Something New Has Been Added

My second daughter, R, decided that she needed a car for when she goes to college next fall. She has been working this school year and saving her money. So......



She just bought a 2007 Dodge Caliber. It is a cute little front wheel drive SUV. It has four doors, and will seat Five (four comfortably), with a decent sized cargo area in back. It is supposed to get 30 MPG highway. It has a nice stereo that she can plug her MP3 directly into, and handles well. I will TRY to post a picture of what it looks like. :o)

I hope that she is happy with it, and that it gives her many years of service. I also hope she is able to continue making the payments, for my credit score sake. :o)

Hang in there. Drive safe. Stick.

Where's My Spell and Grammar Check Button?

I have just started a long term subbing position at our High School. This position entails teaching freshman and junior Language classes. The teacher just went on leave to have a baby (which was born yesterday morning at 7:45 am. Mother and child are doing fine). She ladi out 8 weeks of lessons that she wants me to cover--no problem. She wants to check in periodically during her time off to see how things are going--no problem. I have to grade all the papers and work turned in while she is gone--PROBLEM! I hate grading English papers!

My wife teaches reading, writing, and math at the 6th grade level. She uses a computer program that tells the students what they have done wrong on their paper. It counts up spelling and grammar errors, and suggests changes that could be made. The students have the choice to leave their story as written, or make the changes. When they are done, the teacher can hit a submit button, and this porgram will check it for errors, and cross check it for plagiarism. All the teacher has to do is read through the error sheet and assign a grade. Unfortunately, I don't have access to that program for the High School.

Guess I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way.

Wish me luck. Have a great day. Stick.

Pink, Heart-Shaped Pancakes

One of my favorite memories of growing up was my mom's pancakes. We didn't often have time for this kind of breakfast, but occasionally, and on special holidays, she would make a big breakfast for us, including pancakes. On those days, she would sometimes make different shapes of pancake. Trains, hearts, shamrocks, etc. depending on the day or occasion, or on our creative suggestions. Turtles and rabbits sprang to life on the griddle, all to be consumed with butter and jam, or syrup (usually made from brown sugar and water, rarely store bought).

I have taken this tradition forward into my family. Valentines day sees us eating pink heart-shaped pancakes. St. Patrick's day gets green shamrocks. Easter finds us eating egg, or bunny, shaped pancakes, and at Christmas we are consuming ornaments and stockings. I have even learned how to make a smily face pancake. See me for the secret. :o)

I hope that this tradition carries on to my children and grandchildren(Just not too soon!). I would hate to think that somewhere down the line, one of our prodgeny missed the opportunity to eat a pink, heart-shaped valentine pancake. Think of the memories they would miss out on.

Take care. Share. Stick.

The Un-Spoken Word

Our oldest daughter inspired this poem. I'm not sure I like the ending yet, but here it is.


I should have said, “I love you,”
But I kept the words inside.
I should have said, “Good job,”
But I can’t say that I tried.
So many words unspoken
Too many non-replies
A simple “thank you” would have been fine,
And such a nice surprise.

How often have we passed
Without a single word,
When a thought, or two, of praise
Would not have seemed absurd.
Too many times we’ve chosen
To let the world pass us by
When we could become a part of it,
Instead of asking why?

Why do we let our friends and kin
Go on throughout each day,
Without telling them, “I love you,”
As if that’s so difficult to say.
There will come a time
When they won’t be around,
And then we’ll wish we’d said it twice,
If only for the sound.

Don’t let the moment slip on by,
Make every moment count.
You’ll increase the joy you have
By such a great amount.
Don’t wait another hour.
Don’t wait another day.
Let those around know how you feel,
It’s the greatest type of pay.

Take care. Stick.

Insomnia

You'll probably neve guess what inspired this one.



I lie awake and stare at the wall across the room.
I wonder what I’ve done to bring on this kind of doom.

My partner lies beside me, snoring away in solemn bliss.
Their sleep is yet untroubled as if nothing is amiss.

The minutes and the hours slip away into the night,
But my mind seems to think that something isn’t right.

