Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 4

Shout Hurray!

If you’re happy and you know it, Shout hurray! (Hurray!) If you’re happy and you know it, Shout hurray! (Hurray!) If you’re happy and you know it, then your face will surely show it, If you’re happy and you know it, Shout hurray! (Hurray!) 
Think of things that really brighten up Your day! (Your day!) Like your family. And friends along Your way! (Your way!) Cause they bring you special moments, so you don’t have to ‘alone’ it, Yes, they really help you brighten up  Your day! (Hooray!) 
Now the things that really make you Feel okay! (Okay!) Like good food and music, skillfully  Displayed! (Displayed!)Cause they make your tummy happy, and your toes alive and ‘tappy’, Oh, the things that really make you  Feel okay! (Hooray!) 
Now, lastly, there’s a rule we Should obey! (Obey!)Makes everybody happy come What may! (What may!) Here's that rule (let’s put our mind to): Everyone I Will Be Kind To, We’ll all be happy and we’ll know it, Shout hurray! (Hurray!) 

Karen asks, "Write for me, please?"We write because we like to please!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 funWe can't wait for another one,With 'Shout Hurray!' how did I do?Now, go and see the others, too:

Baking In A Tornado

Messymimi’s Meanderings

 

Bus(t)ing Home

 Because we lived a long, long wayfrom town,We had to ride the bus, us bunch ofclowns,And ‘early’ doesn’t quite describeour start…Cause sunrise (with our ride), was oft’a part.
We had adventures there, yes, thatis true,My friends and I, we laughed andread and drew,The hour went by and turned to dayfrom night…And suddenly, the school’d come intosight.
At times, when it was raining catsand dogs,The roads would turn from sandy soilto bog,The vacuum windshield wipers, bothwould slow…Whenever the bus driver tried to go.
One day the bus was having chillsand pains,Complaining as we drove across theplains,At Angyal’s Hill, our driver toldus, “Shush!”Then made us all get out and startto push!
Now often, I hear folks talk ‘bouttheir past,How ‘uphill both ways’ can’t becalled a ‘blast’,But they just simply can’t competewith us…Cause we walked uphill AND we pushedthe bus!
We win!
Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause 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?

No politics next week, no strife,We'll be discussing A Pet's Life!









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!)The Bus (November 20) Today!A Pet's Life (November 27)Shoes (December 4)Winter (December 11)Cookies (December 18)Christmas/Hanukkah/Holidays (Dec. 25)The Future (January 1 My last Poetry Monday)

 

 

