November 27th: A Lot To Celebrate

November Twenty-seventh, ev'ry year
Just overwhelms me, even when it's not
Thanksgiving. 'Twas my Grandpa's time to cheer
And celebrate his natal day. That got
The rest its start; my parents married on
That day, then some years later, Sister Kris
Was born, and stole the hearts of all. Jack's gone,
My grandfather, but there's no time to miss
Him when there's so much yet to celebrate!
Two writing friends of mine have birthdays, too,
Today. Last year I set myself a great
And noble task, a sonnet for each. Phew!
This year, tired from Thanksgiving, I use one
To hail them all and send my love, ere done.

In Which Is Inaugurated Tomato-Rama 2010

My parents went to Sam's Club this "black" day

And all I got were just ten lousy pounds

Of fine tomatoes. With these, they did say

"We like your sauce and paste," I think, so -- 'zounds! --

E'en as I munch on turkey re-heatings,

I blanch and peel two dozen romas, then

Will spend the rest of this fine evening,

A-cooking them on down. Such time has been

Ideal for catching up on podcasts, so

Here I begin, but, spoiled for choice, which shall

I start with? Quirks and Quarks? A novel? Oh,

There's Planet Money, too. How my morale

Doth rise as I so contemplate a night

Spent in the kitchen, growing e'er more bright!

Huh? What? Moar Cold Medicine!

I had to leave the house today: too soon.

It could not be avoided but, I'd say,

It set me back some days. Inopportune?

Try horrible. Now I just want this day

To close, though there is much yet to enjoy:

My folks came bearing dead cow for to grill

(Indoors, I think. The wind would sure destroy

Attempts to barbecue; though he's the will

My dad's a one-eyed monster just now, for

He got his mad bionics this morn, wears

An eyepatch while it heals up, all the more

To keep him indoors!). And, yes, meanwhile, there's

Some baseball game tonight, I hear. I might

Not make it through all that, though, not tonight.

In Which We Like One Doctor Harris At Cheyenne Regional Medical Center Very Much

We had some worry, in our family,

A health fair screening made us thus, and so

Off to Cheyenne my father came to see

A specialist. Today was time to know

If we had cause for any great concern.

Alas, the schedule lady said next week

Was when she had Dad booked. 'Twas not his turn

(But when it was, 'twas time for him to seek

Attention elsewhere: begone, cataract!)!

Frustrated, we booked with a P.A., but

Outside the elevator, who, in fact

Was waiting with us but the doctor! "What?"

He said, "Oh no, come during lunch."

And then he gave good news we liked a bunch!

In Which Some Tables Are Slightly Turned

A friend sold Dad his pickup; so began

A fine scenario nobody meant

To generate, but now this bustling man

Is getting just a taste of how we've spent

The years with him. A big truck, blank and white

Looks like all of the other pickups parked

All 'round the busy stores. This is a slight

And satisfying irony it's sparked:

Now he can't find it either, sometimes. He

Has trouble, too, betimes, with the seat belt,

Not unlike what his wife has often; she

Has lev'rage trouble spooling it out, felt

Quite stupid often as he sighed in wait.

In this, at last, my Mom has found her mate.

In Which A Home Improvement Hoedown Needs Some Light

A home improvement hoedown I have had,

New pickets on the back fence, and, inside,

Built-in bookshelves for one room (I'm so glad;

'Tis one dream I've long cherished). Still undried

The shelves themselves drip on sawhorses, so

It being Mother's day times two real soon

(This month's her birthday, too), off we did go,

To Office Max. We found one made her swoon

And also, there, a lamp I've fancied. As

I hate to shop, it pleased me, then, to make

Both purchases (efficiency, it has

The pow'r to move me strangely). We did take

The lamp home to my house, only to find

No bulb within. The store clerks, though, were kind.

In Which I Miss My Dog But Can't Take Her With Me On Vacation

My house is empty, save for all my stuff;

The animating spirit, she has left.

Just for a week, but that seems long enough,

I sit here at my table; I'm bereft.

My bare feet stretch out, feeling for her fur

But Molly dog is nowhere to be found.

I know she misses me as I miss her,

But has a lot of fun where she is bound.

