A Very PhD Nativity Season

The Color of Danger

A dragon’s hue, if it is blue,
Has electricity in its veins.
With that said, if it’s red,
It will bathe the world in flames.

Green dragon’s spit, in a hissy fit,
And poison spews all around.
A frigid white, on a cold summer’s night,
Spreads its hoary frost on the warmest ground.

But fear the black, for they will attack,
It will gnash with teeth and swipe with tail.
Should these attacks miss, beware its hiss--
For acid breath will always prevail.

The Necrinomicon - Wrong, Wrong...and oh so WRONG!

So by now everyone who has a television has seen the great uplifting commercials put out by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints promoting the Book of Mormon, the Bible, and just being good Christians.



Can the Necrinomicon be value based and still raise the dead?

Reading Boy

Troy loves his books. He loves to flip the pages, and read like mommy and daddy. He points out which animals say "moo" and finds the kitties in his animal book. He loves to show us which "wild thing" is Max.

Such a smart boy...

Reading about the wild things.

Oombah-lah

Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah-lay
sings of the musical ogres
As they travel on their way.

Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah-lie
hums the musical ogres
‘neath the star-spilt sky.

Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah-loom
chants the musical ogres
while sweeping up the room.

Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah
Oombah-lah-ite
roar the musical ogres
as they enter into the fight.

Sir Xander the Long-Lived

Next up for Nanny Togglebottom's diary of monsters is the tale of a knight who just didn't find the heroic end he once sought. Not very monstrous, I know, but all monsters need a knight for glorious battle. Sometimes the dragon wins, but what happens after the knight has won so many battles the he is left a lone victor on the field of glory? Some knights live to tell the tale...if they can remember.

Sir Xander the Long-Lived

Old Alexander Mann, the old snowy-haired man, was once a knight of the realm
Sir Xander they called him then when he quested
with gilded shield and
with golden helm.
He never expected he’d see the days grow long with a rocking chair as his steed.
He’d always only ever wanted to die with reknown
with honorable acts or
with courageous deed.
Long years have passed since he had heard the alarm and answered the call to fight.
Little of the world’s turmoil reached his attention
in lovely Lady Pell’s Home
for a tired retired knight.

Truth be known he could hardly recall the day when he’d strap on buckler and sword
and charge in with a roar of heroic delight
against nasty trolls
or a raging goblin horde.
Little of the days of his valiant youth ever cross his ancient mind;
but on rare days he’ll regale and eager young page
with wild tales of adventure
and it’s tight, hair raising, bind.
Long had it been since he’d heard the alarm and answered the call to fight
Little of the world’s woes were allowed
in Lady Pell’s Home
for a tired retired knight.

Plato was Right

Back in the 70’s and 80’s my dad kept the only television (a black and white 15’ deal) under wraps in his bedroom. How could a growing boy, living in an age when not only did everyone have television in their homes (color no less), but most of my friends had a couple of TV’s, cable, and Atari—how could a boy survive? Oh, I survived. I read. I read a lot. I went outside and played. I had action figures (not “dolls”). I even had a couple of friends (but they lived on the other side of Kipling Street, so I didn’t get to hang out with them very often.) I also wrote stories of my own, and listened to a lot of radio.

That was when radio was king…a dying king with the usurper MTV emerging from the shadows. I used to listen to The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes”, and I used to think that they were singing about me. Hey, I had blue eyes. I had reason to be sad: I didn’t have TV, my dark hair didn’t shine like the blonde tresses that my brothers and sister had, and I would never reach 6’+ height range that my younger brothers would enjoy. No one could possibly understand the sad man behind my blue eyes.

Yeah, how cool was that: The Who singing about me? I guess I never really listened to the rest of the lyrics back then. I never got how much non-sense rock stars could live with when they just wanted to sell records. They just gave up on language sometimes. When I listen to the old stuff, and then the soundtrack of what we will all one day call a “classic”, “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog”, they just don’t compare. The songs in Dr. Horrible waste no words. Not only music with content, meaning, and flavor…but FUN-NEE! These tunes stick to my brain as if held there by Dr. Horrible’s freeze ray technology.

