The little engine that could
Well I wish that little engine would
Put on a hefty burst of speed
And huff and puff away from me
So far it’s cost me days of sleep
And mountains of promises of keep
I haven’t seen my kids in days
For which they plan to make me pay
In Barbie Dolls and Ben Ten toys
Little pink ribbons and stuff for boys
I need to sleep perchance to dream
But oh how far away that seems
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Armageddon and the Gerbil
All nighters
Time is relative
Hour long meetings that stretch for days
Weekends that flash by in seconds
And deadlines that loom with intensity
Starting slowly and building to speed
Faster than a speeding bullet
When sleep becomes superfluous
Exhaustion passes after 24 hours
Running on caffeine, nicotine and junk food
What day is it?
I can’t remember
They merge and blur into single seething mass
And when the time comes to lay my head to rest
I cannot stop the relentless mental churning
A hamster caught on a spinning wheel
Running faster and faster
When the wheel stops his legs keep on running
And running
Towards a finish line
That exists only in his dreams
Hour long meetings that stretch for days
Weekends that flash by in seconds
And deadlines that loom with intensity
Starting slowly and building to speed
Faster than a speeding bullet
When sleep becomes superfluous
Exhaustion passes after 24 hours
Running on caffeine, nicotine and junk food
What day is it?
I can’t remember
They merge and blur into single seething mass
And when the time comes to lay my head to rest
I cannot stop the relentless mental churning
A hamster caught on a spinning wheel
Running faster and faster
When the wheel stops his legs keep on running
And running
Towards a finish line
That exists only in his dreams
Friday, November 6, 2009
Silkworms
A treatise on the phenomenon of silkworms. These creepy crawlies form the longest lasting true underground currency in schools across the country. You can’t purchase silkworms at pet stores, silkworms are handed down from schoolboy to schoolboy in clandestine playground negotiations. Hence the shoebox currently in my kitchen.
As an adult I cannot understand my childhood fascination with these most tedious of pets. Nonetheless I recently found myself responsible for the well being and continued existence of twenty odd worms housed in an old shoebox. I wonder if my parents chose the houses in which we lived based on their inclusion of a mulberry tree on the premises. I think I shall add it to my house hunting wishlist.
Currently I leap from my car in the middle of rush hour traffic to madly attack Mulberry trees that border on highways, byways and in other people’s gardens. I have denuded my neighbour’s Mulberry tree, probably planted for the express reason of feeding silkworms’ voracious appetites.
Now I have become a nighttime Mulberry tree raider. Passersby watched me puzzled. Neighbourhood security guards have graduated from watching me with suspicion to outright amusement.
Now I stand and stare hopelessly at a box filled with moths and about 10 million eggs. Perhaps they have a high infant mortality rate? Otherwise silkworms look set to take over the world. Google is filled with comments from anxious parents on how to rid their homes and gardens of the silkworm invasion. I vaguely remember when I finally bored of mine, setting them free on our Mulberry tree. This is apparently NOT a good thing to do. Now you know.
As an adult I cannot understand my childhood fascination with these most tedious of pets. Nonetheless I recently found myself responsible for the well being and continued existence of twenty odd worms housed in an old shoebox. I wonder if my parents chose the houses in which we lived based on their inclusion of a mulberry tree on the premises. I think I shall add it to my house hunting wishlist.
Currently I leap from my car in the middle of rush hour traffic to madly attack Mulberry trees that border on highways, byways and in other people’s gardens. I have denuded my neighbour’s Mulberry tree, probably planted for the express reason of feeding silkworms’ voracious appetites.
Now I have become a nighttime Mulberry tree raider. Passersby watched me puzzled. Neighbourhood security guards have graduated from watching me with suspicion to outright amusement.
Now I stand and stare hopelessly at a box filled with moths and about 10 million eggs. Perhaps they have a high infant mortality rate? Otherwise silkworms look set to take over the world. Google is filled with comments from anxious parents on how to rid their homes and gardens of the silkworm invasion. I vaguely remember when I finally bored of mine, setting them free on our Mulberry tree. This is apparently NOT a good thing to do. Now you know.
Enter Sandman
Small boy aged 7 has developed a strong affinity for hard rock. In an attempt to educate him on the nuances of musical influences we cranked up the volume on Metallica Enter Sandman. “As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep…” “Now,” said I, “This part of the song is actually a prayer.” Little did I know where that would lead.
Small boy aged 7 spent several days playing the song over and over on the iPod. This afforded me some quiet in the car and I wasn’t about to complain. And then… I got the call every parent fears, “This is the headmistress. Could you come and speak to me please?”
Teachers, especially headmistresses, have a way of asking you to do something that leaves you no option but to meekly comply. This is how I found myself facing Mrs. Popplewell and the school priest, Father Ian, across the immense expanse of her table.
“We encourage the boys to suggest prayers for us to include in the services,” said Father Ian. I must have looked a bit confused here, but Mrs. Popplewell jumped into what was becoming less of a dramatic pause and more of an uncomfortable silence. “Your son came in with a prayer yesterday.” I nodded helplessly, my stomach sinking slowly down into the depths of my body seemingly attached to a giant iron anchor more at home from the Titanic.
Apparently, small boy aged 7 requested the prayer “As I lay me down to sleep.” If he had left it there it would have been fine. However, he put on a deep voice a la Metallica and once he had finished the prayer then launched into an a capella version of Enter Sandman complete with head banging and air guitar accompaniment.
