Tag Archives: humour

In Anticipation

 

I look forward to the time ,

When I can feel the sun on my back.

And greet a dear friend,

Without any flack .

 

I want to wander the streets,

With nary a care.

I want to hug a stranger,

Put my hands in their hair.

 

I want to smile with my mouth,

So, everyone can see.

I want to eat in a restaurant,

Where people can be.

 

Travelling the world,

Would be on my list.

Or simply the next town,

These things I have missed.

 

I know it’s not possible,

To break all the rules.

They are there for a reason,

The Breakers are fools.

 

So, with patience I’ll wait,

For this time to be done.

Then we will be free,

To walk in the sun.

Love and the Lancaster Bomber

Barb Taub, over at barbtaub.com, wrote a lovely, humorous piece about how she and her husband of 40 years, met. It had me smiling as I remembered how my parents met. So, I promised her I would regal you with their story.

Whenever people ask about how my parents first met, I start by saying that my mother picked my father up in a bar. That usually gets everyone laughing. Including my mother. But things were only slightly different.

If you would first allow me to put their story into context. The year is 1945. World War II is over and servicemen are returning home from the war. Picture if you would an Avro Lancaster heavy bomber flying not very far over Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. The young men inside were celebrating having won a World War so they thought that they would give the people of this downtown neighbourhood a bit of a thrill. They took their heavy bombers and flew low as if they were making a strafing run. (shooting bullets at people on the ground) The people in the offices got quite a thrill that day! Their next stop was to do the same run, on farmers’ fields. That didn’t go over quite as well. When they handed over their planes, they found fencing materials wrapped around the wheels. The commander was not well pleased. They were told later that the cows stopped giving milk for a week.

During that time there were canteens or coffee shops set up where returning military could get a cuppa coffee, a sandwich and perhaps a conversation with a pretty lady.  In the evenings my mother was one of many women who was working as a hostess. It was a way to thank the service men for their service and welcome them back into civilian society.  As my mother was making the rounds and chatting with everyone, she noticed someone that she recognized. She went over to the table with two young men in uniform, sat down, introduced herself and said to one of the young men “Are you Norm  . . .?” He replied in the negative but the three of them struck up a conversation. ‘Norm’ asked my mother out on a date and she agreed. After a few dates they parted amicably.

   

Short time after that my mother was walking in downtown Winnipeg and ran into the second man she had met at the table. They had a long conversation that day and then they started to date. Another week goes by and the young man is greeted on the street by his brother who asks why he has not been home to see his mother since he is now back from the war. He didn’t tell my mother that part.

Many years later even more of the story unfolded. My father was regaling his family about his bomber run on downtown Winnipeg. It was at that point my mother stated that she was one of the people in the window watching his plane go by!

They were married for 58 years and were true partners. They completed each other. My mother was a social butterfly and my father was a wanna be hermit. But his job as a salesman succeeded in large part to his partner. In those days clients were entertained in a salesman’s home. Deals were made on golf courses. It was a much more intimately social time.

When my parents married, my mother admitted that she didn’t know how to cook. My father simply handed her a cookbook and said if you can read, you can cook. He bolstered her confidence when she didn’t believe in herself and she provided the social outlet that my father found so difficult. I read once that a good relationship is 60/40.  Some days you would give 60% some days you would give 40% and a good partner would pick up the slack. That was my mom and dad. And those dinner parties my parents would throw for his clients? My mother’s cooking ended up being a highlight!

My father died 62 years after he met my mother. He always maintained that he was a better person with her. And she believed she was too. I grew up surrounded by love, laughter and common sense. My parents let me make my own mistakes and never judged. They were always nearby when I needed them and they gave the best hugs ever!

And one more interesting fact for those who believe in such things. My father was in the hospital for five days before he died. My mother was in bed for five days before she died, five years after my father did. I grew up in a family of five. Spooky? My parents would see the humour.

The image of the Lancaster is from istockphoto.com.

Smile

The world is in chaos,

And my mind is a blank.

I tried to be witty,

But I think that it stank!

 

The world is not laughing,

Cuz nothing is funny.

But I have a plan,

To make it a little bit sunny.

 

I’ve said it before,

And I’ll say it again.

A smile brightens a room,

It’s a simple refrain.

 

Even hidden by masks,

And so far apart.

A nod or a wave,

Is a good place to start.

 

Then respect and some kindness,

Could be tossed in the mix.