It makes me long for the days when I didn’t rush home to my DVR life-- where if I didn’t record it…that’s because I can catch it On-Demand. A life where sit in front of my 74’ screen, with my laptop on my lap, and watch Barney and Friends with my son while updating Facebook, and downloading new music to my iPod. I would say that I’m wired up for technology…but of course I’m actually wireless. I went from the imposed stone ages of my father’s house, to an enlightened renaissance prison of my own virtual design. Now my soul feels dead…or just radiation burned by the LCD screens that mesmerize my brain.

How Platonian I have become. Is Platonian even a word? Oh well, I’ve queued NCIS up on the satellite…so who cares?

Oil Spill Madness + US' Tendancy for Bad Journalism = XKCD

Here is the ultimate worse case scenario, as supplied by the stick figure genius that brings us XKCD. I wasn't too worried about the oil spill. Oh, I know that it's bad, I realize the peril to the environment, and I don't discount the billions of dollars that Congress will fleece us for in the name of cleaning it all up...but I knew that we'd pull through.

But after this...I'm not so sure.

(I realize that the picture may be too small to see...so here's the link.)
http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/worst_case_scenario.png

Hexelplex (revised version 1.2)

His two green eyes are glowing lights of doom
(we love it when green doom dispels dark gloom.)
A doom that sounds soft like a waterfall,
and looks like a green alien baseball.
A doom that's fuzzy to a child's touch,
and smells of roses, lilacs, grass and such.
A doom that tastes sweet like hot chocolate
(far sweeter than a dragon will admit.)

He's dwelt under your beds since he was young
poo-pooing cocao's taste to his forked tongue
(but why must dragons' tongues be long and forked?
why not, instead, spooned, or knived, or sporked?)
Tarnations! Child of what do you speak?
A spooned-forked tongue makes for an odd physique.
So odd that he would not be fit to say
"So sings sweet Sally's sister songs that sway."

The smoky black dragon of happiness
so softly sleeps atop his glittering hoard...
Huh, what? I failed to mention the gold bed
that's worthy of a hulking dragon lord?
They're nuggets dear-- that fill your cavaties--
the golden stuffs that dentists like to use.
Old Hexelplex will nab your fallen teeth
while in the darkest night you snore and snooze.

Though Hexelplex seems scary in our youth
in truth he is the fairy of the tooth.

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Okay, this is revision two...and it's a modified sonnet (so to speak.) I'm still not quite sure what final form it will make. I will craft it as a villanel next, or maybe a ghazal. I just know that it's getting closer, but some lines will have to go to make room for my important new idea: the tooth fairy is really a smoke dragon.

I'm not thrilled with the last stanza. It broke the rhyme scheme of the first two, and really came out like a train wreck. Well...I guess that's why I call it "a work in progress."

FATHERHOOD PART II: Waiting for It

So after trying, testing, and getting some disappointing results that I just don’t want to talk about…

Jen and I decided that our best bet for parenthood came down to adoption. Of course we wanted the whole experience, not just to pick up some kiddos in the middle of their childhood lives and go on from that point. No, we wanted to be there from birth to as long as we all lived. Yeah—still with a bit of the selfish streak…I know. There it was though, adopting an infant or nothing at all. Of course many people have heard that, for the longest time, we thought that the option that we would have to live with was the “nothing at all” option. For nearly five years we waited on the list of LDS Family Services, hoping to hear that a birthmommy had chosen us…but no word came. As my wife came closer to 40, we thought more and more that it just wasn’t going to happen. We made up our minds that if we didn’t get a child placed with us by the time she was 40, then we would be a childless couple who traveled the globe and lives lonely lives…like Julia Child.