Mortified doesn’t do it justice. Neither did the mildly hysterical amusement that bubbled through my system. I readied myself to launch into empty promises of boy bands and nursery rhymes when I realized both Mrs. Popplewell and Father Ian were shaking in laughter themselves.
Things sure have changed. My headmistress was a humour amputee. There’s hope yet. Nonetheless, I think we’ll be listening to Gregorian Chants from now on.
Small boy aged 7 spent several days playing the song over and over on the iPod. This afforded me some quiet in the car and I wasn’t about to complain. And then… I got the call every parent fears, “This is the headmistress. Could you come and speak to me please?”
Teachers, especially headmistresses, have a way of asking you to do something that leaves you no option but to meekly comply. This is how I found myself facing Mrs. Popplewell and the school priest, Father Ian, across the immense expanse of her table.
“We encourage the boys to suggest prayers for us to include in the services,” said Father Ian. I must have looked a bit confused here, but Mrs. Popplewell jumped into what was becoming less of a dramatic pause and more of an uncomfortable silence. “Your son came in with a prayer yesterday.” I nodded helplessly, my stomach sinking slowly down into the depths of my body seemingly attached to a giant iron anchor more at home from the Titanic.
Apparently, small boy aged 7 requested the prayer “As I lay me down to sleep.” If he had left it there it would have been fine. However, he put on a deep voice a la Metallica and once he had finished the prayer then launched into an a capella version of Enter Sandman complete with head banging and air guitar accompaniment.
Mortified doesn’t do it justice. Neither did the mildly hysterical amusement that bubbled through my system. I readied myself to launch into empty promises of boy bands and nursery rhymes when I realized both Mrs. Popplewell and Father Ian were shaking in laughter themselves.
Things sure have changed. My headmistress was a humour amputee. There’s hope yet. Nonetheless, I think we’ll be listening to Gregorian Chants from now on.
The wrong side
Small girl aged 3 requested toast with Bovril on top for an after dinner snack. As her maternal parent, I obliged and threw in an extra piece for small boy aged 5 for good measure.
Small girl aged 3 narrowed her baby blues as she reviewed the toast laid before her. “Mummy,” stated small girl aged 3, “This is not right. I told you to put the Bovril on top of the toast.” Bemused I looked down at her golden head and explained that as she could clearly see, the Bovril was in fact on the top of the toast. “No! No! No!” small girl aged 3 cried as huge tears filled up her eyes.
This is when I looked to the paternal influence for guidance. Displaying a unique talent for understanding the rationale of small girl aged 3, he bent down and asked, “Did Mummy put Bovril on the wrong side?” The sense of relief in small girl aged 3 as palpable. “Yes!” she exclaimed as the tears rolled in great pearls down her cheeks.
I was floored. This was where I walked away to leave the father to make a new piece of toast with the Bovril on the top. In retrospect I wonder small girl aged 3 has conducted an experiment vis a vis dropping a piece of toast on the floor to see that it landed Bovril side up ergo her mother had put it on the wrong side.
Small girl aged 3 narrowed her baby blues as she reviewed the toast laid before her. “Mummy,” stated small girl aged 3, “This is not right. I told you to put the Bovril on top of the toast.” Bemused I looked down at her golden head and explained that as she could clearly see, the Bovril was in fact on the top of the toast. “No! No! No!” small girl aged 3 cried as huge tears filled up her eyes.
This is when I looked to the paternal influence for guidance. Displaying a unique talent for understanding the rationale of small girl aged 3, he bent down and asked, “Did Mummy put Bovril on the wrong side?” The sense of relief in small girl aged 3 as palpable. “Yes!” she exclaimed as the tears rolled in great pearls down her cheeks.
I was floored. This was where I walked away to leave the father to make a new piece of toast with the Bovril on the top. In retrospect I wonder small girl aged 3 has conducted an experiment vis a vis dropping a piece of toast on the floor to see that it landed Bovril side up ergo her mother had put it on the wrong side.
Monday, November 2, 2009
New Day
Sitting here just wasting time
Guess I’m doing just fine
For a first day
A new way
I miss your voices
Wonder at my choices
Miss the scent of cigarettes
Miss the friends well met
New names, new faces
New pens and parking spaces
It’s quiet in here
A breath of fresh air
No idea of where it’ll take me
All I can do is wait and see
A tingling expectation
Waiting at the station
For my train to come
Guess I’m doing just fine
For a first day
A new way
I miss your voices
Wonder at my choices
Miss the scent of cigarettes
Miss the friends well met
New names, new faces
New pens and parking spaces
It’s quiet in here
A breath of fresh air
No idea of where it’ll take me
All I can do is wait and see
A tingling expectation
Waiting at the station
For my train to come
Oink
When last time I heeded the call to try something new
I made a mistake that caused amusement to all but a few
I’m glad to say that all seems to be well
Not another descent into polyester hell
No-one died to give me a parking spot
It’s got my name on it and that’s saying a lot
I don’t wish that I were there
But I do wish that some of you were here
I think you’d like the quiet of the place
A different kind of change of pace
There’s a baby pig that walks around
A porcine mascot from lost and found
God knows how large he’ll grow to be
I guess I’ll have to stick around and see
I made a mistake that caused amusement to all but a few
I’m glad to say that all seems to be well
Not another descent into polyester hell
No-one died to give me a parking spot
It’s got my name on it and that’s saying a lot
I don’t wish that I were there
But I do wish that some of you were here
I think you’d like the quiet of the place
A different kind of change of pace
There’s a baby pig that walks around
A porcine mascot from lost and found
God knows how large he’ll grow to be
I guess I’ll have to stick around and see
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