Tales of a Shoebox Princess

Van of blue, Now I am blue too. Because I don't have you. Well, I still do, but you don't work. We got you to go to Utah one summer, and then in the winter, We took you to Florida. We've taken you to Washington DC also. And to Nauvoo. I think you've been to Canada once back before we had to have a passport to cross the border. I apologize for all the trash Katie, Jimmy, Paul, Hayley, and Matt (and sometimes I), Have left in you. I also apologize for that time I broke Your passenger side mirror. I apologized to Jim too He wasn't mad. At first you seemed too big to drive. But then you were my extended arms and legs That went really fast. Well, not that fast. You are, after all, only a van. And not a racecar. Now you refuse to take me anywhere unless we administer electrical CPR first. Your windshield wipers go off when they are not needed And not asked for. You also make funny clicking noises. Sometimes you ding even when the key isn...

And all over my rooms, appeared pumpkins, and witches astride their wood brooms. It's that time of year, I've looked forward with glee to putting out decorations for All Hallow's Eve! Jim got the box down this morning (and I think there is another box still to bring in) and I'm going to be preparing the house for the onslaught of orange and black, which means I have to remove the clutter from tabletops and piano tops and half walls and shelves, and then dust all horizontal surfaces that will be hosting decorative ornaments of the Halloween variety. New this year to the Halloween menagerie are: Ceramic pumpkins that Jim bought for me while vacationing in Cali. The purple one might make an appearance at Kate's MN reception. Keep an eye out for it. Halloween subway print a friend gave me A vinyl sticker I expertly applied to a pre-painted board A candy corn dish from my mother who knows I love candy corn. It has already held two bags of disappe...

I've been walkin' these streets so long Singing the same old song, I know every crack in the dirty sidewalks of Savage. Where "suburb" is the name of the game, And fat girls gotta walk their way in the snow and the rain. I got a load of exercisin' on the road to my horizon. But I wanna be where the lakes are all around me... OK enough of that. I took a walk this morning in very pleasant weather and surroundings. The picture about is at a local park where I sat and rested.

I'm up early for a Saturday but I can spend the morning in my bathrobe listening to the cats whine about not being fed It's not my job but they like me anyway I see a house of opportunity of things to do most I won't do (like feed the cats) Instead of doing I am looking at pretty things like valentines and a clean kitchen counter that I bathed yesterday along with the stove and uploading pictures to make a photobook of 2011 So I can look at what I did

Yes, it's just a piece of nonsense. But I do hear hints of red, yellow, and orange in the breeze. Fall is coming, and I am eagerly waiting for a Saturday drive through the leaves of Minnesota. With my camera, and with Jim, of course. Speaking of Jim, he and Other Jim are at a Twins' game. One of the last games of the season. They left without tickets, but with every confidence that there will be good seats available from scalpers or even the ticket office, if necessary. The Twins are bad, with a capital B, this year. It's a father/son outing. It would have been a father/son/mother outing, but somebody's gotta work. And it ain't the cats. Or maybe I wasn't invited. Oh well. I'll heat up some water for hot cocoa and sit at my desk and putter while I watch the yellowing going on outside my window. I am currently on a break from work. The boss, with a capital B, is out of town, and there are few matters for me to deal with so I gave myself a 2 hour bre...

In my blue decrepit van, Working's such a pain, Yes, I'm working for "the man." I have no idea what I just wrote. But sing it to the tune of "Dashing through the snow" because that's what I did. Gotta work 8 hours today, friends. Gotta go grocery shopping too. And get ready to receive Hayley back from her band trip into my empty arms. So no blogging today. You might get lucky tomorrow though because I only work 5 hours and Paul gets his braces off! I might have to show off his teeth. Pics from Hayley's band trip might be forthcoming too, but that depends on how many pictures she took and of what. You never know what a 14 year-old will do with technology. (SHE'S 14! TODAY!) And by the way, she hasn't texted ONCE since she left. We've texted her and not received answers. Cheeky girl. Have a fabulous day. Happy Birfday to Hayley! Any suggestions for a cake theme? Please?

But cheesy verse is easy. As in I couldn't write awesome poetry last night because my brain was constipated with this: Naptime I sleep when I get up too early I sleep when I wake up too late I sleep when my personality's surly I sleep when I clean off my plate. Sleep is the ultimate remedy I use it to cure most of my ills Sleep turns tragic to comedy But alas, it won't pay the bills. My brain utterly refuses to settle down and act serious when I tell it to.