We were in Hawaii in August of 2009, for Jen’s 20th high school reunion, when we received a call from LDS Family Services. A special young lady, her boyfriend, and his mom were coming in to choose a couple to raise their child. For many reasons, none of them important to this story, they would not be able to keep the child. Though they didn’t really want to do it, they were faced with the choice of either giving the child up for adoption, or risk the state social services taking the baby and putting it in a foster home. They chose the option of hand-picking the baby’s parents. We were among the few from which they would choose. About a week after we returned from our vacation, we heard that they wanted to meet with us.

On our first meeting, the birth family had a tiny request to make: they wanted us to name the baby Jesse…after the birthdaddy’s brother who had recently died. We felt their plea, and appreciated the sentiment, but after years of dreaming and hoping, we already had our heart set on a name. This was a name that no one had taken from us for their own children. This was a name which we coveted because it was a) fairly common; b) not so common that he would share it with seven kids in his class at school; c) the name of all of the best football players. We wanted to pair this name with my first name, thus branding him as my firstborn son. Because of our shared Hawaii connection though, we promised to give the boy the Hawaiian equivalent of “Jesse” for his second middle name. We didn’t want the English to Hawaiian translation, because it was largely phonetic, and didn’t convey the meaning of the name. The name “Jesse” is Hebrew for “The Lord Is.” That is a name of testimony, of conviction, and of a love for God. We chose the Hawaiian name Kahaku. We decided that we had waited long, and he rated at least four names.

The birthmommy used to live in Hawaii, Jen grew up in Hawaii, I loved Hawaii…it was a match made in some island paradise. By they time we left that happy meeting, we knew that she chose us to parent her coming soon baby boy.

Yes, we were pretty certain that the baby would come out with boy parts. Were we 100% certain? No…but who is? We moved forward with the idea that all of the doctor’s data pointed to a baby boy, and we bought blue things. We prepared the baby’s room with planets, stars, a crib, a changing table, a book shelf with his own copy of Where the Wild Things Are, and The Very Hungry Caterpillar (among other titles.) We had showers that provided play pens, car seats, strollers, clothes, diapers, and more clothes. I had nothing but dreams of watching him play sports, teaching him to read, taking him to the zoo, and going camping. I had embraced the idea of fatherhood, but with no practical experience. But first and foremost I had to get the boy in the house.

The birth mom called us a couple of weeks shy of her due date and told us that her water had broke. By “a couple of weeks” I mean to say five weeks. That was the beginning of the adventure. We hoofed it down to the hospital (coincidentally, the same one where my mother had birthed me back in the day), and sat down to wait. We listened to his heartbeat on the monitor, and listened to the doctors while they read a litany of complications which they expected: underdeveloped lungs, downs syndrome, complications brought on by the birthmommy’s epilepsy, birth stress taking its toll on the baby’s tiny, underdeveloped body…

The list went on and only caused my anxiety to grow. So…this was parenthood. I knew that every moment wouldn’t have glamour and joy…but I had hoped for a little glamour and joy before nausea set in for the long haul. The baby’s heartbeat monitor, though never strong, had strong moments before slowing down and fading…only to come up strong again to start a new cycle. For eight hours I sat worrying that neither baby, nor birthmommy, would survive the day. Finally, after having the poor girl labor on her hands and knees for hours (to relieve the stress on the baby)…after the sun had given up and went down…after most of the night had passed into memory…the doctors decided to go in and take the baby before he sustained more damage.

At five a.m., on October 4, 2009, Troy Robert Kahaku Justus came into the world. My first impression was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. The birth family chose us for multiple reasons, but I feel that the baby made his choice before he came into this world. He chose his birthparents, and he chose us to be his parents to raise him, care for him, teach him, and nurture him. In one moment I ditched the last vestiges of my anti-parenthood sentiments. I looked at him, stared at him, wondered at him…I knew that I would never be complete if he were not my son.

So began the last part of my journey from wanting to be a parent, to waiting for fatherhood, to becoming his father for time and all eternity.