It's Grandpa Camp! Lord, how she loves my dad

(My mother, too; her little dog less so),

His yard, his truck, and also, yes, his bad,

Bad habit, tossing scraps from dinner. No!

He tells her when she begs, and yet somehow

She gets her way. Wish she were here right now!

In Which I Fret Just A Little

My parents are enroute now to Cheyenne
From Saratoga, while my sister, Kris,
Is coming from New Mexico; the plan
Is that they will converge, if naught's amiss,
At my house, like the Simpson family
At credits' end. Meanwhile they're all in cars,
And I try not to worry. It will be
Just fine, I tell myself. I'll thank my stars
Quite soon that they all made it, hug them, and
Dish up some Bambi chili for their meal.
It's weird how ev'ry year, whate'er we've planned
This is the situation and I feel
The psychic strain of keeping on the road
Carloads of far-off loved ones, then explode.

In Which Don and Carol Beat The Odds Some More

It's said that opposites surely attract

And that would be the case with this odd pair,

My mom and dad. He's Wyoming way back

(Fourth generation), while she hails from fair

Old San Francisco. Rawlins, where they met,

Hath never seen their like, before or since.

A cop and a newslady - that would get

A double-take from anyone. No hints

That they were meant to be would they accept

Until they stumbled on each other at

A party, and since then they've gladly kept

Each other's company, and I, their brat

And one more child from harm and foolish ways.

Congratulations, guys, and love always!

In Which I Endure A Little Culture Shock

My dad needed a Stetson cover for

His cowboy hat in case tomorrow's game

Is rainy. So we went down to a store

That I should have known, just from its mere name

Would shock me. At the Boot Barn I went blind

From flashing glare off th'encrusted bling

Of Christian cowgirl belts, hung up, aligned

For maximum impact. So here's the thing:

Who wears such things, and for what kind of date

Are crosses made of rhinestones round one's waist

Sartorially most appropriate?

I know full well the question is of taste,

But wonder, too, what strange new form of prayer

Takes such a form, and really, why I care.

In Which I Prepare To Be Invaded

The KATE STATION is home to a mere two:

The collie and your humble sonneteer.

In minutes, though, I'll be trying to do

All that I can, with all of my good cheer

To make some room for this, my family -

Mom, Dad, and Sister Kris and, don't forget

That Missy Shitz-poo dog. It's going to be

Our first time all together here. I'll bet

There's something I've neglected that will make

Things difficult for someone. Well at least

The books are shelved, and I've managed to take

Back this old kitchen table from the beast

That is my laptop and accessories.

We might even dine off it if we please!

In Which My Own Dear Personal Dad Has A Cool Birthdate

Today's date is 09/09/09,

Which we agree is cool all on its own.

It's also quite a day for me and mine:

My father's birthday. How the years have flown

Since he would come home in his uniform

And Kris and I would rush him in the hall.

We're grown now and occasions when his warm

Embrace can hold us both are rare. I call

Him hero still; he always finds a way

To make a diff'rence for the better in

Our lives and others'. How can I convey

My love for him in fourteen lines? I've been

Attempting it for hours, so I'll just say

I love you, Dad, and oh, happy birthday!

In Which I Basically Phone One In

I've been invaded by my mom and dad,

And last night, as they say, I overtrained.

I've no regrets, but really I'll be glad

To see this day end. Really, I'm quite drained.

Much wine, too little sleep, too much to do --

My parents shop hard when they come to town,

And there is dinner yet to whip up, too

And dominos to play ere I lay down

To properly sleep off all last night's fun.

But no hangover's ever going to stop

My writing this, my daily sonnet. One

Day I'll falter, let this program drop

But it won't be today, so here it is:

A meta-sonnet. Sure, I am a whiz!

In Which Cocktail Hour Finally Gives Us An Excuse To Stop What The Rain Could Not

Late afternoon, after a hard day's toil

In my backyard with Dad cracking his whip,

It's cocktail hour. We watch the stormclouds roil

And lightning flash oer all that we did strip

Of weeds and bunch grass at no little cost.

I eschew power tools whene'er I can;

Expensive to maintain, then there's exhaust

Inhaled while working. But as Carol Ann

Sherrod might say, you does with what you has.

