I was sitting in the car in a store parking lot out in Katy a short while ago, trying to compose a little poem to write in my daughter's birthday card, and my mind was coming up with nothing, folks! Zip, zero, zilch, nada!!
All of a sudden my fingers starting drumming impatiently - I had fudge bars in the cooler and needed to get back home - on the dashboard over and over again until I began chanting, "Eenie, meenie, minie, moe" over and over again. Incessantly, as in some kind of drone. But then my fingers picked up on the beat and the chant turned into almost a cheer ... "Come on Goldenrod, let's go!" and "Come on, kid, you're good to go!" Then I found myself singing that little phrase - "Eenie, meenie, minie, moe" - to the tune of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and came up with probably the stupidest poem ever, but my dad would have loved it!
One of his favorite little ditties went (something like), "I scream for ice cream. We all scream for ice cream. Rah rah rah. Sis boom bah." Do you see why I say he would have loved it?
I think I've told all of you before about how I grew up in a family that loved to play games, particularly my dad. Even while we ate. I kid you not! If it was cards we wanted to play, we had card holders. If we were playing bridge and he was taking too long to make his bid or play, I would sometimes ask in an exasperated fashion, "What do you do, Dad?" He'd quickly respond, "Doodad?" I often thought that he sometimes deliberately took too long just so he would hear that question and could give that same answer.
Do you remember how, when you were a kid, you vowed never to be like one (or both) of your parents for one reason or another? I'm turning into my dad, for crying out loud!
Years ago, my father dared me to write some esoteric poems. I did, and here they are ... ... I titled the series "Esotericity".
Write about "rhubarb", he suggested.
Who cares about rhubarb? (Except as digested.)
A common plant my dad used to grow
When the ground wasn't covered all white with snow.
They'd use it for pies & -- yes, even wine.
I never did cultivate a taste for that vine!
It was kind of pretty, though -- red & green,
Sometimes it even made our Christmas scene.
The rhubarb, a plant,
Is most likely to succeed
If one will, on bended knee
Cultivate the land.
Has on a cloak
Remember the name!
You will see its fame
go down in history.
The poem I hurriedly composed today was nowhere near the quality of those! In fact, my daughter laughed out loud when she read it and threatened to practice and then record a singing version on YouTube (I guess!) for all to see. Lord love us, I hope she doesn't!
Now, the card I bought for her Monday was really pretty, and the verses inside were exactly what I wanted to say. I gave her a long-stemmed pink rose that was quite lovely. My heart had been set on buying her a small hair ornament that included a live flower - very similar to what I did years ago when she first came back to Houston - but I wasn't able to find a shop that could do it. Ah, well! When I left their house to hurry back, her hubby was inside busily slaving over a hot stove, concocting some sort of spaghetti dish for her birthday dinner.
I managed to make it home safely - in spite of passing two major accidents on the way (ambulances, fire trucks, overturned vehicles, blood and gore ... you name it, I saw it) - and get my beloved fudge bars back into a freezing mode before any major meltdown had begun.
Gotta go! The Astros game calleth. They scored twice in the 1st inning and are currently leading 2-0. Prior to that score, they were the only team in major league baseball this season to not score a run in either of the first two innings. Oh, the disgrace of it all! The worst start in 25 years for my team.
... ... ... An interruption. Might even be another before this post is finished, we'll see. We've got an exciting game going on. Well, I should amend add that by adding 'only if you're an Astros fan'. Score is now 4-0, and we're in the 4th.
Before I publish this, I don't want to forget to bring to everyone's attention that every single player in the major leagues today is wearing #42, Jackie Robinson's long since retired number. I believe it was Pudge Rodriguez, now catching for the Astros, who first instituted this tradition just a few years back.
And now I really have to go, or this won't get posted today. My daughter has only one birth date each year, and this is it! Happy birthday, wonderful one.
Much love, Mom