T’ for Toddler. There is no stronger rating…

P.S. Grandma is looking into locks for her bathroom door. It has suddenly come under the heading: Essential.

17 17's

 With all the turmoil, I’m worried today. So how will I handle it? I will tell jokes…

You know, I think working in a mirror factory is totally something I can see myself doing.

(I love this one!) I tried really, really hard to catch some fog the other day. Mist.

Someone stole my Microsoft Office the other day and they are gonna pay. You have my Word.

A Roman Legionnaire walks into a bar and hold up two fingers and says, “Five beers, please.”

(Something I just read…) According to statistics, someone in London gets stabbed every 52 seconds. Poor beggar.

I had an event last week. I broke my finger. On the other hand, I am okay!

Here’s something: You know, you are not completely useless. You can always serve as a bad example.

How many Germans does it take to screw in lightbulbs? One. They’re efficient and not very funny.

Women call me ugly until they find out how much money I make. Then I’m ugly and poor.

My grandfather has the heart of a lion. He also has a lifetime ban at the zoo.

Some horrible person went and stole my mood ring. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Parallel lines have so much in common. It is a real shame they will never, ever meet.

You don’t need a parachute to go skydiving. You only need a parachute to go skydiving twice.

Yesterday, my wife accused me of being immature. I told her to get out of my fort.

This just in: I threw a boomerang a few years ago. Now I live in constant fear.

Just say NO to drugs! Well, if I’m talking to my drugs, I’ve probably already said yes.

I told my wife that she was drawing her eyebrows too high. You know, she looked surprised.

Word Counters is a fun word challenge. 

This month's number? 17!

Assigned by me! 

Ready for more?

See what my fellow Word Counters have wrought!

BakingIn A Tornado                    

Messymimi’sMeanderings           

My Hero

 

At six, the first that I recall,

Was in a book for children, small,

A bear who loved his friends and life,

Caused no pain or hurt or strife!

 

At eight, I moved to Nancy Drew,

And Hardy Boys, to name a few,

And Trixie Beldon, Ames girls, wow!

Were certainly the cat’s meow!

 

From there my heroes came and went,

But mostly had a ‘horsey’ bent,

Alex and Black, and Flicka, Ken,

Sham and Agba, read again.

 

Then others picked by happenstance

Until I found Gothic romance.

Filled with love and hate. Desire,

They set my teenaged heart on fire!

 

I read the classics, heroes there

Who managed on a hope. And prayer,

Each time I read with heart agape,

Of daring deeds and tight escapes.

 

I read a lot and wrote a bit,

Had many heroes I admit,

But none were greater, none more fair,

Than that first, stuffed and ‘small-brained’ bear.

 

‘Tis sixty years since last I stood,

With Pooh in ‘Hundred Acre Wood’,

I know this day’s for him, the bear

Who gave such gentle, reasoned care,

 

Two things of many that he said,

They’re part of me, stuck in my head,

If you don’t mind, ‘cause you’re my friend,

Instead of hugs, these words I’ll send:

 

“If there’s…a day…we can’t be together,

Keep me in your heart and I’ll stay there forever!”

“If you live to…a hundred, I want that, less one day,

So I’m never without you whenever I play!”

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 Jenny, 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, in poems from near and far,

We'll talk about our favourite car!

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!

Topics for the next few weeks...

Spunky Old Broads (February 1)

Craziest Vacation Memory (February 8)

From Your Pet's Point of View (February 15)

Favourite Word that Starts With D (February 22)