MOONLIGHT AND MAGNOLIAS

MOONLIGHT & MAGNOLIAS



"No, I don't want any peach pies; just get some Krystals and fries for me; maybe a PC."

She watched as his bald head found his Sunday hat and as he drove away to buy their Saturday "lunch", she sat in the oversized outdoor rocker and welcomed the silence.

How she wished they had met earlier in their lives, before all the wasted years and trials. She had thought that she'd never marry and then he came along like a breath of fresh air. She left her job at the cotton mill in the small town she'd grown up in and moved with him to the big city.

Life was very good after that and it wasn't because she suddenly had some money. He took very good care of her and they laughed alot, had fun with one another and he was to be the only love of her life.

Often times, she'd sit on his big, wide lap and they'd snuggle close together with just the smell of magnolia's, the room lit only by moonbeams and the electricity in the air. How she loved her husband!

"Back already?" she smiled. They sat at their kitchen table and salted their fries and ate their mini-hamburgers. She wondered to herself why the chocolate milk over crushed ice was called a "PC". It certainly was good!

Then he watched some football on TV while she busied herself in the kitchen, making one of his favourite desserts, a coconut cream pie. Thawing two expensive steaks out for supper, she stopped to watch him in the living room. He was sound asleep, snoring softly.

Once, they were driving out in the countryside and he suddenly stopped the big new Buick. She looked at him and he was smiling. "Why did we stop?" she asked.

"That's how quickly one's life can end" he said. "On a dime." He patted her knee and they drove on. She was used to his silliness and thought nothing of it at the time. He was always acting foolish and teasing. It was just one of his many endearing qualities.

Now, standing by her oven smelling the pie baking and watching him asleep, she knew to savor the moment and she did.

One day, he came in all excited to announce he'd joined the Reserves. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Well", he said "it means I want to defend my Country again." And it was done.

It wasn't long before he had the chance to do just that. When he told her he would be gone for up to one year, her heart was broken. He held her tightly and she cried on his shoulder. But secretly, she was very proud of him in his handsome uniform.

Many long love letters and a few quick phone calls later, she received a call from his Superiors stating he'd been injured. "How?" she asked. "How badly?"

"It happened last month and he is being sent home soon. He wants to tell you himself. Please don't worry."

She heard the taxi pull up before she saw it and she ran to the door. But he didn't come in. She went outside, so excited she couldn't stand it anymore. He was paying the cab driver and laughing.

Then, she saw his injury and covered her mouth with her hand. She felt like screaming but didn't; she did burst into tears and he suddenly turned to see her. She ran into his waiting arms while the taxi driver slowly pulled away, watching their embrace from his mirrors. "Friggin' war!!" he thought.

She clung tightly to his starched and pressed tan uniform; he looked pale but so handsome. With his crutches and her assistance, they walked slowly and carefully inside their home. All he could smell was magnolia's, sweet magnolia's.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd lost a leg?" she cried. "I couldn't; I didn't want you to worry, baby. I just wanted to hurry home to your arms."

They held one another and cried; it was the first time he'd done so
and it felt good to save his tears for only her to hear and feel. He could live without his leg but he couldn't live without her love.

Long into the night, they talked. She wanted to know all about how it was overseas but all he told her was how he stepped on a land mine and afterwards, all memories of the war were erased. And he was glad. He'd seen too much, too soon to ever want to recall any of it.

Many years passed quickly and they lived and loved every day of them. He was very popular wherever they went; kids loved him. He cared not what color or how poor a person was; he was generous and giving with his wealth.

She snipped off some fresh flowers and put them in a vase to take to him while he was convalescing in the hospital. She was optimistic that he'd be home soon but wanted his room to smell like his favourite flower, the magnolia.

The phone rang and it was the hospital; they were asking her to hurry, please. Frightened, she did as asked and ran from the taxi after throwing some money at the driver. The elevator seemed to take forever! Damn!!

The Nurse greeted her with a look of urgency and informed her that her husband's infection had suddenly spread from his absent limb's stump to his heart and brain. It didn't look good and at his age, they anticipated the worst.

He was very pale and lifeless while connected to so many machines and equipment but she whispered "I'm here now; it's ok. I love you."

She saw no reaction so whispered again into his other ear and this time she felt a slight squeeze of his hand on hers. He tried to open his eyes but couldn't. The Nurse left them alone with instructions to buzz immediately if any sudden changes should occur.

The afternoon turned into evening as his temperature rose to well over 104. She never left his side except to place his flowers closer to his bedside table. As the full moon shone into his room and on her husband's face, she prayed. "Please, God, don't let him suffer as you did. I trust that only you can save him now."

