221. Taking a Breather

TAKING A BREATHER

Bugsy went to Confession, the first time in twenty years!

He thought he might drop dead one day so he went to allay his fears.

The Priest asked a gentle question 'Have you slept with a woman? he said,

Bugsy replied 'No, Father!' but his face went rather red!

'I'll ask you again! Mind what you say!' the Priest spoke sternly now,

'Have you ever slept with a woman?' . Sweat broke out on Bugsy's brow.

'No, never, never, Father!' Bugsy was quite emphatic.

The Father's brow grew clouded and the atmosphere dramatic.

Now he roared with religious zeal 'I ask you once again;

Have you slept with a woman? I know the ways of men.'

By now poor Bugsy was shattered, and he longed to tell the truth.

He knew he'd made love to women many times since his youth!

'I've never actually slept' he said 'If you know what I mean.

But I have sometimes dozed off a bit....

You know......in between!'

P.S.

PRIVATE CELEBRATION FOR ALL TO SHARE.

Five years without cancer I celebrate today.

Five years since I spanked it and sent it on its way.

Two thousand days of living! So I am on a high.

I love being five years older!

It means I didn't die!

Uncle Remus

UNCLE REMUS

Uncle Remus told a story, as was his usual habit,

About Brer Fox, a crafty one, and, yes, our friend Brer Rabbit.

Now both were clever creatures, we've known that for an age,

And both of them were capable of getting in a rage.

One day, to trap Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox hatched up a plot.

He found some tar, all sticky and, from the sun, quite hot.

He fashioned it (I wonder how) into a sort of creature

With body, limbs and hair and face, yes, every human feature.

He propped it up against a rock and said to himself  'Well, maybe

I can catch Brer Rabbit with this doll, this beautiful Tar Baby!'

He hid behind a leafy bush as Brer Rabbit walked along,

Twirling his cheeky whiskers and singing a little song.

'Trala! Tralee!' sang the Rabbit 'I'm happy being me!

But, hey! I see a stranger! Who can this fellow be?'

Now Brer Rabbit loved to make new friends, so up he spoke, on cue.

He went right up to the Tar Baby and said 'How do you do?'

Of course, there was no answer, for Tar Babies don't talk!

(And there'd have been no story if the Rabbit continued to walk!)

'Where are your manners, Baby?' Brer Rabbit said outright;

'Answer me when I speak to you! Just try to be polite!'

The Tar Baby just sat quite dumb, and didn't say a word.

'Answer me, you varmint! I greeted you! You heard!'

Now the Rabbit made his great mistake, he struck a fighting pose

And with his paw he punched the Baby on its little nose!

Of course, Brer Rabbit's paw got stuck! Oh how tight tar can stick!

And at once he realised that he'd been victim of a trick.

In desperation he began to punch and writhe and shout,

But soon he was enmeshed in tar and unable to get out.

Poor Rabbit!  What a sorry sight! Black and sticky! Trapped!

And then the laughing Fox emerged! Oh how he cheered and clapped!

'What shall I do with you, Brother?' said the Fox, with the upper hand.

'You are entirely in my power, as I'm sure you understand.'

He thought a bit, that wily Fox, with his paw beneath his chin

And then announced 'The river! I'm going to throw you in!

Rabbits can't swim!' the Fox rejoiced, 'So you will drown for sure!

And then I won't be troubled by Brer Rabbit any more!'

Did I tell you that Brer Rabbit was well endowed with brains?

He quickly found a way to turn his losses into gains.

'Please throw me in the river, Brother Fox, for I feel dry!

But don't throw me in the briar-bush for I shall surely die!

The wretched thorns will get me and poke out both my eyes!'

Thus did the Rabbit continue, with loud and heartfelt cries.

'I'm wanting you to suffer' said the Fox , 'The river's out!

But I've thought of something deadlier you haven't thought about.

I'm going to build a blazing fire and throw you in the flames!

I'm tired of all your fooling and silly Rabbit games!'

'Please throw me in the fire, Brer Fox!' Brer Rabbit quickly said;

'But not into the briar-bush or I will end up dead!'

'Since fire doesn't scare you, I'll hang you from a tree!'

Said the wicked Fox, licking his lips, and grinning nastily.

'Please hang me from the nearest tree!' said the Rabbit 'With a rope!
But don't throw me in the briar-bush or I will have no hope!

I love to swing from the branches but, Fox, I'm on my knees…..

Don't throw me in the briar-bush! Please! I beg you! Please!'

'It seems you love to swing from trees and you fancy licking flames,

And you also  like rushing rivers! I'm tired of your fun and games!'