It's hot today. I don't like hot. But I do like feeling much better after being ill over the weekend. I think I can actually leave the house today. Too bad it's hot out. Did I mention I don't like hot weather? I want to move north in the summer. In less sweltering news, I'm three assignments away from being done with my Personal History class. I had made a goal to finish it before Other Jim officially graduates from high school. With his party coming up very soon, I'm not sure if I'll make that goal, but it will be close. I might have to submit the last assignment (which is a big one--over 40 pages long--but comprised of edited versions of five or six of the assignments I will have turned in by then) after the party. Next up after that, Poetry. Limericks. It's gonna be all limericks. Speaking of which, I wrote one for my mom. She asked for a poem on Mother's Day and I didn't come through for her (sorry Mom. Frowny face). Mom, here's...

First, I post this bad poem for Jenni. I call it "Forty-one." No reason. (unless Jenni wants to admit to her age. Otherwise, I just picked the number out of a hat) It is your birthday, your birthday so fun, A day to rejoice as you turn forty-one. The play life is over, the real life begins You’ll have much to enjoy, you’ll wish you were twins. So smile at the day, and to the uglies that frown On your day, say, “Scram, I’ve no time to be down! Put on your pink shoes, your bangles and rings, Don your prettiest clothes and spread wide your wings. Dance to the music, drink deep from the font Getting older is fun! You can do what you want. You can say what you feel, there is no one to nag, Or lecture or reprimand, or say, “Scalliwag!” There is freedom in forties, and fifties and on, The days of being held back have up and have gone. So get on getting happy! Waste not your time! The best years are ahead, your life onward, sublime! Bad poetry, we love thee! I hope you enjoyed i...

Thank you to all who voted for me in the lullaby contest ! All ten of you must have voted every day because I was declared the winner! Get a load of my winner's tiara there on the sidebar. Isn't it fabulous? And thanks to the person who made me enter the contest. Here is my lullaby in its entirety (which took me all of five minutes to write 9 of the 11 lines. The other two lines required a shower to work out. It's amazing how conducive showers are to writing. To bad you CAN'T ACTUALLY WRITE IN THE SHOWER! I need a waterproof tablet and a water resistant pencil to keep in there, because memorizing what I write takes up like most of the shower time and I hate memorizing): Mommy's lullaby (Sung to the tune of Give Said the Little Stream) Sleep, said the mommy. Sleep Rest your head, Sleepyhead. Sleep said the mommy, Sleep As she tucks you into bed. You're small, you know, but wherever you go I'll be there to keep you safe. When you wake up we will play M...

There are some swell entries in my friend's lullaby contest (including one from me). Head on over and vote (for me). In other news, today is the conference meet for cross country. Cross your fingers (ha!) for us that the meet will not be canceled, like the last two meets. Paul really wants to run. He'll even run despite the snow that is still whitening the lawn from yesterday's flake-y weather. I'm also busy busy busy preparing for Matt's birthday party (tomorrow!). Matt and Hayley helped me test out some science tricks that will form the bulk of the party. The best trick we managed last night was a non-Newtonian liquid made from cornstarch and water. When mixed right, it is a liquid if you drag your finger slowly through it, but it becomes a solid if you tap your finger hard and fast on it. I saw it on a TV show where they had made a bunch of it and then were able to run across it. The website I found it on says it's like quicksand. Anyway, it was re...

So I was going to try to enter a lullaby-writing contest put on by a friend of mine , but when I sat down to think up some lyrics, all that came out of my brain was a Halloween-themed rhyme. I guess I'm just not the lullaby type. I'm a scare-your-children-to-death-before-bed-so-they-will-cry-for-hours type. I probably shouldn't have had kids. Pumpkins on the Porch (sung to the tune of "Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree. If you are not familiar with this song--and really you should be-- go here and listen to the tune) I looked out the window and what did I see? Pumpkins on the porch, staring back at me. Fall has brought me such a spooky surprise, Jack-o-lanterns with ghoulish eyes. With flickering smiles and wicked tricks They gave me a shock just to get their kicks, I shouldn’t have been scared, but 'twas a frightful scene, Creepy little pumpkins on Halloween!

A Violet is cute First the blessing, then time for to shoot. Bad poetry, how I love thee! This baby is so even-tempered! She didn't cry at all during her blessing. Vi and Grandma Mike wanted to get at least one shooting session in while we were there. He patiently showed Hayley and Matt how to shoot a pellet gun. An orange juice carton served as a target and both kids hit the target a couple of times. Hayley discovered that she has to shoot left-handed because it's hard to close her left eye to use her right eye to get the sights lined up. Get that? Neither did I. Anyway, she has an easier time shooting left-handed. Even though she does everything else right-handed. Matt's arms aren't quite long enough. This does not bode well for trombone playing. Oh well. He did hit the target. It looks like he is crying in this picture, but let me assure you that he is not. He just has his face mooshed up against the stock. My turn. I took three shots and hit the target...

