Homecoming Dreams

Over the past few years it has become apparent that our high school's Homecoming celebration needs something new. I've tried adding music to the pep rally and I LOVE that part. It's the speaking that reeks. I'm a speech teacher and coach so I've been asked to speak at pep rallies fairly often. I've done a good job, but they don't ask me because it's such an honor; they ask me because no one else wants to do it. It seems to me that it should be an awesome time that everyone wants to be in on. Unfortunately, despite some excellent efforts by a few really enthusiastic students and teachers, a growing majority seems to think it's all a waste of time and we should just get it over with.

I've talked to quite a few people and we're laying the groundwork to fight this apathy. We're going to hit this celebration with music that includes singers, a rock band, and the marching band. We're going to get the school dancing and we're going to put it on film. We're going to show the world that we love our school and that we love each other. I'm sure we'll have plenty of kids who think it's stupid, but those are the ones who hate everything. We can't please them so we might as well have fun and extend the invitation. Who knows? Some of them might figure out that it's more fun to join in than to always look down on everyone else. I want to be inclusive and give everybody a chance to be a part of something fun and little by little we're getting more and more people excited. It's going to catch on and we're going to have a great time. Well, those of us who choose to will. I sincerely hope that's all of the school and even some of the community.

I guess I'd better continue with the limericking:

There once was a marching band drummer
Who thought wearing wool was a bummer
Still he beat the skins
Rocked the beat with his friends
Yeah, he was a true up-and-comer

There, to make up for my "vicious attack" on the professor's rhyming skills.

The Cubs had another bad year
Making fans cry in their beer
The faithful cheered on
'Till each game was done
Facing next year with no worse to fear

(I'm a KC Chiefs fan; I feel your pain.)

My doggy lies here at my feet
Waiting for her nightly treat
To my chair she's adjacent
And ever so patient
With a resolve as hard as concrete.

Time to reward the pooch.

The Professor Hits the Drumline

There was a professor named Chuck
With limericks he pushed his luck
To get a third rhyme
He was not sublime,
He sometimes rolled 'round in the muck.

This is in response to the professor's comment on my last set. I mean, really. "Fred, head, and MOPEDS?" Really?!?

Oh well, I would have helped him with that line if he wasn't in such a hurry. He's off now to play the snare drum in his first high school marching band show. He's excited and concerned all at once. He's excellent with music and I know he's practiced his charts both playing and stepping, so he'll be fine. He's in a great group and they have a lot of fun together. I know lots of kids in the band and it's a real blast to watch them all. Maybe I'll learn how to embed video. That would be good to know.

I finished Merle's Door. Yeah, I cried quite a bit. He really stretched out those last days. Still, the guy knows the love of dogs and the final image, for me, is the most endearing. I'd go into more detail, but it's time to get back to silly limericks.

(ahem)

There once was a puppy named Jake
Who had thirst he never could slake
He'd drink and he'd wag
'Til his belly would sag,
Yet found room for ice cream and cake.

There was an old ninja named Woo
Who mastered the art of Kung Fu
He could drop from the sky
And kick you in the eye,
All while reciting Lao Tzu

The king of Peru loved his beans.
He always had some in his jeans.
Not coffee, but jelly,
He grew a fat belly
Now he's man enough for two queens. (ewwww)

That's more than enough.

Reading MERLE'S DOOR

I've been reading Merle's Door by Ted Kerasote. It was a birthday gift from my dad. We both love big dogs. I currently have a dog who is half golden lab and half(almost certainly) husky. Except for her excitement for dogs passing by, squirrels, bunnies, cats, and raccoons, and anyone newly visiting us, she is docile and kind of sleepy. She'll get very excited for the first few minutes that anyone new comes through our door, but give her three minutes and she'll be contentedly lying under the table. I love my dog.

Kerasote is an excellent observer and explainer, backing up his observations with actual scholarly research. He's both amusing and instructive. I've read 300 pages and I'm bracing myself for the end. His dog Merle is unique, intelligent, affectionate, and getting old. When I started to read this book, my wife looked at me and said, "The dog's gonna die." She's not insensitive. It's a well-known fact that most dog stories end with the death of the dog. Marley and Me is the most recent commercial success to put us dog lovers into tears and I know that the last fifty pages of Merle's Door are going to be the best kind of difficult.

They say that tragedies like Romeo & Juliet are supposed to be considered uplifting because they make us think and bring out the best in us. I've taught that for years without thinking too much about the lift to the spirits. I never really feel that. I see the lessons it teaches and I do feel the "lift" of excellent drama expressed in poetry, but I don't feel the moral lift that experts say I'm supposed to get. It sounds silly, but dog stories help me to understand what I'm supposed to be getting from tragedy. When I read a good dog story and, as always, the dog dies, I feel sad, but also the urge to be a better person, to love better, to enjoy what I have more. All of us only have so much time, and dog's lives are so short that they teach us about the importance of every moment. It's a cliche, but everyone who loves a dog knows that their lives are short and they make us look at ourselves. When Ted Kerasote is 48 in the book and Merle starts to show his age, I look at my own 45 years with resignation for the things that are behind me now. My dog is 5. When I turn 48, she'll be 8, just like Merle in the book. It's only coincidence, but when my dog starts to show her age, I know I'll be right there with my own aches and pains. They've already started. I also know how difficult it is to lose a beloved dog. I'll never forget the last walk and the last time I held my boyhood dog Barney. It's burned into my consciousness affecting the way I see the world. Dogs guide us in more ways than one.