So it was, just after midnight, he silently and forever went to sleep. As his hand slipped from hers and he left the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God, she said her goodbyes to her soulmate, her only husband and her very best friend.

Carrying his crutches with her, she climbed inside the taxi and headed for home. He'd want her to be with people, their family, but she wasn't ready to tell them yet. She knew she was being selfish but at her age, she didn't care.

Once home, she locked the door and fixed herself a cup of hot tea. She carried it into their bedroom and carefully sat it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Then she removed her blouse and put on his T-shirt and crawled into bed, laying on his side, using his pillow. And she went to sleep, crying, holding a tissue.

They found her there the next day; the Doctor said she had suffered a heart attack, not unusual for a lady of 86 years. But her family and friends and neighbors all agreed that she had died of a broken heart.

They were cremated together and their ashes combined to be scattered over the countryside where they used to go parking. Her bedside note inside her Bible instructed this last wish; but how did she know she would die?

As the beams of the moon lit the way, their ashes were swiftly blown into the wind off of the cliff where their family released them. A buck and his doe watched and waited, unseen to the family as they cried and departed. And all that was left was the scent of magnolia's.

"NANA DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE"

"Nana Doesn't Live Here Anymore"


He laid his newly painted bicycle beside the fence and on his way inside the house, he stopped to pick a few bright yellow daffodils. Maybe they'd help to cheer his grandmother up. She hadn't been herself for the last year or so and he knew his parents worried about her living here alone in the big old house she once shared with his grandpa.

"Nana" he said softly, as he entered the warm kitchen. He couldn't wait to show her his bike! It was old but he loved it; just like her. He smelled the wonderful aroma of her brown bread baking in the old wood stove. Her slippers were underneath the table and hair rollers were all over the floor.

"Nana?" he said loudly. "You in here?"

She suddenly appeared from the living room, newspaper in hand and teeth out. Her hair still formed the shape of the curlers she must have slept in the night before. A floured apron covered her tan housedress and her feet were bare. There was flour all over everything!

"Nana?"

"Nana doesn't live here anymore!"

""What?" he asked in disbelief. "Are you ok, Nana?"

"I said, "Nana" doesn't live here anymore. Who are YOU and what are you doing in my house? Scoot out and don't come back. Can't you see I'm very busy?"

Frightened, the lad dropped the fresh flowers and hurried outside to jump on his bright blue bicycle; he had spent all day yesterday painting it and was so proud of the job. The first person he wanted to share it with was his grandmother. What could be wrong with her?

He rode home as fast as he could and rushed through the front door to tell his mother. She was busy with the baby and he waited patiently; she said she'd be just a few minutes.

He decided to call his Nana to see if she was all right. The phone rang and rang and rang but there was no answer. Nana never wanted an answering machine but they gave her one anyways after Papa died and set it all up for her. "Hello. You have reached 639-0967; please leave a message after the tone." But she kept it turned off and refused to use it.

"So, what's the rush?" his mother asked, holding his baby sister in her arms. "What's the matter, son? You're all flushed......"

He began to cry as he rapidly told her what his Nana had said to him & her general disarray. She never seemed shocked or very surprised; just looked very sad. She took him in her arms.....

"Sit down, Seth. I should have warned you boys that this could happen."

As his mother explained "Alzheimer's disease" to her nine year old son, she too began to cry. Since learning of her mother's illness, she had not yet come to grips with how to explain it to her children. They were all very close to her but Seth was by far, her mother's favourite. They had bonded while she babysat him the first four years of his life.

"Mom, don't cry. Maybe Nana was just teasing me; you know how she likes to play "pretend" sometimes. She still treats me like I was five."

He hugged his mother and baby sister and went outside to sit in his favourite tree. He thought about what he had just learned and felt sorry for himself. Did this mean no more stories with Nana; did this mean no more fishing trips with her; did this mean Nana might die?

That night, he told his best friend that he couldn't ride bikes tomorrow. He had something more important to do.

Seth emptied his piggy bank out on top of his bunk bed and counted $6.94. Then he waited outside old man Thomas's store for him to open and bought his supplies. Riding home, he carefully held onto his purchases and hurried to his room.

After eating a peanut butter and jam sandwich for lunch, he rode off to his grandmother's house. He knew she would be at the dentist as his mother had taken her. Hurriedly, he found the house key and went inside. It didn't take long but he had to make two trips.

He rode home with a smile and waited.

When his grandmother went inside, waving to her daughter and the baby as they drove away, she felt happy to be back. It was hard to even know which house was hers anymore so she hesitated to call a taxi for fear of embarressment. She couldn't even recall her own house number or address.