Perhaps it will catch on,

And be part of the fix.

 

We must come together,

To be part of the cure.

I know we can do it,

This I am sure!

 

It’s not always easy,

Impossible some times.

But we can’t stop now,

When everything rhymes!

 

A Snowball’s Chance

 

He was brought into being,

On a cold winter’s night.

Two warring young factions,

And a friendly snow fight.

 

He was cold and quite round,

With a definite flair.

His head full of snow,

Instead of with hair.

 

He flew through the sky,

With an abundance of glee.

Then splat it was over,

On the side of a tree.

 

He picked himself up,

And patted his head.

“No more of this!”,

I think that he said.

 

He played in the snow,

But away from the boys.

“Life is for living,

I’m not one of their toys!”

 

Seasons do change,

At least here in the north.

And soon it was warmer,

The flowers burst forth.

 

Everyone thought,

Their snow friends had gone.

Perhaps then next winter.

Once again they’d be spawn.

 

But our hero of note,

Had just made a plan.

He’d stay though the seasons,

And come forth as a man.

 

On a warm summer’s day,

When the freezer is humming.

Behind ice cubes and creams,

He might just be slumming.

 

So remember these words,

As you shiver with cold.

Our hero is near,

He’ll never grow old!

A Critique of Bloggers

Critique

Noun:

a detailed analysis and assessment of something, especially a literary, philosophical, or political theory.

Verb:

evaluate (a theory or practice) in a detailed and analytical way.

Definitions from Oxford Languages

Analysis, account, review, appraisal, criticize, comment . . .

When I wrote my first post in 2013 I had no idea what I was doing. A lot of bloggers start that way. Maybe that’s a good thing. It allows us to grow as our blogs grow without any preconceived ideas. I have learned much from reading other blogs, other opinions. And my blog has grown as I have grown.

I recently posted a poem called a Shrivel of Critics and it was about the collective nouns that describe a group. It was fun and whimsical and with no thought of anything past the last line. And then one of my followers asked a question. Thank you Dan, over at nofacilities.com. Now anyone that knows me understands that I have an insatiable curiosity. If I don’t know something and I know that I don’t know, then I want to know. Have I confused you yet? So, I looked up what the collective noun was for a group of bloggers.  There isn’t one. Not an official one.

Several of my followers submitted possibilities for a name and most of them were amusing and pretty good I must say. But my creative, analytical mind went hummmmm . . .  I wanted something that describes what bloggers do in its most general of terms. I wanted something that rolled off the tongue. I wanted something cool!

So, I got a little more sand for my sandbox and started to play. What I came up with was Critique of Bloggers. Critique is one of those words that is kind of fun to say and it has a lot of meanings. Bloggers are different. We have different likes, different dislikes and different passions. It is that difference that makes us all so valuable. We each bring something different to the table. I guess the only part of blogging that is the same for everyone is that it is done online.

Some blogs analyze things or give opinions on Books or policies or life in general. Some are commentaries on other peoples’ blog.  Some offer poetry or short stories that are in themselves a reflection of life, fantasy or morality. Basically, life is a commentary on life.  We play in a medium of words and each one of us is an artist in our own right. The fact that we are brave enough to share is one of the best miracles. And while it might not catch on, I am proud to be a part of a Critique of Bloggers

 

Walk With Pride

 

 

They can’t really see me

They don’t know that I’m here.

Then why all the fuss

The hysterical fear?

 

This Halloween craze

Is really bizarre.

People pretending

To be what we are.

 

They wear their costumes

And go out for a lark.

Then I and my kind

Can wander the park.

 

I know you’re pretending

But I’m certainly not.

And once in a while

It ok to get caught.

 

I hide from your view

The rest of the year.

But today I’m quite close

Inhaling your fear.

 

Over your shoulder

Just by your side,

Are others like me

The dead walk with pride.

 

The Witch’s Brew

Eddy stepped back from the sign that she had just hung up outside the open door and thought about what had brought her to this point.  Edwina Roxanne Dupuis was a woman of exquisite taste.  Even if she was the only one who thought so. She had conjured up the idea of a neighbourhood coffee and tea house almost 3 years ago and it was only now getting its finishing touches.  It seemed appropriate that opening day was actually Halloween.  It was Edwina’s favourite holiday. She also felt that the name Edwina didn’t fit her character on any day so she always went by Eddy.