Trouble Indicated

 Firstly, because some people asked, Peter’s and my weddingplans are progressing, but that is a story for another day.Today it’s all about Ivy Jean.Who is walking.Now in a normal household, this is cause for rejoicing.In ours…You have to remember that she is the exact double of Sally.Exact. Double.Right up to the mischief part.Ivy Jean started crawling at about six months andimmediately began getting into stuff.Then she went almost immediately from crawling to toddlingaround, holding onto furniture.Of course this meant putting everything higher and higher toget it out of the way.Do you know the definition of a toddler? Someone two feet tallwith an arm reach of eight feet?Yeah. That was coined for Sally.And lives on in Ivy Jean.And the whole ‘putting things up’? It’s something we haven’tmastered yet.And therein hangs a tale.As the saying goes.Back to Ivy Jean...Yesterday, my baby sister came out of the bathroom, wavingsomething clutched tightly in her chubby little hand.I ran to her because 1. Peter-and-I-were-babysitting-due-to-Mom-and-Dad-having-to-go-out.And 2. Ivy-Jean-wasn’t-supposed-to-be-in-the-bathroom-and-who-left-the-door-open?!Okay, technically, Sally and Mort were also babysitting, butthey had had something ‘important and secret todiscuss’ (Sally’s words) and had left to go for a walk and hadn’t returned, so Peter and I were ‘it’.I grabbed the ‘something’ out of Ivy Jean’s hand and staredat it. It was a home pregnancy indicator.I turned it over.Positive.I looked at Peter and my face must have been a picturebecause he slowly set his coffee cup on thetable and stood up. “Gwen, what is it?”“Didn’t Sally just finish making an appointment with the doctor?”He frowned. “You mean just before she and Mort left?”“Ummm…yeah.”He shrugged. “I guess so. What’s up.”I held out the indicator.His eyes went wide. He looked at me. “Sally?”“It must be.”He sat down again. “Oh.”“My thoughts exactly.”“But she…” He didn’t finish that thought. “Could she…” Hedidn’t finish that one, either.I rubbed my forehead. “Remember when she decided thatgetting a cat was a good idea?”“And when she jumped out of that helicopter?”“Or went after that would-be thief?” I looked down at theindicator. It hadn’t changed.“And got caught hanging off a mountain in Hawaii?”Of course, I had to tell him about some of these. He was the one fortunate person who missed most of them…"Or when she got her start in movies?"“Or when she got kidnapped?!” we said together.“Sally, a mother,” I tapped my forehead. “I just can’t quiteget my brain around it.”Peter shook his head.I got up to stir the squashsoup bubbling on the stove.And rescue Ivy Jean, who had given up trying to grab theindicator out of my hand and was now pushing a chair over to the kitchencounter.Just then, the front door burst open and Sally and Mortburst in. “We have news!” Sally crowed.I moved closer to Peter and he clasped my hand. I’m notsure, but I think each of us took a quick, sustaining breath and held it.Sally opened her mouth, but Mort forestalled her. “We’re finallygoing to buy that ranch we’ve been looking at!” he shouted.I blinked and Peter and I exhaled together. “Erm…what?”“That ranch!” Sally said. “You know. That one we—”Mom and Dad stepped into the room behind them, big grins ontheir faces. “We have news!” Mom crowed.Dad walked over and scooped up Ivy Jean. “You’re going to bea big sister, Jean-Bean!” he announced excitedly.Peter and I looked at each other.Oh.
Use Your Words is a writing challenge!Each month, I exchange words with my friend and intrepid leader, Karen of Baking in a Tornado Neither of us knows what the other will do with her words.This month, Karen gave me: squash ~ coffee ~ return ~ doctor ~ secretThank you, my friend!Now go see what Karen did with my words!BakingIn ATornado

 

An Ant Problem

Just as long as they keep on marching... somewhere I'm not...
Theants go marching one by one,Hurrah.Hurrah.Theants go marching one by one,Hurrah.Hurrah.
Theants go marching one by one,(Thelittle one stops to suck his thumb)Andthey all go
Marchingdown…Tothe earth…to get out…of the rain…Boom.Boom. Boom.Boom.Boom. Boom. Boom.
Theants go marching two by two,Hurrah.Hurrah.Theants go marching two by two,Hurrah.Hurrah.
Theants go marching two by two,(Thelittle one stops to tie his shoe)Andthey all go
Marchingdown...to the earth…to get out…of the rain…Boom.Boom. Boom.Boom.Boom. Boom. Boom.
Theants go marching three by three,Hurrah.Hurrah.Goodgrief! They’re marching three by three,Hurrah.Hurrah.
Theants go marching three by three,(Theold one (me) stops to rest his knees)Andthey all go
Marchingdown...to the earth…to get out…of the rain…Ugh.Boom. Boom.Boom.Boom. Boom. Boom.
The antsgo marching four by four,Hurrah.Hurrah.The antsgo marching four by four,Hurrah-ingsome more…
They’restill marchingStill infours.Till thelittle one stops to shut the door…They don’tstop and…boom.
Theants go marching five by five…Hurrah!And various…Ithink there’s more ants…five by five,Yadda,etc.
Seethem marching five by five,Littleone checks. Is he still alive?Lotsmore yaddas…out of the rain. Boom.
The ants go marching…I think we’re up to sixnow…Humm-de-humm-hummmLittle one stops to pick up sticks,And…rain!
Okay, fine. I'll get back to the proper rhythm...
Thosewretched ants in groups of seven!Rah.Hoorah.Seeing aproblem? Groups of seven!Seriously…Hoorah!
Ipromise sincerely, groups of seven,I’llmourn you foreverIf yougo to Heaven?Pleasestart marching down…
I meanup…
Ugh.They’re now marching eight by eightTheyhave…chutzpah,Butthey’re still marching. Still in eights,Let’squit! I’m raw!
Lookat them marching in ranks of eight,Youknow, this song I’m starting to hate,I’llgo marching down…to the earth…
To getaway from the pain…erm rain.Boom.Boom-ity. Boom.Boom.Boom. Peaceful. BOOM.
Those ants go marching nine by nine,Please give me strength,They are marching nine by nine,Those rows! Such length!
In even formations of nine by nine,Oops. Someone fell and broke his spine,But still marched down…To the…boom.
The ants go marching ten by ten,What a sight. I’m in awe.The ants go marching ten by tenI need…a chainsaw…
The ants go marching ten by ten,I’ve got the RAID, let’s say, “Amen!”And they all will stay there
Down…in the earth…Forever out of the rain,Boom, boom, boomBOOM!  Today’s post is a word challenge! Each month Karen, Mimi or I choose a number between 12 and 50 and we three craft a post using that number of words one or multiple times.This month’s number is: 19It was chosen by Mimi of MessyMimi'sMeanderings!
Now go and see what my friends have created!
Baking In ATornadoMessymimi’sMeanderings