What's this? She stood in her sun-filled kitchen and saw many fresh, bright daffodils, her favourite flower. They were everywhere! A large yellow poster board was propped up on top of the kitchen table, with giant black letters that said "NANA.....I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH. YOUR FAVOURITE GRANDSON, SETH."

Best of all, he had glued his latest school picture underneath his name and also a baby picture of him and her in her old rocking chair. It had today's date and his phone number.

She reached for her phone and dialed the number. He must have been waiting as it was answered on the first ring. "Seth?" she asked.

"Yes; Nana?"

"Wanna go fishing out back by the lake after supper? I have been wanting to see you."

"Sure, Nan; I'll be over then. I'll dig some worms for our hooks. See ya". And he smiled widely!

When he arrived, his grandmother was carrying her tackle box down to the lake and saw him pull up on his bike. "See, Nana, I painted it blue; remember when it was red and all the old paint was flaking off?"

"Yeah" she replied but she didn't really. But that was ok with Seth; as long as she remembered him!

That night, as he rode home on his bike with the fish in a pail in his parcel carrier, he wondered if she'd ever forget him again. He hoped not. "Please, God, help Nan to remember me." Just then, the chain broke on his prized possession and he added "Oh, and if she wants to buy me a new bike for my birthday next month, that would be ok too."

And he slept like a baby while his Nan slept with a room full of daffodils. She wondered where they came from and guessed she must have picked them herself. Oh well, they made her very happy.

"LASSIE"

"LASSIE"



Once upon a time there was a little girl who was born and raised in Aberdeen, Scotland. She was a wee lassie and the apple of her father's eye. Oh how he loved to gallop home on his horse to see her playing out in the yard or waiting for him on her pony.

But little lassies grow up & one day she wanted to wed at an early age. Much to his consternation she refused to listen to reason and left home to wed her beau. The lad was in the Military and took her far away from home at the age of seventeen. It broke her father's heart and he never was happy again.

When her husband died of fever she went on to marry again and had children, some of whom died from the raging typhoid or tuberculosis.

Again she remarried, never being alone for long but always retaining her independence and perserverance. She arrived in America with high hopes and when the ship carrying her to Nova Scotia docked, she was ready to finally settle down.

Life was hard back then and yet she always seemed to have plenty. Shelburne was blessed to have her voice, her strength and her wisdom. She owned and managed a Bed and Breakfast. What she didn't have was her father's love and devotion. Letters across the sea took many months and she waited patiently but eagerly for his reply.

Her sister wrote and the words burned into her heart: "Our dear father died 8th of December last year. His last words were of you and you should know that he left his violin to your care. He also requested a lock of his hair be saved for you. Shall I mail them to you in Canada?"

That night she took pen to ink and replied "With a heavy heart I ask that you kindly mail me our father's violin. I should be so grateful if you would include a piece of his hair. You should know that I long for the day I take my eternal rest and can ask for his forgiveness."

She was exactly like her father but she did not recognize it. Politics and religion played major parts in her life. Widowed again, she spent most of her time visiting her married sons and their families. She'd crack her whip over the mare's back and gallop through the dense woods before dawn to arrive at their homes in Barrington by dusk.

One day later in that same year, she was given a package from the mail carrier. It was obviously worn and had spent many days and nights on the ship. She carefully laid it on top of the quilt of her feather mattress. It could wait until after supper.

Carrying the oil lamp into her bedroom from the small kitchen where she had just dried the dishes, she sat down beside the parcel. It was long and heavy and with both joy and sadness, she undid the heavy wrapping.

The violin lay on her aproned lap and made a sound before she had a chance to even caress it. The bow was wrapped separately and had a sealed piece of tape around it with a note that said "To be opened only by Rebekka".

She trembled and gently removed the tape. The bow was a simple one, well worn from her father's hands. She caressed it close to her reddened cheeks; it smelled like him!

Tears began to form and she quickly dried them. Wait, there was a note!

She read aloud her father's words: "When you are reading this I will be dead. But my love for you lives as long as you breathe. Embrace life for it is a gift from the Almighty. We shall meet again, my lovely lassie. Your loving father."

Sobbing and trembling, she then opened the small envelope holding his hair. It had turned white! She had anticipated it would still be the black color it was when she had left his house many decades ago.

That night, the sounds of a soft but sweet violin could be heard by the locals who lived the closest to her log cabin. They listened to the mournful sound and remarked how it sounded beautiful but like a funeral march.