Said the Fox, and then he continued 'To cause you maximum woe,

Into the nearest briar-bush Mr Rabbit you will go!'

He tugged and pulled at Brer Rabbit, till, at last, he had him free,

While the Rabbit moaned and screamed and wailed, a picture of misery.

The Fox found the nearest briar-bush, swung Rabbit by the ears,

And threw him into the briar-bush, the greatest of all his fears!

At once, Brer Rabbit sat up and grinned, as only a Rabbit can,

Knowing he'd tricked the wicked Fox and ruined his ghastly plan.

'I was born and bred in a briar-patch! I'm going to live, not die!

You're bigger than me, but you've got no brains Mr Fox! Goodbye!'

With that he hopped out of the briar-bush, over the hills and away.

Brer Rabbit escaped and we know he lived to fight another day!

219. Recipe in Rhyme Three: Bread Pudding

Short-cuts are sometimes inferior to the real thing, but this substitute for Christmas Pudding is not only quicker and cheaper but it is also equally delicious.

BREAD PUDDING

There may be other folk around who like to take short cuts.

Who like to get things done at speed without the ifs or buts.

If so I'm here to show you how you can compromise a bit,

And make a 'sort-of' recipe that will always be a hit.

I speak of Christmas Pudding; I know it tastes sublime,

But it keeps you in the kitchen and takes up a lot of time.

Last year we had a barbecue, so we were far from formal,

And my succulent Bread Pudding was delicious and quite normal.

So let me fill-you in on what a Bread Pudding's about

You'll feel relaxed and much less taxed, of that there is no doubt.

Gently heat two cups of milk, be careful how they warm,

Watch the saucepan carefully; a delicate film will form.

Now you must add the butter, that's the golden rule,

And when it's melted in the milk allow the lot to cool.

Cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar, eggs  (without the shells, not whole!),

Must be added with vanilla in another mixing bowl.

Whisk together for one minute and then quickly add the milk.

This batter should be creamy and as smooth as any silk.

Now butter a shallow casserole, to stop your pudding sticking.

All this is fast, you'll be surprised at how slow the clock is ticking!

Into a casserole place the bread, all torn up nice and small,

Then pour your lovely batter evenly over all.

Sprinkle with dried fruit, of course, some peel is extra good

And dabs of butter on the top make a really golden pud.

Bake in a moderate oven for an hour or maybe less

Then take it out and sniff the gorgeous fruits of your success.

It smells like a Christmas Pudding, it tastes just like one too!

So you don't need to apologise (oh well, that's up to you.)

Serve it cut in tasty squares with custard or with cream,

And you'll get compliments, I know, from everyone on your team!

I doubt if there will be much left; they'll soon put it away,

But should there be a square or two use the microwave next day.

You'll be free of tension with this easy recipe

So go and join the others around the Christmas Tree!

Ingredients

2 cups milk

1/4 cup butter

2/3 cup sugar

3 eggs

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 cups bread, torn into small pieces (french bread works best)

1/2 cup dried fruit

218. Reindeer Routine

The Committee of my Social Club performed this silly little skit last Christmas, at the Christmas Dinner. It may suit some of you. We can't be the only crazy old ladies in the world!


VERY DEEP AND MEANINGFUL!

REINDEER ROUTINE

(Santa enters alone)

Santa

Ho Ho Ho, I'm good old Santa.

Full of jollity and banter!

See my stomach, round and fat?

Well, my sack's as full as that!

(Merry Xmas enters and stands by Santa.)

Merry

And I'm his side-kick, little Merry,

Brighter than a holly berry!

I see Santa's clothed and fed

And I keep him nice and warm in bed!

Both

'But where are the reindeer?' I hear you ask!

They have such an important task.

They need to be agile, smart and frisky.

Not too affected by the whiskey!

Santa

Sing them a song to coax them in.

Let the reindeer fun begin!

Merry

Everyone knows the Rudolph song.

Sing out loud! You can't go wrong!

(The audience sings one chorus of 'Rudolph' while the reindeer are still hidden.)

Compere

You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen,

Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen.

You must agree that it's a pity

That they resemble your committee!

(Each reindeer enters in turn, performing to order. They end up all in line.)

Dasher  I'm Dasher because I'm always dashing.

Dancer I'm Dancer because my dancing's smashing.

Prancer   I'm Prancer. I'm so good at prancing!

Vixen I may be a Vixen, but I'm entrancing

Comet I'm Comet! See my tail ablaze!

Cupid I'm little Cupid with loving ways.

Donner Donner means Thunder, I roar and crash!

Blitzen And Blitzen is Lightning! See me flash.

Santa

Come on, Reindeer! Let's get going!

Merry

It's nearly Xmas! It's started snowing!