FATHERHOOD PART I: Wishing for It

Growing up I probably felt the intense responsibility of fatherhood, and therefore never looked for it in my life. In fact, I had always planned on not being a father. That would mean PTA meetings, Boy Scout camp newspaper drives, signing parent permission slips, and really more stuff in my life that didn’t have to do with taking care of myself. Ok, admittedly I displayed definite selfish, if not narcissistic, tendencies. As I moved through my 20’s I maybe found a little more time to look outside of myself. I also always said that I was not the type of man to take a wife…and took her I did. Still, fatherhood seemed like more than I wanted to bear.

I had nephews and nieces that came along and lit up my life. I treated them as an uncle should whenever I saw them: I sugared them up and sent them home. My friends had kids, and they all told me that “it was like nothing that I have ever felt” to be a father. Sure, changing diapers and wiping strained peas off of a kid had to bring about many a tender moment. Somewhere along the line, though, I developed the urge to be a dad. I can pinpoint three such times when I nearly ditched my anti-daddy position and jumped over to the dark side: on my mission, working in the nursery, and standing in the middle of Walmart one day.

God has a sense of humor, and He here is a little joke which He liked to play on me: every time I found myself sent to a new area of work, the Branch Presidents (missionaries all of them) assigned me to the Primary orginazation. Yes, I had the assignment in developing branches of the church in the south west part of the Dominican Republic to look after the Primary. For those that don’t know, the Primary organization is basically Sunday School for kids from age 3 to 12. I always thought that God had me work this area because I am really just an overgrown 10-year-old, and I fit in quite nicely. I suspect now that He had it in His all-powerful mind to break down my wall. On Sundays I went to the room with the kids and we sang together about trees that grew popcorn, musically gifted waterways, and how Jesus wanted us to become sunbeams. We talked of Christ, we learned of his divine mission, and we all came to love him for what he did for us. When people grow their testimonies together, they come to love one another, and every time I received the call to move on to another town, it was with a heavy heart. I left little friends behind from Las Matas de Farfán to Santo Dominigo. Now those kids are all grown up, and they may not remember me from any other gringo that wore the black name tag in their towns, but I remember all of them.

Upon coming home and getting married, God continued His assault on my anti-parenthood stance: He kept calling me to work in the nurseries of every new ward that I attended. I got to share goldfish crackers, talk about being grateful for Jesus, and read The Very Hungry Caterpillar to many a little 1 1/2 to 3 year old child. I remember one such Sunday, at the end of the meetings when all but one parent had come to retrieve their child, I sat with little Sidney Barton reading about the caterpillar. Her daddy came in to get her, and she jumped up and ran to him. I sat on the floor, in the middle of the big story telling blanket and watched them leave. Then, she turned, ran back to me, and gave me a hug before leaving with her dad. I always called it the best calling ever…and I always will.

But the final assault, the attack that successfully breached my defenses, came quite unexpectedly in my mid 30’s. I was in the Walmart, moving from the food section to the electronics to browsePS2 games. I passed by the baby center and stopped to look at a dress for an infant girl. For some reason that moment struck me hard. I wanted to buy that dress for my daughter. I had no daughter to wear that dress. What had I done in squandering my youth away on myself, when deep down I had the makings of a family man? Was it too late to make up for lost time?

Wishing for fatherhood does not make it happen. Even though my wife and I had not taken measures beyond the first year of our marriage to keep from having children...no children had come to us. I did not worry overly much, but now the worry gene had activated. I had migrated from anti-fatherhood, to enjoying being around kids, to wishing for the blessing of daddy ship to come upon me. Hopefully it had not completely passed me by.

What I Gained by Losing

Something happened over the past twenty years. Not overnight, or all of the sudden, or in the twinkling of an eye…no it took place slowly, unnoticed at first, until one day the realization came to me: I weighed 278 pounds. I had gotten fat. For a long while I walked around harboring that knowledge, hoping that no one else noticed. I ignored the looks that I got when I had to ask for handicap seating at the Pepsi Center because the designers did not factor in my keister when they built the arena. I turned a deaf ear to suppressed comments when I squeezed past people in the movie theater. I was sure that I hid my bulk well under my oversized sweaters and baggy pants. No one could possibly suspect my shameful little secret.