The very last thing she saw before blowing out the candle beside her big, soft bed was her dear father's violin. He would never know how it meant the world to her to have his forgiveness and love. And as her own hair turned as white as snow and she caught her reflection in the glass, she smiled. She was and always would be, her father's daughter, his lassie.

SALT FISH DINNER

SALT FISH DINNER

She's soaking the salted fish
In cold water 'til tonight
Peeling a fresh turnip
To mash and taste just right;
She's peeling new potatoes
That won't make her thinner
Frying up some pork-scraps
For our salt-fish dinner.

She runs to buy some chow-chow
And fresh dinner rolls
A slab of home-made butter
'Cuz everybody knows....
A meal without butter
Is a nightmare, not a dream
She lays out a tablecloth
And lots of real, sweet cream.

They mix together very well
Fresh cream and salt
Few bones in this fish
That I freshly caught;
It tastes so delicious
Second helpings can't hurt
Then I ask her the question:
"Hon, what's for dessert?"

"Fresh homemade rhubarb pie
Or a slice of cranberry cake
Whipped cream on top of both
Just today I baked";
I know she's only teasing
As we sit outside awhile
A cuppa hot tea in her hand
Wearing nothing but a smile!

Then she winks:
"Dessert, honey"??

JUST ONE FRIEND

JUST ONE FRIEND

Some need lots of money
Some need fancy clothes
Then some need precious gems
I'm not one of those;
All I've ever needed
From the beginning to the end
Is to share my heart
Just one friend.

I don't need attention
And I don't need wealth
I do need rain and thunder
Like I need my health;
I love the four seasons
And strong, wild wind
I need to know it'll last
Just one friend.

Friends don't stay forever
Some just disappear
Soon one fine day
They vanish in thin air;
I only need a special one
'Til I reach the end
To live with Him in Heaven
Just one friend.

PICNIC AT THE BEACH

PICNIC AT THE BEACH

A couple of wine glasses
Plastic ones will do
A lobster sandwich for me
An egg salad one for you;
An old faded quilt Mom made
My jacket 'case it's cold
And we're off to watch the sun
Set before we're old.

The sea lies in wait, all blue
Silent, calm and still
We look all around for shells
And then you hold me, Will;
Your mouth finds my soft lips
Our tongues are entwined
And then we flop on the quilt
To sip and drink our wine.

Sunset at the beach is best
After a stressful day
And while we sit at home
Before either one can say:
"What's for supper, baby?"
Or "What is on TV?"
Before you start reading
And then ignoring me.

The tide rolls on top our feet
We laugh and get all wet
Then we wade with pants rolled up
Playing with our pet;
Your hand I reach to hold
The sun is fading fast
Like our lives will someday
'Cuz nothing seems to last.

How I love to be with you
And hear you say my name
How I miss you when you leave
For golf, to play your game;
Our love is the perfect kind
I thought we'd never reach
I'll always love every time
We picnic at the beach.

SUNDAY, SUNDAY

SUNDAY, SUNDAY


I think of him many times
Through-out the long, long week
And though I never see him
And we seldom even speak----
It doesn't happen often
That I think of him on Monday
But on the Holy Sabbath
I remember him; it's Sunday.

And on a lazy Sunday morning
As I lie alone in bed
Wondering if he's with her
And on his chest, her head----
Is it a waterbed or featherbed
Satin or flannel sheets
Does she awake him with a kiss
One upon each cheek?

Is it pancakes and bacon
With tea and marmalaid
Or cinnamon french toast
With some scrambled eggs----
Does he fasten her back zipper
On her new church dress
I wonder if they're Catholics
Who repent and then confess?

Does he ask the Priest's forgiveness
For pretending she was me
Last night in the darkened room
Where she could not see----
His eyes may be open
But not her face he saw
As he took her once again
With passion, strong and raw.

"A saint on Sunday morning
A devil on Saturday night"
That's what he always called me
When he turned out the light...
'Cuz I'd turn it right back on
I loved to see his body
Touching, loving, laughing
God, so sweet and naughty.

Sundays now are long and cold
As I dress for Church alone
And eat my toast and give my cat
A small treat made of bone----
God is good and I am pleased
But He could be even better
I curse Sundays like I cursed him
In my final, goodbye letter.

Sunday, Sunday.......

A GUEST

A GUEST

He walked in rather slowly
Distinguished and proud
I might have startled him
With a voice so loud;
A very wide smile
Lit up his handsome face
His family soon joined him
Carrying their suitcase.

Smalltalk and conversation
Flowed effortlessly
I noticed that he didn't say much
Especially to me;
The women did the talking
Two sisters and a wife
He sat beside my old dog
Seemed so happy with his life.