I tried a glass of milk warmed gently for my cup.
I read a book, took a walk, and propped my head right up.

I counted all the sheep ever raised in county Glen,
And still could not drop off to sleep, so I took up my pen.

I thought that I could use the time to write to all my kin,
But found that my sleep-fogged brain had not a thought within.

And still I lay un-sleeping, while those around me are at rest.
If Morpheus would take me, I’d sleep right with the best.

The clock upon the wall takes no note of my distress,
And has slowed its working movement to half-rate--maybe less.

My tired eyes are burning, and I wish that they would close,
So that I could end my yearning, and slip into a calm repose.

The ticking of the clock on the wall beside my bed
Echoes like a tympani booming round inside my head.

One o’ clock, two o’ clock, then three slips slowly by.
I think if I see four, I’ll just break down and cry.

Then, suddenly it’s morning, and the bell is calling.
I think that this is by far the most appalling thing.


Have a great night. Stick.

A-Muse A-Miss

After my last post, I was thinking about Muses. What if they existed, and somebody DIDN'T have one, and still tried to write. That inspired this poem.

I tried to write a poem,
But the words just wouldn't come.
I know it sounds quite silly,
And even a little--stupid.

It seems no matter how I try
To make the lines all rhyme,
That they don't work out as they should,
Perhaps they will in--a while.

I had so many topics
To choose on which to write,
That I was sure my poem would flow,
And all in a single--evening.

I could write about love,
Or perhaps joy, or desire--
For these emotions burn within,
Like the embers of a--blaze.

Or maybe my poem should plumb the depths
Of anguish, or of pain,
But all these thoughts were washed away
Like dust in a summer--storm.

I think I wasn't meant to be
A poet, or a Bard.
Who would have thought that writing thus,
Would turn out to be so--difficult.

Have a great day. Stick

My Poetic Muse has Been Waxing Again

I don't know why, but my poetic musings seem to run in spurts. Sometimes it just seems that I want to write something, and then, for a while, I don't write anything. When I am in the poetic frame of mind, I can be very prolific. I'm not saying it's always earthshattering stuff, but at least I'm writing.

The last couple of weeks has been like that. I have not only written a couple of new poems, but I have been finishing a few that had been just sitting in my notebook. I recently posted one of these on the blog here, and I think I will post another. This one came from an inspiration given my my youngest son--Lightning.

Wind Wisdom
By Stick

I woke up this morning to a howlin¹
Round the eaves of my old shack.
It rocked the doors and windows
So I thought of an attack.

I could feel a breeze a creepin¹
Round the cracks and seams,
And hear the willows slappin¹
'Gainst the water in the stream.

Now I knew that the wind here
Could work up quite a blow,
And it could get quite bitter
If it took a mind to snow.

So, I slipped my tired old feet
Into each battered boot,
Then I paused before the door
To plan my working route.

I buttoned my old coat
Right to the very top.
I opened up the door,
And then I had to stop.

It wasn¹t that I didn¹t
Want to continue on outside,
But it took all my strength
To push the door open wide.

Once I got the door opened
Past the halfway mark,
It ripped itself out of my hands,
And flew off towards the park.

It was all that I could do
To keep standin¹ in the gap,
And I looked out in awe and wonder
As I held onto my cap.

I didn¹t have to guess
If the cow was in the shed,
For she went sailin¹ by
Hooves and tail up over head.

The shed was right behind her
Along with all the hay,
And where it ended up,
I just couldn¹t say.

Leaves, twigs, and sundry
Were all flyin¹ in the gale
Causin¹ such confusion and destruction
That a weaker man would quail.

I saw no sense in checkin¹
If my flocks were in the coop,
'Cause it was on its way to town
With all my little troop.

The trees up on the hillside,
Were all blown down and lyin¹ flat
And with a final glance around,
I sat down and took off my hat.

I braced the table in the frame
From where the door had fled,
Then I kicked off my boots,
And climbed back into my bed.

I said to myself, ³Don¹t worry
³Bout the cow, and coop, and shed.
The wind¹ll blow again tomorrow,
And you¹ll have yer neighbors stock instead.²


Have a Great Day. Stick.