In the process of gaining all of the weight, I lost a few things as well: self confidence, and pride in my own presentation. I had dreams of being an actor—and not a fat character actor. No, I felt that my dashing good looks could land me a leading man role…or at least a leading man’s good looking, yet goofy, friend. I sang in a band and thought that we could make it big one day. Though I expressed them outwardly, I threw away dreams of stardom. On top of all of that, doctors diagnosed me in 1999 with multiple sclerosis—with the loss of co-ordination, feeling, and strength to my legs I could never sustain a rigorous “Biggest Loser” workout regimen. I had no chance of losing the weight.

In March of 2009 my younger brother, Larry, met with the counselors at Slimgenics (formerly Slim-4-Life). I went to talk with the counselors because I didn’t want anyone taking my brother for a ride and stealing his money. I had secretly tried it all, anyway, and nothing worked. I failed at Adkins. I flunked out of Weight Watchers. I sunk the South Beach Diet. I proved that Body for Life did not work on the average guy. I was sure that whatever fake-food diet that came along would ultimately fail, so I came to listen and decline on my brother’s behalf.

After a 30 minute question and answer session, I had the feeling that this might work for Larry. Even if he only lost 70 or 80 pounds, it might be enough to build up his confidence. I came out of that meeting thinking that Larry really needed what Slimgenics had to offer, but he couldn’t do it alone. So I selflessly offered to do this program with him for a while to help him get on-plan and get healthy.

Over the first 6 months I followed the plan and stubbornly clung to my belief that this diet might work a little bit for Larry, but it wouldn’t work for me: I had gotten too big to ever be “skinny” again in my life. I watched the scale inch its way downward. Then one morning, six months into the plan, I woke up and did the math: 70 pounds. I didn’t starve. I couldn’t work out consistently. I had done nothing to lose so much weight except keep the plan as the counselors at Slimgenics had taught me. I needed new clothes.

I went from wearing a size 48 waist to a size 38. I could buy off the rack, and things actually fit. I walked around with a smile on my face and in my heart. Unlike getting fat, the skinny seemed to happen overnight, all of the sudden, in the twinkling of an eye. And that quickly I had gained the confidence that I had previously lost. I wanted to wear nice clothes again, comb my hair, and shave my face more than once a week. I cared what I looked like when I went out in public.

Over the rest of the year I went from a size 38 to a size 32 waist. I looked in the mirror and saw the guy that I was in high school…a little older, but still that same guy. The scale said that I weighed 173 pounds…a 105 pound weight loss. From October 2009 to February 2010 I had switched gears from a cynic, to one of the faithful…to a downright believer. I know that by following the plan a person will lose weight. Not just myself—but any person who keeps this plan will lose the weight that they want to lose. If a person wants to lose weight, prove their own inner strength, and improve their over all health, gain self confidence, learn about nutrition and how to care for his body…that is what one can gain by losing. The best part of doing this plan has been the knowledge that I can now pass on to my family and the desire to help others lose what I have lost…so that they can gain what I have gained.

Hexelplex Part Deux

I gotta say that I'm not entirely thrilled with how Hexelplex worked out for me. I used an exercise in a book to write it...and it reads just like I used an exercise in a book to write it. I did, however, get some material that I will use in the rewrite (which, I guess, was the whole purpose of that exercise.)

So I am deep in the rewrite process with that poem. To anyone who might anxiously await the next installment for Nanny ToggleBottom's little book...it ain't comin'. Still, here is a litle bit of a bard's tale told from our Guy's Nite Out group (see the 'links [not patties?]' to your right.)