Later on he went with me
As I walked my dog
One could see the new moon
Wrapped inside the fog;
He talked a blue-streak then
If you know what I mean
About himself, years ago
What he'd heard and seen.

At breakfast the next morning
I asked him what he'd done
For a living, in Pennsylvania
Raising his daughter and his sons;
He just could not remember
At the age of seventy-one
So his wife spoke up to tell me
He'd been a Minister, God's son.

The smile never left his face
Tho Altzhimer's had set in
Slow to move a little bit
Quieter than some men;
But when he smiled at his wife
His Angel sent from God
I got all choked up
And missed my brother, Rod.

Same age, same look, same wit
How I miss them both
One is dead and one has left
For their home down South;
I have had many guests
And though I liked them all
When he walked into my heart
None seemed half as tall.

BETRAYED?

BETRAYED?

He had been gone away to war
Over two years and a day
When all at once he found himself
Flown home for a short stay;
No time to call and share the news
He'd be surprising her
His taxi arrived just before dawn
The driver said "Welcome home, Sir!"

A strange car was in the driveway
All was still and dark inside
He used his key to let him in
And then he almost died;
For on the couch were her clothes
And a man's cowboy hat
An empty pack of condoms
Lay on the fireplace mat.

The soldier had seen destruction
Bombs and broken body parts
But this time he was sickened
From his own broken heart;
He staggered out the front door
And walked away from home
He sat down at the river
Cold, destroyed and all alone.

He never opened her letters
He never took her calls
He became a lonely robot
He built up sky-high walls;
He re-enlisted and stayed put
And the years all went so fast
Then he returned to Canada
His only leg now in a cast.

She came to see him one fine day
And though the years had gone
He saw she still had brown eyes
Though her hair was colored blond;
He laid there in the hospital
Made believe he was asleep
And when the Nurse asked her to leave
He thought he heard her weep.

He opened some of her old letters
Years after she had died
And felt himself go crazy
As he read all night and cried;
"I'm sorry that I was away
When you came home from sea
My sister said you'd been here
Did you think she was me?"

A true original letter from my late great grandfather to his mother 1875

Barrington N.S.
Feb. 18th, 1875

My Dear Mother-

I know some time has elapsed since I last wrote you but you must not conclude that therefore I have forgotton you. I assure you that I very often think about you and I only wish I could see you this evening. I suppose you want to hear first about myself & family--well we are all well at present thank God. Enclosed is a letter from Ernest. You will see that he is quite a scholar.

Arthur has grown to quite a big boy. I believe you have never even seen him. He can read words and his letters. Rebecca sends you and Mr. Kenney her love and would like to see you both.

I have been working in Glenwood (Head of Argyle) this past summer on my own account. I don't know but the season as a whole has paid me almost, if not quite as well, as when I worked in Mass. This winter I have been chiefly employed getting fuel & fencing. I have worked some on my house at the Head and also on my barn down there. I have not found a purchaser for this one at the River where I live, yet I have sold it twice, once to Joseph Brown and he died and once to Charles Crowell, a son in law of Walter Blades---and he could not meet his payments and so I have it on my hands yet.

Possibly you have heard of the death of Aunt Viv. Priscilla Cunningham and her daughter Susan are both dead also. Our people are all well as usual so far as I know. I have been to pay my winters visit to Uncle Josiah and he and Aunt Deliah has been down to my place and stopped overnight with me. Anderson & Aunt Laticia live with Benji Adams now. They all wished me to send their love to you when I wrote you.

I wish if you have any papers in your care pertaining to Fathers half share in the old Saw Mill, given him as a kind of security by A. Homer, if you will be so good as to forward these to my address.

Our cow gives a nice mess of milk this winter and I have a nice mare that I bought last Fall. She will foal in June. She works well in the cold on sled and is a very fair traveler. Last Sunday Rebecca and I went over to Clyde at the opening of the new Kirk there. There were three Presbyterian and four Methodist Ministers there.

We have had a remarkably severe winter. Snow is about 18 or 20 inches ON A LEVEL now. A Revival interest has been awakened all around our Harbour this winter and a good many young people have professed religion. And now Dear Mother I must soon close. I am thinking if I shall ever see you again. May God's good blessing be and abide with you and with us all till death. Remember me and give my regards to Mr. Kenney.

