I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to check in, really. Make sure you know I'm still here. That I'm not going on another one of my Tony Geary-esque three month hiatuses. Side jobs got a little busy this week. Plus, I'm poeming once a day for National Poetry Month. It really is true what they say, a poem a day keeps other blogs posts away.
Also, I continue to name my future children. (I'm really gonna have to get on the ball to get all this begatting done.) My latest adventure in nomenclature has yielded yet another gem. Are you ready for it?
Annie.
Little orphan Annie. Annie, get your gun. Annie freakin' Lennox! Annie are you OK, so Annie are you OK, are you OK, Annie?! It's classic. I think she'll fit right in with little Luke and Adrian.
Picture, if you will, a dad and daughter walking hand in calloused hand through an overgrown meadow. OK, so it's more of a yard that the dad hasn't mowed in four days, but it looks like it's been three weeks. That's because the dad put out some Miracle-Gro a couple of times to try and save a fledgling tree, never once considering it would cause the grass to grow like the ever-loving national debt.
Anyway, back to our story. The daughter pauses to ask one of those age-old questions that kids ask sometimes.
"Daddy, what's that three-foot tall purple thing growing by the house?"
Now that could have been a stumper. But little does she know he's been waiting for this moment for years. He looks down into those trusting eyes, pulls out his phone, swipes it from camera to video so that he can Facebook this immediately afterward, and responds with four words he's practiced and perfected.
"That's poke salad, Annie."
Sigh. Raising my future children is so rewarding. Will be, I mean.
I thought I'd close today with a short poem from my NaPoWriMo collection, a little cross-pollination if you will. Also, ideally, this will help explain where the title of my post came from.
Beyond the blue
If I make it somehow
That first day
While everyone else
Is in a scurry to
See the Savior
I'll search out
He who built the ark
To discuss mosquitoes
"Every day 'fore supper time / She'd go down by the truck patch / And pick her a mess of polk salad / And carry it home in a tow sack..."
Also, I continue to name my future children. (I'm really gonna have to get on the ball to get all this begatting done.) My latest adventure in nomenclature has yielded yet another gem. Are you ready for it?
Annie.
Little orphan Annie. Annie, get your gun. Annie freakin' Lennox! Annie are you OK, so Annie are you OK, are you OK, Annie?! It's classic. I think she'll fit right in with little Luke and Adrian.
Picture, if you will, a dad and daughter walking hand in calloused hand through an overgrown meadow. OK, so it's more of a yard that the dad hasn't mowed in four days, but it looks like it's been three weeks. That's because the dad put out some Miracle-Gro a couple of times to try and save a fledgling tree, never once considering it would cause the grass to grow like the ever-loving national debt.
Anyway, back to our story. The daughter pauses to ask one of those age-old questions that kids ask sometimes.
"Daddy, what's that three-foot tall purple thing growing by the house?"
Now that could have been a stumper. But little does she know he's been waiting for this moment for years. He looks down into those trusting eyes, pulls out his phone, swipes it from camera to video so that he can Facebook this immediately afterward, and responds with four words he's practiced and perfected.
"That's poke salad, Annie."
Sigh. Raising my future children is so rewarding. Will be, I mean.
I thought I'd close today with a short poem from my NaPoWriMo collection, a little cross-pollination if you will. Also, ideally, this will help explain where the title of my post came from.
Beyond the blue
If I make it somehow
That first day
While everyone else
Is in a scurry to
See the Savior
I'll search out
He who built the ark
To discuss mosquitoes
"Every day 'fore supper time / She'd go down by the truck patch / And pick her a mess of polk salad / And carry it home in a tow sack..."
Annie, a gater's got your grannie, chomp, chomp, chomp! Priceless!
ReplyDeleteThose poor children.
ReplyDeleteLOVE the poem! I laughed out loud at the last line. :)
Annie, huh? I like it. I hear they can be handfuls. Also, you've got that song stuck in my head.
ReplyDeletePoke Salad--anything that you have to boil twice and throw out the toxins in the first water isn't high on my dietary needs...
ReplyDeleteLord- I have never had poke salad, and I never want any :) Annie- it is a very respectable name, My daughter is a Juli-Anna ♥
ReplyDeleteLovely to read you again :)
Lord- I have never had poke salad, and I never want any :) Annie- it is a very respectable name, My daughter is a Juli-Anna ♥
ReplyDeleteLovely to read you again :)
You were getting back into a routine of postings and making us laugh and now I wonder if I'll spend eternity waiting for another Bone post! :)
ReplyDeleteI love Poke Salad Annie...God Bless Tony Joe White...
ReplyDeleteAlthough I have never had a mess of pokeweeds as a salad..friggin Floridians....calling ourselves Suthernuhs...
If it's any consolation, during my Julian Lennon phase, I once considered naming one of my future progeny...Valotte...but then I couldn't decided if it leaned toward masculine or feminine.
Your poem KILLS, and I'm not a poem lover.
ReplyDeleteAnnie. Nice. You can totally holler at her to git her gun.