Kites fly up
Helicopters spin down
Wind chimes ring
To signal spring
I spy a four leaf clover
The early bird got the worm
Picnics in the sunshine
Relaxed and warm
Buttercups give your chin a tickle
Do you see the glow?
Rain starts to sprinkle
Look for the rainbow
Clip a bunch of lilacs for the table vase
Egg hunting time…it’s a race!
Let’s go camping for spring break
Practice skipping stones across the lake
The school year is coming to an end
Field day…time to play!
Spring forward!
High school prom is in May
Decorations, corsages, anticipation
Can you believe what’s next?
Our high school graduation!
Blow the dandelion seeds into the wind
What is my wish?
For Father Time to go to bed
And let time stand still instead
Memoirs
Pea Pancakes
My Uncle passed on a week ago. As sad as death can be, I prefer to find joy in what a life has brought to the world. My Uncle lived a long 91 years, and accomplished more than most could hope to do. But in keeping with my theme, I’ll tell you about my favorite memories of him from childhood.
Uncle Dick played a pivotal role in finding my dad a job working for the State of Connecticut, and finding our first home in Granby, where I grew up. He and his family lived not too far from there, so we were able to visit them often. He had two young daughters that were close to my age. We would have sleepovers and, in the mornings, Uncle Dick would make us pancakes. Except these weren’t ordinary pancakes, these were pea pancakes. He would hide a single pea in a few in the stack, and we would have to eat our way through the stack to find them. Who knew a child could get so excited about a pea?!
One Summer we went over to play, and he set up a slip and slide for us. But again, this wasn’t an ordinary slip and slide, this was the world’s largest slip and slide. He used giant tarps and covered the backyard with them. We slipped and slid to our heart’s content.
One Spring we went for an Easter egg hunt in the backyard. But again, this wasn’t an ordinary hunt. There were eggs stuffed with candy, but there were also giant stuffed bunnies to find. I brought home a bunny bigger than myself that day. I never knew such a thing could exist.
My Uncle also like to play a variety of stringed instruments, and he would always grace us with a song or two on our visits. “The Unicorn” was a must. One day my mom said we were going to watch her brother play. And guess what? It was no ordinary jam session. We ended up in the streets of downtown Hartford watching my Uncle and his band, The Connecticut River Ramblers, play a show on stage. I’m grateful to him for the introduction to, and my appreciation of, Bluegrass music and live shows.
How wonderful to be a person who so easily makes life extraordinary for others.
Peace be with you, Uncle Dick. Time to go see those silly unicorns!
Don’t Tell Mom!
Growing up in a full house meant chaos and mayhem more often than not. Things would get broken: dishes, toys, and body parts. Things would get hidden: those things we broke, bad grades, and beer. Things would get lost: pets and children. Things would get faked: innocence and parent signatures. But no matter what happened, someone would yell, “Don’t tell mom!”
With so many kids, there was usually a witness, which therefore led to some leverage, blackmail, or payback. But sometimes you were lucky enough to do something stupid without anyone watching.
I think I was somewhere around 7 or 8 years old when I decided to pick up my brother’s BB gun. (Also embedded here is a good lesson in gun safety.) I had seen my brothers shooting at a paper target out in the yard that was secured to a blanket which was draped over some wood. They carried it into the shed, and left it there…with the gun. The loaded gun. The loaded gun with the safety off. I knew better than to look down the barrel, at least. So I made the swift decision to pick up the gun, aim it at the target that was a mere six feet in front of me, and shoot off a round. As soon as my finger flexed I had the following senses: I heard the BB hit the target, I felt the BB fly through the hair hanging alongside my neck, then I tasted fear as I saw in my mind’s eye my mother coming at me with her wooden spoon because she’s mad I have no common sense. But then I came to my senses and realized she hadn’t seen a thing. I was one lucky son of a gun.
So that was my secret…’til now. Every year I’d watch A Christmas Story and silently nod in agreement when everyone yelled at Ralphie that he would shoot his eye out. But guess what Santa brought my daughter this year? You guessed it. An official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle. And she loves it. She knocked a can over in the yard on her second shot.
Of course I’ve learned a few things about gun safety, and other stuff, since I was her age. But I definitely still do dumb things. And I never want my mom to know about them. But now that I’m a mom I understand that unconditional love means that no matter what your child does, even it’s the dumbest shit you’ve ever seen, you’ll love her. And even though you might cringe hearing about all the ways your progeny ain’t no prodigy, you want to hear about it anyway. After all, you can’t cover it up if you don’t know about it.
Juvenescent Junkets 