And what I had was a vast crop of weeds

Beyond what I felt I could cope with as

A single girl. But now my father bleeds

From helping me. The least that I can do

Is get him drunk, and yes, my mother, too.

Father's Day Sonnet: In Which I Celebrate My Own Dear Personal Dad's Verbal Gifts

My Dad's been a Patrolman, Sheriff, Judge,

As acts to follow go, he's pretty hard.

A storyteller, too - I don't begrudge

His greater skills than mine there. And regard,

His phraseology is unsurpassed:

He has heard, sometimes, fishworms fart before,

You're "Little Buckaroo" until you're classed

Perhaps as "Sports Fan," "Bub" or "Coyote", or

Some brand new sobriquet as yet unknown.

As "drunker than a waltzing go-to-hell"

And "Glad you got to see me" both have shone

Forth brightly from his discourse, you see well

Where I come by my weird-ass verbal feats,

Raised as I've been on such lexical treats.

In Which I Gloat Over A Well-Earned Beer

Someone's idea of heaven surely is

Hot chicks with power tools. He'd love today,

When Kris and I were same. To ruin his

Imaginings a bit, a cop held sway

O'er these proceedings; that would be our Dad,

Armed with a hammer, prybar and a scowl

I'd never want turned my way. Yes we've had

Us quite a time. Now I've thrown in the towel

For one day. I must say it ain't half bad,

This deck we built for Krissy, and we've earned

The Bud Light we are gulping on it now,

Exhausted, bleeding slightly and sunburned.

Our next item of bus'ness is some chow,

We'll grill up on my sister's brand-new grill.

Some dead cow and grilled corn, oh yes we will!

Hardware Wars: Or The Most Famous Stripped Bolt In History

I couldn't help but picture, just today,
My own dear Dad and what he would have done
Had he encountered the sort of delay
Mikes Massimo and Good did, namely one
Stripped, stubborn bolt that held a rail in place
That blocked up Hubble's STIS door.
Massimo tried three tools, then, though in space,
Employed my Dad's best strategy: no more
Nor less than yanking the rail off. And yet,
With thousands tuned in, including the boss
The verbal aspect was subdued I'll bet.
No air to turn blue anyway. The loss
Of time compounded more so when
A power tool lost power. There I've been.

In Which I Become The Pie Monster For A Certain Someone's Benefit

While they were here, I took my Mom and Dad

To lunch in Cheyenne at a special joint.

Needless to say, our lunch was so not bad

That it was fab - but that is not my point.

I got a dare from Ommus once again

To sonnetize The Pie Lady this time

(That's where we lunched and where I found within

A Pie Monster). Now, yesterday my prime

Preoccupation was with Star Trek, but,

He's not so big on deadlines, Ommus, so

Today, a quiet day, I choose to strut

My sonnet stuff on him once more. I know

A sonnet is a strange place for trash talk,

But om nom nom, I'm eating. Take a walk.

The Parent Trek

It's no surprise that Mom wanted to see

The Star Trek flick, but what to do with Dad?

We thought that Earth would do, but wow! Then he

Said no he'd go to Trek with us. He's had

Experience with outer space movies:

He took us to see Star Wars after all

(Ne'er mind that that was in the 70s!).

And so we went, all three, and had a ball.

"A good light show," was Dad's review, while Mom,

Quipped "they sure hid that well" 'bout Mr. Spock

And (spoiler zapped; we'll just defuse that bomb).

While I am still recov'ring from the shock:

Shizuma Drives and Ultranauts, last time

I checked were not canon, but that's no crime.

Painting The Well House Red

My new house has an outbuilding of sorts,

A purely ornamental one, that is.

My father's on a visit and resorts

To home improvement projects here for his

Amusement since I still do not subscribe

To satellite or to cable TV.

To these two facts one eas'ly may ascribe

Our pastime for the day, which chanced to be

To paint the fake well house that's on my lawn!

I've often wondered as I look at it

What was the thought process that chanced to spawn

The thing. "What this yard needs to be legit

Is a fake well house right there, in the grass,

So mowing round it's a pain in the ass."