(The reindeer dig in their heels and wont budge.)

Reindeer in Unison

How will we manage, do you suppose,

Without dear Rudolph and his nose?

Rudolph (off stage)

My nose! My nose! It wont turn red!

It's a sort of pinkish-white instead!

How can I lead the reindeer team

Without my usual scarlet beam?

Santa

Someone. quickly, give him a drink!

That'll change his nose to red from pink!

(Rudolph enters, to be given a quick drink by a member of the audience. Miraculously he can now attach his nose and take his place at the head of the team. The reindeer now circle the room, with Santa and Merry taking up the rear, as the audience sings 'Rudolph' once again).

217. While My Back Was Turned!

(See 214 and 216 for my SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS and SIMPLY SNICKERS entries.)

Forgive me if this story is already well-known! I have only just discovered it and I'm full of enthusiasm. Please read one of the many full accounts that are on the Web.

WHILE MY BACK WAS TURNED!

To paraphrase T.S. Eliot,

 'My life's been measured in coffee spoons'.

A bit of work, a bit of chat,

A bit of harmless this and that.

But was I really on a mission,

Or did I give myself permission

To play at work and work at play,

And flit about from day to day?

Really! Since 1961

What exactly have I done?

Just built a 'harmless' little life....

Teacher, mother, friend and wife.

Meanwhile, while my back was turned,

Someone with real ambition burned!

In our thirties, way back then,

He turned his back on affairs of men.

While I just skittered about the place

A stupid smile on my fatuous face!

No, it wasn't quite as bad as that,

But it was no Magnificat!

Mejorado del Campo, a name that rings,

With the liquid sunshine of Spanish things.

And it is there that Justo came

Not to anguish, not to blame,

But to build his own stairway to the sky,

Year by year as time went by.

Removed from his Order, for he was ill,

He felt a heavenly calling still,

And he sold some land for the wherewithal,

To build a Cathedral, high, wide, tall!

Yes! A Cathedral! Give some thought

To hobbies like knitting, bird-watching, sport!

Just think how I have spent my time

Writing nonsense things in rhyme!

For forty years, you must agree,

We haven't shown much constancy.

Whereas Don Justo made a start,

With religious fervour in his heart,

To dig and delve, and scrimp and save,

All the way till he reached his grave.

On his own he made foundations,

Without any plans or specifications.

Built the walls and built the piers!

Single-handed! For forty years!

Now Don Justo and I are old.

His story continues to unfold.

He works each day on his great vision,

Not always with excellent precision.

In fact, the powers that be have stated

That his great Cathedral is over-rated;

That it isn't safe. They come from the town

And view its magnificence with a frown.

He knows that, one day, it must go.

But still he works, though he's old and slow.

But for now it points up to the sky

A little quirky but wide and high.

How he's laboured, how he's yearned!

And all of it while my back was turned!

216. A Winter's Tale.

Memories are precious things. And some of the most poignant and precious are, in themselves, slight. This memory is slight, but it is always with me.

A WINTER'S TALE

The play was over.

All the giggling and terrible acting were done.

We were young village girls

Performing at a neighbouring village hall.

Was it two miles from home or more?

The distance escapes me.

Does it matter?

All that matters is the stars.

That and the frost.

Transport arrived to take us home.

Some would have to 'start walking'.

(In my memory we walked all the way.)

Does it matter?

All that matters is the stars.

That and the frost.

Five of us linked arms

And started walking homewards.

We didn't speak;

We had done with laughter

And bad acting.

Were there five of us?

Does it matter?

All that matters is the stars.

That and the frost.

The memory of that night

And that walk

Is with me still.

'A Winter's Tale'

Demands snow and a full moon.

We had no moon, no snow,

No Christmas-cardy

Effulgence of night-time glory.

We had a dark blue sky,

A billion stars,

And a road fast-crisping

In the icy stillness.

The air was bitter.

Our breath billowed out,

Temporarily clouding the stars.

Branches, whitening before our eyes,

Stood stiffly,

Surely ready to snap.

We walked in unison,

Briskly, because of the cold.

One could almost say we marched.

No words were spoken,

Yet such a sense of companionship

Pervaded that night

That I remember the silence

As a meaningful conversation.

We spread out

Right across the vehicle-free road.

(This was 1947 remember!)

What a poor old 'Winter's Tale'!

No lights,

No snow,

No 'Ho! Ho! Ho!'

No holly berries

Or 'Christmas Merries'

No decorations

Or fond relations.

No carol-singing

Or present-bringing.

Silence,

Except for the

Sound of flinty feet

On the fast-frosting road.

And the vision of periwinkle stars.