THE PATH NOT TAKEN (Or How We Might All Have Been Better Off, Somehow)

I’m taking this path that might prove unwise

But some precious things show up in disguise

As my mind winds down, cognition thwarted,

This pastime--I wonder--will it be distorted?

Or might I be making a good new connection

As I channel my energy in this direction?

It’s a bit of light verse that I’ve begun.

It might prove a bite that’s hard to swallow

Or a load of shite that’s hard to follow.

Either way, it’s OK, I'll have some fun

And perhaps one day when it's all done

It all might just entertain someone

Ah, It's Golf

The old sport of golf, which I occasionally play

Can confound and frustrate, even on a good day.

Despite hours of practice at that old range,

I flail at the ball in manners quite strange.

 When I play I notice the beauty around me,

But I lose all that as I head for that first tee.        

Instead I’ll focus on any mistake I might make

And start paying ahead for the bad swings I will take.

Most golfers I know, though they’re humble

Are yet proud of their long-practiced skill

And expect those results from the driving range will

Show up at the tees, the fairways and greens

Along with birdies and pars, not scores in the teens

But much of the time their skills take a tumble

And as their club meets the ball they may mumble

Not words they’d intend or normally use,

Instead words about feces or certain sex acts.

It seems this is the duty that golfing exacts.

And we’re all here today just paying our dues

When I hear so much of this grumbling and all

I wonder about my first lesson last fall

Is this what the pro called ‘addressing the ball?’

Tradition, Tradition

Traditions Have Their Ups and Downs

How many cookie monsters do you know?  Thirty-seven years ago (or maybe thirty-six, I can’t be sure) I became one.  I know who set it in motion—it was Jane.  She shared a gift and with it a recipe.  Since that Christmas, we have prepared countless batches of them.  They have marched with us from Indiana to Atlanta to Savannah and beyond.   They became a Christmas tradition of which we grew quite fond. 

It became mine alone (for a time, at least) more than thirty years ago.  Our schedules at work set most of this in motion.  I worked days (some of them long) during the week, she worked retail—and that meant nights and weekends.  We couldn’t do it together, but it had to be done, so it became mine to do—with the help of our two little elves.   By the time we made our next corporate move (to Savannah), the elves had both outgrown what we never could--one was away at college, the other in high school.  Neither thought much (or as much as we did) of our tradition.  Some of this is explained by age—before I say it was their ages, perhaps it was ours. 

The explanation might just turn on how much older we were.  The young do not instinctively respect traditions, while olders cling to them.   We continued to make the traditional treats for the next seven years, then moved on to the Lowcountry of South Carolina.  Not two years into our stay there, we started a tradition ourselves.  For thirteen years, we adults have gathered to make them ourselves, even giving them to the youngers who have chosen not to keep it up that we know of. 

Last year, we added two of our contemporaries to this older sort of event.  There were a couple of bumps in the road this year.  First, we noticed as we broke things up and divided our production (I would never call them the “spoils.”), that the production was much darker in color.  We shrugged, and headed home.  The next morning, we noticed these darker-hued products were harder, too.  In fact, they were more rocky than crisp.  That morning, I had two more batches to cook, so I set to work, turning on the oven and setting the preheat temperature. 

 

It was then I noticed it, the previous day, when I arrived, I had asked our baker to raise the temperature.  I was sure the recipe called for a higher cooking temp.  As it turns out, I was wrong.  Looking at the recipe (written on an old card more than thirty years old), I realized I had caused the overcooking of the prior day’s output.   I sent out a note to the prior day’s participants, explaining my mistake, and promising to replace it all, which I did. 

In taking the additional steps that required, I had to prepare two new batches of dough the next day to replace the batches I cooked to keep my commitment to replace the bad batches.  Are you with me so far?   I couldn’t even follow it all.

Consequently, I made a mixing mistake on one of those batches, which I realized that afternoon, and was able to correct by doubling the size of one of these new batches.  When they rolled out of the oven, it all worked out (as far as I know so far).  So what’s next?  Will the mistakes become traditional?  Stay tuned   

The Falling Catch

If any of you recall

I’m quite sure you will agree

That always most of all

His wish most fervent was to be

One who made her days happy

We realized this truth

Much later than we ought

His actions and his words forsooth

We disregarded even as we thought

Who is this fool her beauty had now brought.

Yes he was lost in love, you see,

But by his action in that moment he stood tall

Risking his own life for hers to be

Seeing him for the first time when he risked it all

She knew he’d caught her after all

 

User ID's and the Rolling Stones

All your User ID’s and your passwords—

They are surely never-to-be hacked words.

They’re all stored safely in your Icloud,

And never ever are they spoken out loud

They probably shouldn’t be written in a journal

You wouldn’t want to be asking to be hacked in person

There’s no safe place to store those passwords infernal

Things never stand still and at times they worsen.

You see, I’ve lost my password to my own icloud,

The Rolling Stones used to say "Hey You, Get off of my cloud”

But there’s a new update for the millennial crowd,

It’s a brand new chorus of which they are proud—
The new version goes “Hey, you—Get off my icloud”

ACTIONS SPEAK

At times some "famous" people talk and talk

About what they would do

if some future something came about

Then, uh-oh it comes true.

It’s said then they must walk their talk

Which they can’t seem to do

Instead, they still just talk and talk

That’s where I learned it’s really true

When that "famous" one talks and talks at times like these

Instead of standing up, then surely everyone agrees

And few would balk or raise a squawk

When I use yet another word and that is “doubletalk”