Enough seriousness; the limerick war is apparently raging, complete with trash-talking and all sorts of erroneous claims. I must get back and do my part.

There once was a limerick war

Combatants joined in more and more

With insults in verse

The rhyming was terse

Laughing casualties rolled on the floor.

One said, "It's the best kind of war,

A fight without maiming or gore.

I call you a twit,

You make my sides split

With rhymed, metered trash talk galore!

The professor, composing his crimes

Was attacked by a dancer in rhymes

Her rhythm was bad

As a Hosbond in plaid

But she learned and we're in for good times

More Nonsense

And then there were three composing limericks. One of the professor's friends has joined the madness. This could turn into an avalanche of verse. We'll see.

There was a truck driver named Bob

Whose friends all rebuked as a slob

He left his abode

And took to the road

Spilling two tons of corn on the cob

It's that time of year, ya know.

More Bad Poetry

It seems that the gauntlet has been thrown down for limericks. How delightful. This bad poetry could continue indefinitely.

There once was a walrus named John
With Paul, Ringo, and George he played on
He heard a man say,
"Beatles with an A"
On a flaming pie, then it was gone.

The band knew at once it was right
The name stuck, the band played all night
The girls all did scream
Musicians did dream
Beatlemania did ignite!

Maybe not the best, but I know how much the professor loves John Lennon and the Beatles, so he might get a kick out of these. I'll be watching his blog for the next challenge.

Bad Poetry Day

Here we are again in that hyper-emotional hormone drenched whirlwind we call high school. It's been a typical first day, and yet one that I've anticipated for years. Ever since my wife first became pregnant around 15 years ago I've wondered, "What if one of our kids is in my class some day?" That day is here and so far I have not totally embarrassed him. In fact, it's just good to see him there. This morning when the entire student body was crammed in the gymnasium and I was walking past the freshmen, a smiling face was suddenly near me with an outstretched hand to high-five me. You can call it corny, but I think he's about as cool as he can be.

Now, if you're in the market for bad limericks, he's just getting warmed up at Random Thoughts with Professor Chuck. As I've done before, I will now attempt to answer his limerick with another that's just as bad.

(ahem)

There once was an old chef from Sparta
In love with his seamstress named Marta
He gave her roast goose
In cheese and fruit juice
With a greasy wet smooch a la carte.

Yup, it's bad poetry day. I bet mine is worse. :)

My Guardian Angel

Yesterday was the first Teacher Day and school starts next Wednesday. I got up and walked the dog. Then I watched a little TV. I caught the end of a travel show about Italy and watched all of the next one on Edinburg. Then I put a mix of cds on, classical and jazz, and even a little Bela Fleck banjo. From there I went to the kitchen.

When I have the time, I love to cook. The rest of my family was still sleeping, so I had some purely creative time in the kitchen. I mixed three eggs with a little milk. Then I stirred in a little salsa con quesa. To that I added some chopped green pepper, onion, black olives, and green olives with pimento. I was already frying bacon in another pan, so I started this omelet in a new pan and added some shredded deli ham and a slice of American cheese, also torn. I slapped this creation onto a plate with toast and bacon and thoroughly enjoyed it with grape juice.

When I got down to my last bite, the thought hit me. Without knowing it I had just spent my morning with my aunt Jane. She's been gone for years, but I think of her so often that I sometimes refer to her as my guardian angel. Aunt Jane loved walks, travel shows and especially cooking shows, and most of all, cooking.

I'll never forget a walk around the old neighborhood with Aunt Jane in which she noticed yellow irises growing in a ditch. It's because of Aunt Jane that irises are one of the few flowers that I can identify. We went right home to get the right tools and she dug a few of the wildflowers to plant in her own garden. She always made things prettier. And tastier.

My aunt Jane was the best cook in the family. Whenever I spend time in the kitchen, making bread, sauteing mushrooms, or creating some new omelet I always feel comforted. A calm comes over me and I chop vegetables, listen to music, smell and feel the food as well as taste it. The last time I visited Aunt Jane in a hospital in West Virginia, we sat quietly and watched cooking shows on the Food Network. Just being with her always made me feel like somehow I was the most wonderful person in the world. I miss that.

When I was attending the University of Northern Iowa I had an art class in a big auditorium and every day of that class we saw the most interesting paintings projected on a huge screen. One day I took Aunt Jane with me. She never went past high school and was never very intellectual, but she had such an intuitive sense for beauty and art that I just wanted to share that experience with her. Having her around always made things better. It's probably because she loved me so much that I felt like I could do no wrong. It's a real confidence builder to have someone like that in your corner.

I'm about to start a new school year. My days will be packed. I will get buried in assignments and every once in a while I might even lose perspective. I'll be dealing with a whole range of kids, some of whom have never felt the kind of love and support that my family has provided for me. Everybody should have someone who makes them feel the way Aunt Jane made me feel. There's a lot of hurt out in the world and we need more Aunt Janes. Everyone should feel the calm and love of a guardian angel. I know that I've been blessed with mine.