“Eddy do you want to use orange tablecloths or burnt umber.  And what in heaven’s name is the difference?  They both look the same to me.”

The voice that had just interrupted her reverie belonged to her not so silent partner Joshua.  They had met and become friends while both were attending university.  Years went by while they pursued their individual careers.  Unfortunately, neither was satisfied and when they met up again in a coffee shop, they were each looking for something new.  From that coincidental meeting came the idea for The Witch’s Brew.

“Burnt umber Joshua.  If you can’t see the difference then you are colour blind.”

Joshua stood for a moment looking at the two tablecloths, one in each hand.  His head went back and forth trying to discern a difference.  Instead he just shook his head.  Fortunately, each had a label so he was actually able to tell which was which.

“There is no difference,” he whispered quietly to himself.  They might be partners but she was still the boss.

A little louder he said, “The place looks fabulous!  You’ve done a great job Eddy.”

The woman in question came in to the coffee shop proper and she was smiling. “We did a great job Joshua.  I may have been the driving force but you provided the money and the moral support.  I’ll never forget that.

Joshua smiled.  Maybe she’d start to look at him a little differently.  There was more to him than friendly support and a buck or two.  He had been nursing a crush on Eddy since the day they met more than 10 years ago.  Unfortunately, circumstances did not allow them to explore a relationship.  Maybe now it would.  She just had to see him as more than a business partner.

“I’m curious, why did you choose Halloween as the opening day?”

“It’s my favourite holiday.  It’s nice when people are able to let go of convention, and be something they are not.  Or perhaps it’s when their real characters are allowed to shine.  We have no idea who and what people really are unless they tell us.”

As she spoke Eddy moved behind the coffee bar and started to polish an already gleaming counter.  She didn’t look at Joshua as she talked and he wondered if the words she used were meant for him specifically.

“Okay boss lady, what do we still need to do before tomorrow’s grand opening?  Geez, do I have to wear a costume?”

Eddy stopped fussing and looked at Joshua. “Of course you have to wear a costume!  It’s Halloween! And all that’s left to do is put out some flowers and put on a couple of pots of coffee.”

Joshua looked slightly alarmed. “I can handle the coffee, but a costume?”

“Oh and everything is going to be free tomorrow morning, just up until 12 o’clock.  I can’t think of a better way to get people to come into our shop.  It’ll cost a few dollars but I think it will be worth it in the end when people realize what a great place it is.  Are you okay with that money man?”

“Sure Eddy what ever you want.” He seemed somewhat distracted, “I could go as a pirate. They’re macho.  What are you going as?”

“Well as a witch of course.” Eddy’s laughter brightened the room immensely. “Don’t worry Joshua I promise not to turn you into a toad, unless of course you use orange tablecloths instead of the burnt umber!”

The two friends shared a good-natured chuckle.  There was only one problem: the two people in the room were not exactly what they appeared to be.  Each one had a secret they were hiding from the other.

*******************

 

The day was finally over and with a satisfying click the front door was closed and locked.  One individual was already sprawled over a couch, his shoulders sagging with relief.  The other was slowly patrolling the room picking up the odd cup and saucer.

“We did it Joshua.  And I think it was a huge success.  Now I am so tired I could cheerfully sell this place for a dollar.” With that Eddy sat down in the nearest chair, her chin slowly sliding towards her chest.

The figure on the couch stirred for a moment, his hand raised and a very small voice uttered only one word: “Sold!”

After a moment the two laughed quietly.  Several more minutes went by before Eddy forced her head to rise up and survey the newest hip spot on the street.  The Witch’s Brew was a success!

“Wake-up Joshua, there is still a ton of work to do.  We have to tidy this place up and get it ready for tomorrow morning.  And we have got to hire some staff. . . .”  Eddy’s voice continued on.  She was outlining the necessary steps for the successful run of their joint venture.  While she straightened up, she continued to talk.  She assumed that Joshua was listening.  But he was not.

Some movement had caught his eye.  From his comfortable perch on the couch he could just make out a piece of black wool that seemed to be undulating from behind a coffee bag.  He was mesmerized. For the life of him he could not understand why someone would have draped a piece of wool on the shelf.  Maybe he was still sleeping.  But that piece of wool seemed to be beckoning him.