I am your affectionate son,
T.W.Watson

Letter #2 from my late great grandfather to his mother 1875

Barrington, N.S. Dec. 26th, 1875

Phobe Penney, My Dear Mother:

I have just this morning received a letter from you by Matthew. I learn that your health is not very good but I am glad to hear that you are able to be about. I have heard from you once before this winter through the correspondence of Obed Smith's family. I am always pleased to hear from you and though I do not write very often, I nevertheless think about you continually and I should be pleased beyond my power of expression if I could see you again. I don't suppose that you think ever again to visit Nova Scotia and it is quite uncertain if I ever shall look upon my Dear Mother again.

Well I suppose every and all such events of our lives are wisely ordered by Divine but I often think it strange that our particular lot should have been that severe as we are far apart and left behind.

I have enjoyed tolerable health since I last wrote you though this winter I have had some attack of old complaints, pain with back & side, with cough etc. Rebecca and the children are all as well as usual. You are aware that we have had a son this winter named HENRY ATWOOD for the two grandfathers. I am still living at "the River". I have not been very successful the past season and have not consequently made much progress. I however am very comfortable in my worldly affairs. Ernst is grown to quite a large boy and goes to school constantly. He is getting to be a fair scholar. Arthur, if he lives, will go to school next summer.

We are going to have the suit with Mr Coffin about our Mill privileges, next June in Barrington and if you have any papers in your possession of any kind whatever, relating to the concern, you will please forward to me immediately so that I may make use of it if necessary. I wish you could be here at the time for you might know something to our advantage.

Your friends often inquire after you and without naming them, wish to be remembered. Remember often us all with respect to Mr. Kenney. Rebecca sends her love to you and wishes you a HAPPY NEW YEAR. I hope that you may continue to enjoy your mental faculties and improved health for many years to come and that when those important and inevitable changes occur, that we are all destined sooner or later to experience, that we may each be prepared and equal for the solemn occasion. For this time good bye.

I am your loving son T. W. Watson

SHAPELESS IN CLARK'S HARBOUR

SHAPELESS IN CLARK'S HARBOUR


He said "It's so easy, Hed"
As he started up the engine;
"Just pump this little button
To release a bit of tension."

The mower seemed to walk alone
He made it look so easy;
The green grass just fell in folds
The night air, sweet and breezy.

I couldn't wait for afternoon
To get started on my lawn;
Ran to Yarmouth early
Awoke at the crack of dawn.

Changed into capris and shirt
Sneakers on my feet;
I went into my basement:
There "IT" sat on concrete!!

I knew enough to bring it out
To warm it up a bit;
I pushed in the little button
And then I let it sit.

Excited now, I pulled the throttle
And heard it hum a tune;
Another hard pull with my hand
And we were on the moon!!

"Lift-Off;" we're in business
As Camo sat to watch;
I was so proud of myself
Grass to cut; and LOTS.

Back & forth; up and down
All around the bush;
But I thought self-propelled meant
I never had to PUSH??

Left or right, push or pull??
There's just too many rocks!!
And why are people staring?
Is it my polka-dotted socks?

Man, these hills are awesome
They never LOOKED that high!
And even Camo's leaving
And never said good-bye.

I cut the front and then FELL down
To rest my legs awhile;
Should I turn off the mower?
A man walks by and smiles.

As I arise to huff and puff
My way into the back,
It decides to die right there
I haven't got the knack.

I lay beside my mower
And tell it to behave;
And pray aloud to please start
But it wants back in it's cave.

I look at all my long, hot work
And see a zig-zagged lawn;
Embarassed; crawl inside my porch
Lay on the floor and yawn.

Camo licks my face as if
To say "It's ok; you'll see
All of this is new to us;
Now, please let me out to pee?"

I look into the mirror
At my green face and clothes;
The sea-breeze has awakened me
I no longer care to doze.

I strip down to what God gave me
As to the shower I run;
And know that mower and myself
Have only just begun!!

Another sunny lovely day
Greeted me at seven
I silently thanked Jesus
For this slice of Heaven.

Grass looked wet so I painted
But after lunch was through
I got up my courage
I knew what I had to do.

"It" sat patiently waiting
In the exact same spot
And as I pulled it outside
I envisioned it my "yacht".

I talked to it a minute
And then I pumped that thing
Pulled hard on the throttle
But it refused to sing.

A few more tries and I gave up
Came inside to rest
But the sea and sun and common sense
In me; got the best.

I checked the gas and it was fine
I put on my cotton gloves
I stood there in my rolled up pants
And almost fell in love:

'Cuz right away it started
And we were so in sync
Up & down, all around
I gave my "yacht" a wink!!

The yard now looks so pretty
And I mowed every little spot
People waved as they drove by
At me and my new yacht.

As I swept the steps and walk
I looked far out to sea
But none of the boats I saw
Could match my yacht and me.