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The Gathering of the Intrepid Three

A typical story, in a typical time,
Of caverns, and monsters, laid out in a rhyme.
A story I’ll tell you, for it happened to me,
A story I’ll tell you, of the Intrepid Three.
For this piece I choose to make a verbal collage,
And to my fellow bards I pay this homage.
And though to you this may seem folly,
I choose the voice of Thomas Babington MaCauley…

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

Vasha sent out the summons,
Calling adventurers by the score,
The Orb was not in grasp,
And she could abide that no more
Brave men moved to assemble,
As she sought the best of the best.
Men with scarred faces,
Of various races
To send on a mystery quest.
The strange and beautiful Vasha,
Whose motives remain obscured.
The bold and glorious Vasha:
A spirit confident and assured.
To a small village inn,
Great adventurers were invited…
She chose the rockman Sk’orn,
Dark Eeyen, and Thanis of Stelaborn
Three souls of the world united.

“You three are the ones I have chosen,
For your have talents separate and fair.
Sk’orn for the stone, Thanis to charm,
And Eeyen for all else you would dare.
Outside of town is a cave,
A cavern of perils uncharted.
I invoke upon you bravery,
For I deal not with the fainthearted.

“In that cave, deep in the darkness,
A treasure lies underground;
An item to behold,
Of value greater than gold,
Its vast power untold,
Waiting to be found.
Go forth with power and glory.
Seek out with stealth and care.
Though I may seem unkind
Its purpose I must bind
Or the treasure you will not find
Its magic unusual and rare.

“’Tis called the Orb of Denithor,
Its source of power unknown,
Seek ye out this ancient magic
‘Neath the mountain of stone.
Power hides the Orb,
A veil that shrouds the site,
For if you know its purpose
The cave is sealed tight.

“Go forth and find this bauble
Return with it to me
Keep all else you find there
As payment of your fee.”

Sent out by noble Vasha,
Sent on an Herculean chore.
Rode forth the Intrepid Three,
Right anxious were they to see,
The Orb of Denithor.
A task given to their utter glee—
Off on a mysterious charge
To find a treasure at large
A job designed for the Intrepid Three.

Hexeplex

His green eyes, the glowing orbs of doom--
…and who doesn’t love a little doom?
Doom that sounds soft like a roaring waterfall.
Doom that looks hideously hilarious in a smock.
Doom so soft to the touch.
Doom smelling of roses and lavender.
Doom that tastes sweet like warm buttermilk--
that sweet taste that smells of acid and fire.

Hexelplex lives in the darkness under beds,
and buttermilk falls sour on his forked tongue.
Why do dragons sport forked tongues?
Why not, instead, spooned tongues?
Tarnations, child!
A beast with a spooned tongue
could never fit under your bed.
But dems is da berries, as they say.

The smoky black dragon of happiness
sleeps softly on his hoard.
Shall I mention the pile of gold and gems,
the bed upon which he soundly sleeps?
He sleeps, he giggles, he bathes, he plays
in deep piles of the lovely lucre.
“But Nanny” the children all ask,
From where does he get his gold?”
“The gold will come from your mouths one day,
My little poppets” I answer.
They all laugh maliciously at the thought.

Make no mistake,
Hexeplex will come from under your bed
and steal the gold fillings from your teeth.
“Asi es la vida.” He will say,
and only your nightstand will see
his bat-like wings shiver as he sneaks.
But the image of his green eyes
will forever burn in the darkness of your dreams.

Matt at the Alex English Rainbow Talent Search

(This has nothing to do with my current project. This is just a shout out to my cousin, Matt, in recognition for an awesome night 20-some years ago that I still remember well.)

Matt taught himself.
Toiling alone
at the side of the single-wide,
following fingering charts.
Ascending and descending
he learned every scale
his saxophone could wail.
Twenty-three keys
and a bubble-gum flavored reed
gave him freedom
beyond the trailer park.
He framed the invite,
the honor lie in the asking,
he drilled his skill with reason.
He would play under the lights
in front of the big crowd
and win Coors college cash
at the Alex English Rainbow Talent Search

Not jazz per se
no one in that crowd understood.
They didn’t listen to the likes
of Charlie Parker
or Miles Davis.
They heard Kenny G
and they thought jazz.
Though it hurt
he let “Songbird” flow
from the tenor sax.
Better from a soprano—
but no one sold those
second hand.
Only the rainbow mattered.
The sacred scry for talent.

