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Thursday, December 15, 2011

More Family Poetry.

We heard this poem daily. Big surprise when I googled it and found out it was written by Ogden Nash. For some reason I thought we predated him.

THE TALE OF CUSTARD THE DRAGON

By Ogden Nash

Copyright Linell Nash Smith and Isabel Nash Eberstadt

Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

1936


This is another favorite.

MOO COW MOO

Edmund Vance Cooke


My papa held me up to the Moo Cow Moo
So close I could almost touch,
And I fed him a couple of times or so,
And I wasn't a fraid-cat, much.

But if my papa goes in the house,
And my mamma she goes in too,
I keep still like a little mouse
For the Moo Cow Moo might Moo.

The Moo Cow's tail is a piece of rope
All raveled out where it grows;
And it's just like feeling a piece of soap
All over the Moo Cow's nose.

And the Moo Cow Moo has lots of fun
Just switching his tail about,
But if he opens his mouth, why then I run,
For that's where the Moo comes out.

The Moo Cow Moo has deers on his head,
And his eyes stick out of their place,
And the nose of the Moo Cow Moo is spread
All over the Moo Cow's face.

And his feet are nothing but fingernails,
And his mamma don't keep them cut,
And he gives folks milk in water pails,
When he don't keep his handles shut.

But if you or I pull his handles, why
The Moo Cow Moo says it hurts,
But the hired man sits down close by
And squirts, and squirts, and squirts.

Sibs, let me know about any you remember. I'm going to work on lyrics next.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

woo hoo! I found it!

I hope this follows the technodysfunctional post. I stumbled across this blog by accident, having forgotten the name and where I stashed it.
I think my kids will enjoy looking back 3 years.


Monday, February 2, 2009

The Family Birthday

Harold Ward Crowley Feb 2 1909

Astronomer, Mathematician, farmer. He maintained a 2 1/2 acre vegetable garden into his nineties. Grandpa had me wrapped around his little finger. He just had to mention something strange that he liked and hadn't eaten since his mother died, and I'd be scouring the nets for butter steamed parsnips, tomato jam, venison mince pie.
He was my little Nikisa's kindred spirit and they would sit for hours in companionable silence, enjoying each other. I did marry Wayne for his own qualities, but his family also kind of turned my head. Grandpa was the best grandfather-in-law ever.

Vernon Edward Roberts
Bayard NE Feb 2 1917


My dad could make anything. A backhoe that dug a six inch wide trench, or a ten gallon pot of "Mulligan Stew" He loved hot peppers, rare steak, and sweet music. He wanted to be an engineer, the kind that drives trains, and as a teenager took a freight train from western Nebraska to Council Bluffs to look for work. He related it as his life's big adventure, not a "Grapes of Wrath" disaster, though it probably was some of that. He was always surprised to be loved.
He was too fragile from broken homes, too tender for the carnage of WWII, I am not sure he ever really came home. He's been gone thirty years, and I still have dreams in which he is healed.

Crystal Dawn Norton
Ainsworth, NE, Feb 2, 19XX (not wishing to offend her vanity as she is still with us and thinks maybe she is not such a spring chicken as she'd like to be ;-)

My feisty daughter-like thing, who thinks she needs no daughter-like things herself. Thank goodness for biological clocks. Ok, I've insulted and invaded you in every way I possibly can. I love you, I miss you. Keep in touch. Happy Birthday.

Jordan Matondo Gentry
Zaire, Feb 2, 1991?

Who missed crossing over Jordan but crossed over to Belgium both times by the power of prayer. What a tiny appealing little guy you were cuddled on your mother's lap. I didn't imagine then that you would be my brother-in-law.
Be blessed, be safe. Happy Birthday.

Dinn,
Phnom Penh,

Feb 2, 1992

I wish I could write her name in Khmer script, as it uses the most beautiful letters. Although she called my daughters "little sister" I can't claim her as family really except that she shares the family birthday, and we gave our youngest daughter her name. It means "precious" and also the fine threads of gold used in tapestry.
I pray for God's blessings and provision for her today.



16 or 25 things about me

These things have been going around on Facebook and I've had several requests. I finally figured out how you're supposed to do it, (Thanks, Lana) but keep loosing the half-finished draft so I'm writing it here. I'm assuming the usual rule for minimizing the use of the word "I" is suspended here. We'll see how many I can get done before I have to take the

1. NEW PUPPY out to piddle. Ruby Diamond Doo Baby Ottie Gentry came home with us yesterday at 8 weeks. She is a purebred but unregistered border collie. I am hoping to train her to locate and herd my youngest child who wanders off frequently. If you're a mother, have you ever got to name a pet yourself?

2. New Job - I just finished my first two week pay period as a civil servant. A real perm. half time employee for IHS. I looked in my bank account to see if I got paid for it....NOPE! But I got paid for three of my six timesheets for November/December. So we're OK.
Those of you who have been praying for me to be sent to your isolated corners of the developing world please keep praying - my heart is there.

3. I have three daughters. Strong Heart (13) AKA "musician-in-me", Mover and Shaker of the Heavenlies (11) AKA "soaring celeste" and "Precious Lamb" (6) who has not yet named herself.

4. My family has one of the rare "unexplained clusters" of children with Down syndrome - my youngest daughter, my sister's oldest son, and our first cousin's daughter who is now an adult.
This is a blessing, for me especially since I was last and had good experiences to hold on to.
I feel like anyone else with a child with Down syndrome is automatically related.