 

The Taste of Love

When I wasyoung, with Mom I’d go,To Gramma’shouse. In sun or snow,And there, inGramma’s kitchen, find,A treasure ‘f Iwas so inclinedOf wondrousfoods. Such tasty fare,I’d spend mostwaking minutes there,And bask inwhat I understoodWas Gramma’slove. T’was sweet and good!Then as theyears went rolling past,My own kids didappear at last,And oft’ I tookthen with me when,I went to mymom’s house. ThereinWe’d find allsorts of yummy stuff,In Gramma’skitchen. N’er enoughTo ever havethem say, “We’re done!I’m sure ‘elsewhere’will be more fun!”Cause just likeme, they understoodThat Gramma’slove bore tasty food.And now, agramma I’ve become,I, cookies bake,or cakes of crumb,Or breads orsoups of boundless mien,To feed thehordes when we convene,And how I loveto see the grins,As they all eat,cause Gramma wins,Why, just todaymy Twizzle said,“I just loveeating Gramma’s bread!”And Emma-Gem ofstature, small,Said, “Gramma’skitchen’s best of all!”What have Ilearned from the above?That Gramma’skitchen just means ‘LOVE’
Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause 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 please come join with us,As we all talk about The Bus!









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!)Grandma's Kitchen (November 13) Today!The Bus (November 20)A Pet's Life (November 27)Shoes (December 4)Winter (December 11)Cookies (December 18)Christmas/Hanukkah/Holidays (Dec. 25)The Future (January 1 My last Poetry Monday)

Melon Head

Barry is my special friend, wetalk most every day,He’s wise and fun (a perfectcombination, by the way).
But once, there was a time when itwas my turn to annoy.So stick around a sec, ‘cause it’sa tale you will enjoy.
Now, Barry likes his food, youjust might call him, well, a snob,He so enjoys a well-cooked meal,from pasta to kebabs.
But one day, he confided, ‘Onlyonions make me cry,’And so I thought I’d try it out,and learn the truth, thereby.
My wife and I had planned asummer picnic with our friends,(You know these are the best oftimes. You hope they never end.)
Our watermelon patch had borne avery yummy yield,So, for dessert, we grabbed somebig ones from out in the field.
Then…To test his ‘only onions makehim cry’, s‘indeed the case…I took a watermelon and hitBarry in the face! 
Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause 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 will see us all just itchin'To talk a bit 'bout Gramma's Kitchen!