From now on I'll treat her
With the respect she needs
Already I've forgiven her
For knuckles that now bleed.

And sneakers that are full of poop
And grass stains on my socks
Next time I will scoop poop first
And then I'll pick up rocks.

I have found a hobby
It's mowing my own grass
And if neighbors don't like zig-zags
Then they can kiss my ass.

SEVEN SPANISH ONIONS

(I'd like to say I was drunk or asleep when I wrote this silly one.......was neither.....just bored on a looooong winter day)

SEVEN SPANISH ONIONS

She looked down into his dark eyes
Said "Hello stranger, dear
I was just wondering
Is that really your own hair?"
He glanced up in surprise
Said "Did they let you in HERE?"

There were seven spanish onions
Floating in his beer
And as she watched him sipping
She said "Now lister here:
How come you drink that
Onion flavored beer?"

He said "Well, Ms perfect
It's to attract gals like you
Who otherwise would pass me by
Who don't have a clue;
That I am just working
Pretending to be blue."

"Oh", she said, "well, tell me
Why should I listen to you?"
And then he disappeared
Right out of her view;
She wondered where he was
And then she sipped his brew.

There were seven spanish onions
Floating in his beer
It stunk to high Heaven
So she got out of there!
She caught up with him
And could only gawk & stare!

He was really "George Cloony"
She couldn't believe her eyes
He was starring in a movie
In which his character cries;
The camera caught it all on tape
She thought that she would die!


Seven spanish onions
Came out in July
And she went to see it
But onions make her cry;
No-one will believe this tale
So let's just say good-bye.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD

Well, Dad, I hope you know
I'm missing you today
But that would not be a surprise
It's quite often that I say:
"Daddy, what should I do?
I wish you were still here
To listen and to guide me"
And then I shed a tear.

How often have I said aloud
"Now, Daddy, I can't fix
Lots of things in my life
That make me sad or sick;
"When I was your little girl
And you'd walk in the snow
I'd place my little foot on top
Of yours; Why, I did not know.

I'd have followed you to the moon
And walked the whole way back
If you had ever asked me
I'd take all my things & pack;
I'd never leave you alone
I'd stay with you in space
If God would grant my wish
Just so I could see your face.

Perhaps I wanted to be like you
Kind and smart and tall
A man who's word was enough
Who seemed to have it all;
Today's the day you were born
And though it makes me sad
I feel so proud to say aloud
"Happy Birthday, Dad."

CANADIAN ROSE

"Canadian Rose"


The first snow of the season fell
And my spirits seemed to match
As I waited in lines of "cougher's"
And imagined germs I'd catch.

Banking chores were done at last
And I decided to put up Flyers
Advertise my vacant B & B
To some prospective buyers.

En route back from Shelburne
I saw a chance to place
A poster, for out of towners
Who may need a bed, in case....

I entered the lobby and into an office
Which served as the front room
A lady sat all dressed in black
Her face, now filled with gloom.

She was talking to a gentleman
Who held for her a book
And when I heard what she said
I barely dared to look:

"I think he'd like the Maple
Yes, the Canadian Rose, please Sir"
When he asked if she was very sure
Her reply? "Yes, I'll line it in fur."

I stepped away with my posters
I sensed the smell of death
And as I walked quickly to my car
I could only see my breath.

She'd chosen a casket for someone
While I was simply waiting
And yet she had a smile for me
Understanding, not hating.

The snow was falling as I drove
O're the Causeway towards home
I thought of her and wondered
If she too, now lived alone?

Although I do not know her
As I wrap a gift with bows
I ask God to welcome home
His new "Canadian Rose."

ARE THERE TRAINS IN HEAVEN?

ARE THERE TRAINS IN HEAVEN?

Many times as a child of yours
I'd wait up by the tracks
'Til you passed by in the trolley
Sometimes 'til you came back;
It might take all day long
You'd start your day at seven
So, Daddy, I've been wondering
Are there trains in Heaven?

In your blue striped railroad cap
And faded blue overalls
You'd carry a black lunchpail
Until you heard the whistle call;
You seemed so tall way back then
When I was six or seven
Can you send me a sign, Daddy
If there are trains in Heaven?

Since you've been gone to Heaven
They removed the railway tracks
And just like you, Daddy
They're never coming back;
I never hear the whistle
Like I never hear your voice
I wish and long for yesterday
The old train and its noise.

Are there trains in Heaven
'Cause if there are I know
You're working on the railroad
And God just calls you Joe;
I don't know how I'm coming
But I'll get there someday
To sit upon your knee again
"Welcome home" you'll say.