Others played
The same song
from better instruments.
All colors of the rainbow
fizzled flatulence
out the bells of the horns.
He heard their squawks
he cringed at their squeaks.
His wallet weighed down
would feel good.
Lights made to fade
as the star emerged.
Like Venus
in the western sky,
Alex English rose
to bless meager musicians
with that mana
that gives such subsistence—
cash baby…cash.

He passed by Matt
not even a nod
no respecting wink
for all of his hard work.
He boxed Matt out
with his six foot seven frame.
He scored no points
that night...
barbarous Nugget!
The squeaking, squawking,
screeching winner
took his $100 check
and bought a latte
at the college of his choice.

MORE POETRY FOR NANNY TOGGLEBOTTOM'S HANDBOOK OF MAGICAL CREATURES, MYTHICAL MEN, AND OTHER FANTASTICAL FAIRYLAND FRIENDS.

Here are the latest entries for the book:


PEACOCK PARADE

Sloppy sweet saccharine
sighs slip softly
from lading lounging languidly
along Lembas’ longest lane.

Knights nod knowingly
with nonchalance,
while horses hoove and hie
their haughty highness

Plumeria petals plummet from
perched parade-watchers,
as wily warriors wend westward
to wage and win a war.


DRAGON BARDS

Dragons have no sense of time
when they sits on their horde
and singing funny rhymes...

...that is to say...

That they have no brevity
in their levity


and finally...


GREGORY GRYFFON

His beak so strong,
his claws so sharp,
his wings spread wide and sure.

His glassy gold eyes
are windows to see
his heart so noble and pure.

FREEZE OUT

“Honey c’mon! I go the car loaded and ready to roll!” Ron yelled into the house from the carport. He shut the trunk in the black ’99 Altima and walked around to the driver’s side door. As he squeezed his six foot seven inch frame behind the wheel, he wondered again why he had given up on the argument for a larger vehicle. His dark curly hair brushed against the ceiling of the car, and he took a moment to check in the rear view mirror to see if his hair-do still passed muster. It would do.

A short round woman in lime green knit pants and a pink top exited the house. She tested the front door to make sure that she had locked it and waddled over to the car and squeezed herself into the passenger seat.

“Honestly, Ron, I don’t know why we don’t get a bigger car.” She complained in her nasally voice. He let that comment go… she knew perfectly well why they had bought a sedan and not an SUV, mini-van, or any other family sized vehicle.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” He asked as he started the car and backed out of the driveway. “I wanted to do something special for our anniversary.”

They left their neighborhood of two story homes all poured from the same mold. Their route took them past a vast park comprised of 12 soccer fields. The crowded park had a game on each field, with parents cheering on their kids. Ron drove slowly down the street, keeping an eye out for wayward children and pets.

“So where are we going that is such a big surprise?” Jan’s voice snapped Ron out of his cautious reverie.

“We are going to drive up to Colorado Springs for some ice cream.”

“Down, honey…it’s down to Colorado Springs.” Jan’s voice took some pleasure in correcting her husband.

“What?”

“Look on a map. Colorado Springs is down from Denver, so we will drive down to Colorado Springs for some ice cream.”

“Technically speaking, Denver is 5183 feet above sea level and Colorado Springs is 6008 feet above sea level…so…” Ron let the trivial tidbit hang, and headed in a generally upward climb towards Colorado Springs.

“That can’t be right. Denver is the Mile High City, and a mile is 5280 feet. Why are we going to Colorado Springs for ice cream? We have a Dairy Queen over by the highway.”

“Trust me…can you just trust me?”