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!)Watermelon (November 6) Today!Grandma's Kitchen (November 13)The Bus (November 20)A Pet's Life (November 27)

 

Mixing Mayhem with Amen

Two brothers, ages six and eightwere quite the mischief-makers,If hi-jinks happened, they twowere the movers and the shakers,Exasperated totally, their poorand harried Mama,Went to see their minister. Converseabout her trauma,He’d had some luck with otherboys all bent on causing trouble,She wanted help with her two ‘foretheir town'd reduced to rubble,The man agreed and said he’dlike to see them one by one,The younger first, that morning,with the elder later on...The preacher took thesix-year-old and sat him on a chair,Then stood before the boy andfixed him with a sober stare,Said to the lad, “Now tell me, son, do you know just where God is?”The little boy just stared (mouthgaped, right to his epiglottis),Again the preacher went on to repeathis simple question,Again the boy just stared at himwith fear in his expression,A third time (louder now), thepreacher thundered, “Where is God?”The small boy screamed and ranas though pursued by demon squads,Some time hence, his older brotherfound him in the cupboard,Pale and shaking like a leaf,his legs both weak and ‘rubbered’,The eight-year-old just lookedat him and slowly shook his head,Said, “What on earth is eatingyou? You look like you’re ‘most dead!”The younger boy gave him a look ofterror and of shame,“God has disappeared, Bro! Andthey think that we’re to blame!”
Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause 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?

That WATERMELON is a hit...Let's reminisce a little bit!









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!)Mischief (October 30) Today!Watermelon (November 6)Grandma's Kitchen (November 13)The Bus (November 20)A Pet's Life (November 27)

Getting Through

For four of her five years, she andher Mom,Had happ’ly lived with us—a time ofcalm,And every day her mom, with hug andkiss,Would go to work and leave herlittle Miss.
So Tinesy Girl and me, we were a team,To have her here with me was such adream,And, daily, we would eat and readand play,Too soon her mom came home from herwork day.
Now Tinesy Girl’s most favourite toyof all,Was not a Pretty Pony or a doll,Instead a little music box that sang,With a little, purple phone (tospeak or clang).
The phone, some days before, haddisappeared,Both Tinesy Girl and me, we'd searched andpeered,Unable to find out just where itwent,Decided it would show—we'd not lament!
Now, Mama was a theatre carpenterEach day she took her to-ol box withher,But on this day, she got a bigsurprise,Among her big old tools, a phone—pint-sized.
She thought it had been wrongly sodispatched,And brought it home, where it was quicklysnatched,Then gladly TG played with it till bed,And when she went to sleep, t’was byher head!
Next day, when daughter got to work,she groaned,Again, amongst her tools, was TG’sphone,She smiled—got the message finally…TG was telling Mom, "Please messageme!"

Karen asks, "Write for me, please?"We write because we like to please!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 funWe can't wait for another one,With 'MESSAGE ME!' how did I do?Please go and see the others, too:

Baking In A Tornado: Midnight Message       

Messymimi’s Meanderings  

Talk

Of Talk Show hosts, there are a few,Some long past and some quite new,But if you had to pick just one…Tell me which was smart. And fun?
Allen, yes, he was the first,Gave us all our ‘Talk Show’ thirst!And Carson. Many call him king,Oh, the laughter he could bring!Then Letterman, that name I know,Sardonic. Witty on his show.And Stewart, oh, that man is good,And often tells it like he should.Skits for which O’Brien’s known,Made everybody laugh. Or groan.Colbert. That man is smarter, still,He’s known for insights ‘Up the Hill’.Then Oprah, her I loved a lot,Her opinions, many sought!With giveaways and games and such,DeGeneres, she did so much.And Kimmel, what about this guy?I love the twinkle in his eye.And Rivers, clever, clever girl,She gave the Talk Show world a whirl!Then Miller earned his place, I’ll grantWith his jokes, more jokes and rants.Excitement, positivity,Marked O’Donnel’s show…agree?Then Oliver, oh, that clever lad,That man knows pol’tics, good and bad.Then Myers, him I watch a lot,A Closer Look’s his famous spot.Hall, his show had class and slink,Cancelled much too soon, I think.Galifianakis, Parr,These are the names that did go far,And Ferguson and Cavett, too,Oh, Fallon, Shandling, I’ll add you.All these and many more, I thinkGave us fun or made us blink,Love ‘em. Hate ‘em. Each held swayIn their unique and chosen way!Where would we be throughout the years,Without our Talk Show hosts and peers,With thoughts to ponder, memes to quote…I’m not done yet—where’s that remote?
Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause 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 be sure to be right here.Cause MISCHIEF is our theme. Oh, dear...









