A Potpourri Of Pipsqueaks & Problems & Poems, Oh My

The Pipsqueak Part – So Much Energy, I Had To Laugh

In the mornings after I wake up my ritual is to brew a pot of coffee, pour myself a mug of the stuff, and [when possible] go outside to drink it whilst gazing upon nature, absorbing the stillness of morning.

Being at one with the universe, dagnabbit.

However the other morning at about 7:20 am, as I’m communing with nature sitting on the deck at the back of our house, I hear noise. It’s a loud unfamiliar sound coming from the front of the house.

What am I hearing?

It’s the kids, the little twerps, kindergartners mostly, in front of our house waiting for the school bus to pick them up. And they are all howling like wolf pups, loudly, with gusto.

Which has prompted neighborhood dogs in backyards, like Irene [Great Dane], and Cookie [Dalmatian], and Rocco [Beagle-ish pound puppy] to join in with the little human wolf puppies, howling louder than the kids.

Creating a glorious cacophony, that while unexpected, got me laughing so hard I almost spilled the coffee in my mug.

And that would never do.

The Problem Part – In Which We Mourn A Loss 

After 12 years of service our furnace died. We knew the end was coming but buying a new one isn’t exactly the most exciting use of money. Nonetheless with a loud *sigh* we got a new one.

The new furnace, like its predecessor, is in our unfinished basement. The installation took most of a day and went smoothly under the auspices of a guy I shall call Jake. He was quiet, knowledge, and seemed to have endless energy.

Welp, once the furnace was hooked up Jake had us follow him into the basement so he could explain the new furnace, as in parts and filters, and to show us the new sticker with his name on it saying that he’d installed the furnace.

Every time a maintenance tech comes to service the furnace they leave their initials on the official permanent sticker that starts with the name of the guy who installed it.

Very organized.

But here’s the thing, the unexpected turn in what we assumed would be a standard conversation with Jake, he got choked up when talking about putting his sticker on our furnace.

Come to find out 12 years ago Jake’s beloved mentor, Tom, had installed our old furnace placing his sticker on it. And, as Jake explained, seeing Tom’s writing on the old sticker reminded Jake that Tom had recently died.

Jake was visibly bereft about Tom’s passing, on the verge of tears. Thus while Zen-Den and I politely said things like “my condolences” and “I’m sorry for your loss” Jake stopped talking entirely. Then we three stood in front of our new furnace having an impromptu minute of silence in honor of Tom.

May he rest in peace.

The Poem Part – I Gave It A Try And Here Is What I Wrote

A couple of weeks ago Kari at a grace full life wrote a poem based on an “I Am From” template [HERE]. Then after sharing her poem she politely challenged us to write our own poems.

Challenge accepted!

Below is my poem, titled in the way that Kari did hers, created by following the prompts on the template, but written using my own punctuation because, really, the punctuation on the template makes no sense.

~ • ~

My “Where I’m From” Poem

I am from legal pads of yellow paper

From office supply stores and college book stores.

I am from the small house on a brick street

Comfy, well-tended, scented with bayberry candles.

I am from hickory nuts,

Purchased whole, shelled, and baked into a birthday cake.

I’m from artificial Christmas trees and frugality

From Daisy Alice and JW.

I’m from helpers and bookworms

From relatives who preached the gospel and taught school.

I’m from Methodists and Presbyterians, a family that went to church but didn’t take it too seriously.

I’m from Ohio and can look to Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and Germany to find my ancestors.

I’m from Garibaldi biscuits and strong black loose tea measured in metal tea balls,

From childhood afternoons with my stay-at-home dad who eschewed coffee for tea, always.

The people who came to the USA to farm, and to fight in wars, and to get an education,

Leaving but a few photos of themselves behind,

While handing down antique furniture, most unique.

~ ~ • ~ ~

A Poem In Which We Once Again Talk About Fuzzy The Squirrel

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The morning was beautiful, the sky was blue,

I glanced out the window for something to do.

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Neighbor Kitty, most calm, asleep in the leaves,

While above him there plotted three sciurine thieves.

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Their leader, a dickens, named Fuzzy by me,

Stared down upon Kitty, while perched in a tree.

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I feared for them all should trouble arise,

But Kitty kept sleeping, there was no surprise.

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The squirrels soon tired of barking at cat,

And decided to use the limb for a chat.

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The photo you see makes it look oh so dreamlike,

But I swear to you here, it truly was scheme-like.

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This post is now over, my rhyme will be ending,

But with Fuzzy’s approval, this poem I’m sending.

Bunny Haiku & To April I Say Adieu

April is one of my least favorite months of the year.

I’m allergic to it and I don’t groove on all the mud courtesy of the rain and I have to pay taxes and I have to watch on the news while “patriotic” wingnuts get their panties in a wad over what it means to be an American and et cetera, et cetera.

Blah.

However, one thing that I do like about April is that it’s national poetry month.  I didn’t learn much of anything about poetry when I was in college because my English major program was much too practical for such things, but I did learn how to write a haiku.

Thus I give you the following poem, with stunning rabbit-y photos taken yesterday, as my good-bye to April, a month that makes me sneeze like no other month can.

Ah-choo.

Bunny Haiku

Bunny on a hill,

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Spotted me, then turned ’round,

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Now perfectly still.

The Bean Abides

A Poem on the Occasion of the Beginning of my 12th Year in the Blogosphere

• • •

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• • •

I started small because I didn’t know,

What to expect from this blogging show.

My friends in real life ignored my blog dream,

It made me so mad that I wanted to scream.

But continuing on I wrote each day,

Knowing that others would head this way.

• • •

My mantra simple, my goals were clear:

Give the readers a story to cheer.

“I will not whine, nor over-share,

I will show up and rarely swear.

I am authentic, I refuse to mock, 

I enjoy learning, and taking stock.”

• • •

Perspicacious am I, willing to share,

Light of heart, but still I care.

Nuanced and nutty, in equal part,

I have been quirky, right from the start.

Stick-to-itiveness, I think you’ll agree,

Is the word that best describes me.

• • •

Free-spirited, niche-less, with content well-written,

Yet editors varied with me are not smitten.

No Freshly Pressed badge, will you see here,

It seems what I write, they just do not hear.

But now gentle readers, in you I confide,

No matter what happens, the Bean will abide.

• • •

A special thanks to la peregrina at Santiago Dreaming who’s been here with me from the beginning AND to Margaret at Stargazer who’s been around here for almost as long.  You both paid attention to me when no one else did– and helped me, a reserved introvert, gain the confidence to keep on writing.  Love you both.

[H/T to D. Parker at yadadarcyyada whose wonderful post “Why I Will Never Be Freshly Pressed” put me in a mind to write this poem.]