Well, not MAJOR major, but cool anyway. My friend, Stephanie (she's not just an imaginary blog friend--I've actually been to her house) (she's also very intelligent and funny. Read her blog: Diapers and Divinity. It's on my blog roll) had a haiku contest. I just had to try my bad haiku writing skills and entered. Check it out ! And vote! (I won't be mad if you don't vote for me. But I might go cry in my room. Very quietly so you won't hear)

Did you miss me? I'm focusing my attention on poetry right now (and I've forgotten to bring my camera to post-worthy events) so I haven't had the energy (or pictures) to post. I didn't blog about the track banquet (Paul got his letter for track and got his Sub-5 club t-shirt)and...well, that was about it, really. Last night was the end-of-the-year Carillon Children's Choir concert, which I accompanied. It went well. And it was Hayley's last time; she's 12 and now too old. This is what I've been doing in my blog-absence. I've been practicing my accentual-syllabic verse-writing skills. 1. 2 lines of anapestic trimeter verse (BOLDed syllables are where the stresses are) From the BED to the WINdow it FLOATS On a BREEZE from some LAUGHing wee STOATS 2. Rhyming couplet in iambic pentameter he CALLED my NAME from UNderNEATH the TREE "come HOLD my HAND and SAY you LOVeth ME 3. Tercet with an aba rhyme scheme in iambic pentameter i MOPPED the FLOOR...

(Sing to the tune of the nursery rhyme "Little Boy Blue") Big ol' boy blue, Come call out "Play ball!" The pitchers and fielders Are awaiting your call. Where is that boy who calls "foul" or "fair?" He's still in the car, He's combing his hair. Heehee! This has been another installment of bad poetry coming to you courtesy of the bad poetess, Shoebox Princess, to mark the occasion of Paul's first stint as a paid umpire for the local Little League. Paul, of course, was not late. He didn't waste time primping before the game, as the poem implied. He got there early so he didn't have to rush. He spent several minutes at home trying to decide which shorts to wear, finally settling on one that had belt loops so he could wear a belt to hold up his little blue pocket thingie that holds his pen, game card, and a couple extra baseballs. I only watched for a few minutes--fake child wanted to play at the park and I figured I didn...

Like a child Adventure awaits Beckoning with a beam Courage to do Daring to dream Enjoying the day Fearing nothing at all Glad to be here Heeding the call I stand at the ready Jumping at a chance (Kite-like in the air) Leaping into dance Most of the day Noontime and night Opens up to the willing Perchance to take flight Quivering with energy Roiling and ready Summoning the will Tighten up, hold steady Up to the treasure Vivacity hath Where does it lie? X marks the path Yearning to play Zealous, facing the day OK. Poetry slam is over. Did you make it this far into my post? I picked a writing prompt from a list of ideas. Guess what the idea was that prompted me to write this? No peeking at other's guesses! Have a wonder-filled day! Edited to add: Hayley and Matt are memorizing poems for Grandma Olsen. Hayley has already memorized one called " Abou Ben Adhem " at Grandma's request. It's a beautiful poem and one that makes Grandma a little teary because her fath...

I looked in the microwave and what did I spy? Peas a-poppin' right before my eye. The garden has grown me a handful of green, And I wrecked them all by cooking them in that machine. I had picked a handful of sweet green peas, To eat with my lunch of salad and cheese, It's not at all fair, cuz now I have no pods, And my microwave is covered in hard green clods. (Sung to the tune of "Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree") Reason #1 not to cook freshly picked peas in the microwave: see above.

Monday, Monday, Start-of-the-week day When we work from dawn to dusk. By the time that Monday's over, All that's left of me's a burned-out husk. (Sung to the tune of Sunday, Monday ) Not really. I spend too much time blogging to be a burnt out husk at the end of the day. My quadriceps are the only part of me that is burning at the moment. I went on a bike ride this morning and since I got back, my quads have done nothing but complain. Whiners. But I must get into bike-riding shape so I can ditch the van on grocery trips to Aldi's. (like that will happen. I'd have to buy some sort of wagon that would attach to the back of the bike so I could haul the groceries home. And by the time I reached Aldi's, I'd probably be too tired to shop, much less bike back home with groceries for a large family) Heads up: Paul's 14th birthday is tomorrow! He wants cross country running shoes for his birthday so we will go to St. Paul to the running shoes store and ...

Jenni, of the sisterly nature and aquatic , posted a poem in response to a post of mine. Because I love bad poetry, I must share it with you. Yes, Jen, it is bad poetry. But that's why I like it. Here it is: Little Paul Horner, Sat in the Corner Tooting his little French Horn. Along came Morg's Sousa And didn't even excuse her And took up all the space in her room and in the car and everywhere else. That thing is huge. And my poem fell apart.