5. We've lived in a house made of leaves and bamboo, without plumbing, and with scant solar electricity. We're considering doing it again only with felt walls this time (ger/yurt)

6. My husband and I met by my now mother-in-law's arrangement. Good call, mom!

7. My 13 year old has been taller than me for one year. She has been stronger than me for two.

8. I've delivered almost 800 babies, and still cry.

9. I sleep in the barn/shed/tarp-covered kennel during Lambing. My husband teases that I'd stay up all night to watch mice be born. He may be right. Dd11 (M&S) is right there with me.

10. I love wind surfing but haven't done it since we moved and left the board on the rafters in Deer Park.

11. I can spoil anyone's fishing luck. I love the idea of fishing, but after many years of optimism I've decided it's more efficient to just throw money in the water.

12. And while we're on the topic of water, I was given the name "Sibongile Mnisi" in Swaziland. It means "we are thankful" and something about "power over water".It specifically means "we were so thankful that your plane was able to land in that goshawful rain storm," and "we are thankful for the unseasonal rain (that you brought) so we don't have to carry water to our gardens this week."

13. My dd13 just cam up and made me insert periods in that last sentence. Just to give you some insight into her personality.

14. Three of four siblings in my family called Dr. G. (I'm messing with the time-space continuum here, Michelle, don't let me down.)

15. I'm an advanced theoretical cook. I own about one hundred cookbooks, which I read for pleasure, but we mostly eat steamed meat, steamed veggies, and steamed rice.

16. We have seventeen varieties of tea in the house, none of them from "variety packs."

17. I plant a garden every year no matter how inhospitable the climate, or poor the soil, or invasive the sheep. Last summer the sheep got in the garden July 2 and ate every tomato to the ground. I felt much less abused the next day when it SNOWED and killed everyone else's.

18. I've hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon (and back).

19. I own a pink coffee maker, a pink watch, a pink sheep halter and lead, and a pink set of scrubs. Pink is a defense mechanism to keep my older daughters (the euploids) from swiping my stuff.

20. I am a closet liturgist.

21. I took 2 months maternity leave with my first child, 1 year with my second, and 4 years with my third.

22. At my last job, the biggest commute risk was snagging a water buffalo's horn as I biked past them. At this job, the biggest risk is hitting a horse wandering through town.

23. I've been knitting a lace shawl from hand-spun cobweb weight icelandic wool for the last three years. I hope to have it finished in time for the fair.

24. We're still eating the nitrogen-packed bulk Y2K goods that people gave us when we returned from Cambodia. We never bought any for ourselves because we were heading off to a place where computers weren't that significant. It was nice to be able to buy some of the survivalist items tht were easily available then, like toilet seats that snap on to 5 gallon buckets.

25. Alas, I'm one short. Looking forward to hearing from you!

Thursday, January 1, 2009

The New Year and more family poetry.

Last night we had oyster soup. I know it has been a tradition in our family for a hundred years or more, either Christmas Eve or New Year's Eve. I can't remember for sure which and suspect it varies. The recipe is butter, whole milk, half and half, and oysters. I took 2 fish oils and a pravastatin to counteract it. Anyway it has the effect of making us want to live another year, if just to have another bowl of soup.
Except for my 11 y/o mover and shaker, who doesn't eat anything without lungs and feathers.
She had chicken-like vegetarian broth with bean thread. She would have preferred ramen noodles.
The girls are in the kitchen today trying to turn a pumpkin into a pumpkin pie. This is a very special pumpkin that grew high up in a spruce tree. My children who in previous years would be considered old enough to marry have to be told things like "remove the seeds."
I'll try to take a picture. I wish I had one of the tree decorated with pumpkins like giant Christmas lights.
Our resolutions: Papa wants to use his time more wisely and pray more. I want to pass the board exam. No.1 wants to learn to play another musical instrument. Little Din wants to (with our help and the teaching of a new song) use the potty.
And M&S has resolved to talk us into getting an alpaca.

And back to family poetry. Ten points for the person who can correctly quote what comes after this couplet:

Rex chewed the paraffin
And Revia didn't like it...

technodysfunciton

I spent most of the month trying to edit that first post. Can't be done, by me, anyway. I did a few other things too, racked up about 50 hours of CME, delivered some babies, arranged some transfers to the big house, it wasn't all wasted trying to do the impossible.
I also spent a lot of time trying to get a PDA working -so far it doesn't do anything but play solitaire, and it doesn't do that right. I need more time with dh who can do these things without turning purple.
Come to think of it I can't even make my cell phone work, and I have been e-mailing all my documents to Wayne to be printed. A couple of days ago he did one of those dimple-smiles that makes psychologists think your marriage is in trouble and downloaded the software so I can print directly off this computer. He carefully showed me the USB cable and the off/on switch. And where to do the paper. I'll still have to inconvenience him from time to time as his printer makes much sharper professional documents, but to tell the truth most of my printing is done because I can't figure out how to add notes to my documents without a pencil.
This isn't my worst confession, but probably the worst that fits under this headline.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Family Poetry

Hervian Rose sat on a tack.
Hervian rose.



Maybe only 132 of us on the face of the earth are able to fully explain the universal themes of this poem, or 131 come to think of it since Sabrina Barthalow Ankles has never been able to unpack a poem without ending up in the principal's office.