With a quick glance to be sure that Eddy was otherwise occupied, Joshua slowly approached the wayward wool.  He was pretty sure he was over tired and hallucinating which is why he didn’t want to let Eddy know what he was doing.  After only half a dozen steps he could actually reach out towards his vision.  A fraction of an inch away from the piece of wool he stopped, inhaled deeply and thrust his hand forward.

“Ahhhhhhh! Oh my….!!!!  Call 911! It has eyes!” In his hurry to get away from the apparition, Joshua backed into a chair and sat down, hard.  The chair tilted back and he was on the floor with his legs in the air.  His mouth opened and closed repeatedly as he tried to speak.  All that came out was a guttural “Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!”

Eddy raced to his side and knelt down, concerned.  Her eyes followed the direction of his finger that was pointing in desperation at the path from which he had just fled. A small black figure raised its head and stared pointedly at the two people in the middle of the floor.  The demon in question then opened its mouth and uttered one syllable “Meow!”

With no regard for her fallen partner’s about to be bruised ego, Eddy burst out laughing hysterically.  She patted Joshua on the shoulder and then move towards the shelf.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding Sebastian.  I wondered where you’d been.”

The aptly named Sebastian was cleaning his whiskers when he was unceremoniously picked up.  Eddy cuddled the tiny black kitten with the big-name and turned to face poor Joshua.

“Did I forget to tell you that The Witch’s Brew has a mascot?  Sebastian this is Joshua.  Joshua meet Sebastian.”

Joshua could do nothing more than stare at what he thought was a demon.  It is doubtful that the small kitten weighed more than a pound or two.  He was completely black except for those mesmerizing green eyes and a very tiny pink tongue.

Eddy was nuzzling the furball and her voice was muffled.  “I know you love me Joshua, and I love you too but you have to love my cat as well.”

Stunned, Joshua stood up. “I do, you know, love you.  I always have.  I didn’t know you knew.” He approached Eddy and put his arm around her and the small kitten. “Yes, your little demon is lovely and what a wonderful idea for the shop.  I guess every Witch needs her familiar.” The two chuckled, comfortable with themselves and with each other.

“Well, I guess we have a lot of work to do and we had better get at it.” Joshua left the two after a few moments and continued on with tidying the café while Eddy continued to cuddle Sebastian. It was almost as if the two were in deep conversation.

“I think it’s going to work.  But no magic Sebastian, you have to remain a cat.  And I have to make sure he never finds out that I am a real witch.”

The end

All Hallows Eve

 

 

It’s a dark quiet night,

The mist seems so slow.

The sounds that you hear,

They are deep and they’re low.

 

Something’s alive,

Like the hairs on your neck.

So very determined,

They creep slowly erect.

 

A touch on your shoulder,

A hand out of sight.

You skin starts to quiver,

You’ve taken a fright.

 

Look not behind you,

Breathe deeply and pray.

They’re moving so closely,

You hope they don’t stay.

 

There are goblins and witches,

A vampire or three.

They’re starting their haunt night,

So dangerously free.

 

Evil surrounds you,

It must be remembered.

Nothing is sacred,

You could be dismembered.

 

Of spectres and ghouls,

It’s one day a year.

Zombies and trolls,

There is so much to fear.

 

Take care you don’t anger,

Those near in your sight.

Membership is optional,

Except for tonight.

Mind Craze

Mini-mazes of the mind,

Where ideas go to breed.

They find a place they like to sit,

And then they plant a seed.

 

And in time there is a shoot,

A mini notion starts.

Then of course it gains it’s strength,

And plans those special parts.

 

Will it be a story,

Of lust and love and death?

Or will it be a poem,

About a baby’s breath?

 

I do not know the course,

The direction I will choose.

But I know I’m happy,

When words become my muse.

 

Mini-mazes of the mind,

A wondrous place to play.

Now I guess my time is up,

And I must say:  good day!

A Tale of a Tail

 

This is a tale of a tail

Attached to a rat

Who wanted some cheese

That belonged to a cat.

 

Now our cat loved to play

All day with a string

But it had been taken

By a dog who could sing.

 

And the cat knew the dog

Just wanted a bone

That belonged to a man

Who lived on his own.

 

But the man was annoyed

That his home had a mouse

Who scurried around

All over of the house.

 

If the mouse could be caught

Then the bone would be tendered

The string would drawn

And the cheese would be rendered.

 

Horrid the deeds

Would need to be done

Death and defying

Was the character of none.

 

So the tale of this tail

Will end on a high

In the house of the man

They all settled for pie!