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!)Talk Shows (October 23) Today!Mischief (October 30)Watermelon (November 6)Grandma's Kitchen (November 13)The Bus (November 20)A Pet's Life (November 27)

A Little Jack Snack

Okay, first off, the story of Little Jack Horner intrigues me.Is it satirical? Or merely the story of a greedy little boy sitting ina corner, keeping all the pie to himself.I think this needs to be explored. Right?So here we go…
We’ll begin with the actual poem, as I learned it in the great So LongAgo:Little Jack HornerSat in a corner,Eating his Christmas pie.He stuck in his thumbAnd pulled out a plum,And said, “What a good boy am I!”
Right away, this begs the question, Why is Jackie sitting in a cornerall by himself?With a pie.Had he been bad and sent to said corner?I want to mention, here, that when MY parents gave me a time out, piewasn’t included.
Had he been sent there to eat by himself because someone forgot to bathe that day? Seriously, it could happen. Iknow there have been occasions when I’ve sat beside someone who…never mind.Suffice it to say odours other than entrees/desserts were di stinc tlyindicated.
Or did Jackie Boy simply want to sit there quietly by himself? Perhapsmy loquacious Aunt Agnes was in the crowd and talk about yesterday’s sermon andtomorrow’s choir rehearsal just interfered with some serious ‘pie-eating’concentration. The old ‘shut up and let me shovel’!
And that brings us to the next talking point. I’m assuming everyone atthe party was gifted with a large pie of their own and that our boy hadn’tpinched what would amount to the entire company’s dessert. Please tell me it isn’t so, Jackie!
And that his being holed up in that corner had nothing to do withselfishness.Or theft.Oh, dear.Could it be the corner was shady and hidden and that our boy was there,not by design, but by necessity? To stay out of sight?
This brings up a whole new discussion.Is this a story about the nefarious Mr. Jack Horner of the Hole-in-the-WallHorners?The not-so-famous outlaws. (Okay, yes, I made them up…)Was the Jack in our story just a common thief?
There is also the theory that ‘Jack’ was a well-known public figure,but one with his own interests at heart. That the ‘pie’ he had purloined was,in fact, loaded with—not the fruit one would expect—but instead, a deed to a valuableproperty.
That the ‘sticking in of the thumb’ included fingers. And the pullingforth of the juicy (?) bit of parchment entitled the bearer to sole possession of…somethingvaluable enough it warranted sneakiness and hiding in shadowy corners.And the not sharing of the something valuable.
Truthfully, I prefer the idea that Little Jack Horner was simply at aChristmas party. Everyone had been given their own pie. And he chose to eat hisin the corner where grooming was unimportant. Along with acceptable gustatory mannerismsvis-à-vis pie-eating.
Thus, the thumb being poked into the pie and withdrawn captured by aplum would simply be that. A small boy, rather greedy and impatient—hence the usingof the fingers— who is proud of his whole ‘poking fingers into pies’ abilities.We need a re-write…
Young Jack Horner’s mannersIn his family of Tanners,Was not something of which they were proud.
And thus, they would press him,That, though they would dress himHe shouldn’t be part of the crowd.
So there in the corner,(cheered by his suborners!)Not bound by a cord and not strappled…
He stuck in his thumbAnd pulled out a plum,Then shouted out, “I ordered apple!”

Today’s post is a word challenge! Each month Karen, Mimi or I choose a number between 12 and 50 and the others craft a post using that number of words one or multiple times.This month’s number is: 45It was chosen by ME!
Now go and see what my friends have created!
Baking In ATornadoMessymimi’sMeanderings