I love you, Dad.

RATHER BE ME

RATHER BE ME


She doesn't wear my perfume
And she just isn't smart
So what if she lives with you
And thinks she has your heart?
When it's all said and done
I hope I'm the one you're missing
At the end of the day
And not the one you're kissing.

She may try to please you, dear
But she doesn't know the tricks
I know all the short-cuts
How you get your kicks;
She may be a woman, babe
But you know she ain't got
What it takes to turn you on
To get you sizzling hot!

Close your eyes and just pretend
It's me you're with tonight
Buy her a satin thong
And DON'T turn out the lights;
Whisper naughty nothing's
Think of what you're missing
I'd rather be me tonight
Than the one you're kissing.

I'd rather be the one you're missing
Than the one you're kissing.

I COULD NEVER TAKE YOUR PLACE

I COULD NEVER TAKE YOUR PLACE

A voyage across the deep blue sea
And we were true, fast friends
Sometimes it happens just that way
A trust and truce that never ends;
His eyes told a sad, sad story
It was written all over his face
He might have planned it but I knew
I could never take your place.

His best friend, soulmate and loving wife
You meant the whole world to him
And when you died, you took away
A light that has grown dim;
He tries to live and love and laugh
As he unpacks his suitcase
We smile and hug but I know
I could never take your place.

Your place is well preserved now
You'll always be his true love
And when the winter nights begin
You'll watch him from above;
Your love will last FOREVER
'Cause you're his blessing and grace
We both know that it's the truth
I could never take your place.

So I won't even try
To ever take your place.

LOST IN THE FOG

LOST IN THE FOG

The fog rolls in....again......the air has a chill after it does.....winter's breath is upon us......the wildlife prepare for another season, autumn. But knowing winter is close behind......or in front.....

Kids swim off the wharf in the fog; they don't care if it's chilly in the water.....life awaits them....so much to do and so much time to do it all in. It's summer...vacation......school's out.....youth is forever.

If they only knew.......it's all a fantasy.....the fog covers nature in a mask, hiding the truth. We are but mere specks on the horizon, waiting for the fog to uncover us.....to live...to love...

For without life, without love.....what is there? Lost in the fog..........uncover us......before it's our turn to die.

THE FALL

THE FALL

She needed work and in the small mining town that she had just moved to, there was nothing for someone her age and background. It was with trepidation that she motored over an hour to a town for an interview, her first. It was very windy and beginning to get cold as winter was just around the corner. She wore her favourite business suit and left her thick, long coat in the car.

He seemed very busy as he shook her hand and settled in his chair, her resume in his hand. But after a few minutes, he seemed to relax and looked her in the eye while they discussed the position he was needing to fill.

After about 20 minutes or so, he stood up and she was dismissed. She felt confident and wanted the job; she never even bothered to look any further.

In a very short time, he emailed her to say that she was definitely being considered and that she should hear something soon. But when he called, it was not to offer her the position but to inform her that he had hired someone else, with "more related experience."

She emailed him to express her thanks and to wish him luck with the new employee. One never burned their bridges; she had learned that lesson the hard way.

When he emailed to ask her to meet for a coffee, she was shocked but assumed he may have another job in mind for her. But when they sat chatting, he never even brought employment up. She noticed his wedding ring and he said, yes, he was married; he had grown children and was a grandfather. She had not dated since becoming a widow five years before her move.

They began a computer relationship and became friends. She met him again for a coffee and was surprised to find she found him so attractive and entertaining. She began to look forward to his emails and calls and meetings.

When he asked her to go for a ride in his new car, she knew she should say no but he was so interesting and cute. He said she made him happy, he thought of her constantly, he found her attractive, etc, etc. She knew it was just a matter of time before they kissed; she was excited!!

He gave her flowers one evening and she was so happy! Her heart was involved now and she hoped he felt the same. They spent many long hours on the computer together and on the phone. She began to live for his touch, his scent, for him.

But after many months and secret meetings and a few short car rides and visits to her apartment, she knew he was just looking for a fun time. And she had resisted having a sexual relationship out of respect for his wife. She was torn apart and hated herself for falling for him. She wanted him but he belonged to another. When she last saw him, he acted as if he hardly knew her; his employees were close by and she had not expected much more but it still hurt.

Falling in love hurts; but "the fall" is worse because once you fall it is so very difficult to pick up the pieces and just continue on as if it never happened. A song, a sunset, a snowflake, a glass of chocolate milk, a red rose, a wink, a pair of dark, sexy eyes and she cannot forget.

The fall is all that's left.......
And it hurts
That's all
The fall.