In a stinging coincidence, they passed by a Dairy Queen as they got onto I-25. Parents and children clamored for soft serve treats. Ron paid more attention to the scene than Jan.

“I talked to Toby, at work; he gave me the card of the agency that he and his wife used.”
Jan looked at Ron. “He said that it’s really easy, we just fill out a mountain of paperwork and wait for the call.”

Jan found something very interesting about her hands and gave them a thorough inspection. Hearing no answer from her, Ron turned on the radio to an AM station that played big band music. Jan gave him a side-eyed glance and waited for a few minutes before changing the radio to the FM band and hitting a preset to land on light rock station. Ron flexed his hands on the wheel, and kept driving. What else could he do? They drove in relative silence for a while.

“That’s three…” Jan said as they passed the last exit to Castle Rock.

“Three what?”

“That’s three Dairy Queens that we passed.”

“I don’t want us to go for a massed produced soft serve ice cream. I had in plan something special. When we get to Michelle’s you’ll see what I mean.”

“Who’s Michelle?”

“It’s the name of the place. They have home made ice cream and sandwiches, and it isn’t so crowded.”

“One minute you gawk at all of the kids in the neighborhood, and the next you drive a hundred miles just to get away from them.”

“I just wanted to take you someplace special this weekend. I thought that you would appreciate a place like Michelle’s.”

“And a pretty, tall, blonde named Michelle works the counter I’m sure.” Jan turned her face away and watched the Colorado landscape slide past.

Ron huffed once, catching words in his throat before they made it out of his mouth and caused real damage. He chose his next words carefully.

“I don’t know the name of the girl who works behind the counter. It’s just a place that my dad used to take us when I was a kid. I found out that it’s still in business and I wanted to share it with you.”

“But she’s tall and blonde then, right?”

“Who?”

“The girl behind the counter…she must be tall and blonde to get you to drive all of the way to Colorado Springs for ice cream.”

“Look, I can turn around, we can go to Dairy Queen, and you can have the same old ice cream that we always have. Is that what you want? If that’s what you want, we can go back down do Denver and be home in time for lunch.”

“Up.”

“We do not live on a map.”

“No, we live in Colorado where our car is too small for our lives, where Denver is up and Colorado Springs is down, where the ice cream is ‘mass produced’ and the girls working behind counters aren’t pretty enough for you.” She never turned her head away from the passing landscape as she spoke.

“I think that I will get a banana split with extra chocolate syrup and whipped cream.” Ron felt that it was time to navigate the conversation to safer waters.

“Do they have vanilla ice cream…no nuts, no syrup, no toppings of any sort?”

“Why would you want to go to an ice cream parlor and just get vanilla ice cream? Don’t you want something special?”

“I just like vanilla. I don’t need anything more than that.”

“I’m sure that you can get plain ice cream if you want. No one can force you to put toppings on your ice cream.”

“No, I suppose they can’t.”

They exited off of the highway onto Academy and drove the rest of the way in silence.

NANNY TOGGLEBOTTOM'S HANDBOOK OF MAGICAL CREATURES, MYTHICAL MEN, AND OTHER FANTASTICAL FAIRYLAND FRIENDS.

I have been writing, in my little (off-line) notebook, a series of poems. I call them "Nanny Togglebottom's Book of Magical Creatures, Mythical Men, and other Fantastical Fairyland Friends." Initially I wanted to write a book about dragons, but that thas expanded to a series of children's poems about all of the wonderful magic that enters a child's mind.

I have already posted one of the poems (The Ballad of Wallace Thaddeus Linkletter posted in April 2008), and as I move poems from my old-school notebook to my Encyclopedia Bob, I wll post them as well. For now, here is Nanny Togglebottom's Invitation:

I have seen dragons
crossing the noon day sun—
Have you?

I have seen leprechauns
with their gold on the run—
Have you?

No? Well…

Inside my head
fairies fly,
monsters grumble,
and unicorns cry.

I will open my stories,
I will open them wide.
For the price of your company
I will let you inside.