Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Letter to my Friend, in Silly Rhyme

Folks, I'm am literally up to my elbows in laundry, which is why I'm blogging. I'm  on my laptop in the basement, on the sofa,  an ironing board's length away from the washer and dryer.  My left arm is  propped up by a load of towels,  while a load of darks  props the right. A basket of socks and undies serves as an ottoman for my feet.

Not really, but the mental image isn't far from the truth.  I AM blogging in the basement near the laundry room, inundated by mounds of clothes that got washed following a toilet overflow two nights ago.

So before I dive into my piles, I want to share part of a letter I wrote to my friend Kelly, who lives in Colorado. We were high school classmates, and shared an apartment in college until we went different directions back in the 80s. She is the mother of 8 -- count 'em, 8. Four biological and then four adopted.  But somehow she manages to write me monthly (almost)  and I reciprocate. Although, one time she went FIVE months before writing back, which I won't let her forget.

Last night I penned this letter (yes, penned a 16 pager, not typed) about my life's little happenings.

The letter was only going to START with a silly poem,
 and then turn to normal prose,
 but I couldn't cease the rhyming.
Read on. Here goes:


Dear Kelly,

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul--

Oh, wait! No, here's a revised version:

Now I sit me down to write
A letter to Kelly this fall Monday night.
It's been many moons since she heard from me
Which is only payback from her friend named "Z."

She's probably forgotten the news she penned last.
Time takes a toll and moves on so fast,
Except when it's one's turn to RECEIVE correspondence.
Then time moves slowly and one's heart grows despondent.

So I'll squelch your dismay by expressing my views
Should I skip the politics and talk about shoes?
Okay, I will! I bought some black clogs
Which are most comfy, yes,  except when one jogs.

I've bought other stuff too (I love to shop.)
A new Crock Pot and knives--choppity chop.
Add to that a plum leather  purse,
Art supplies, sticky notes, and an '87 hearse.

                              Just kidding, I didn't have a coupon for the hearse
                              And I refuse to pay full price if it's the last thing I do!

Let's see, since my last letter,
We celebrated the engagement
Of Stephen and Ambrey in the house
(Not   on the pavement.)

The wedding is planned for a day in June
We've booked church, hall, photographer and are recalling the tune:
"E-I-E-I-O" or, rather, "See? I owe, We Owe."
(Now aren't you tired of the rhymes by Zo?)

All right, I'll stop, I mean I'll try.
I'd hate to think you're ready to cry
About the fact that I've got a most horrible curse--
Unstoppable explosions of ill-formed verse !!

Back to the news here on  Friendship Drive,
The dogs drive me nutty when they howl at 5.
I don't do well responding to beasts (or to people, for that matter)
who disturb my sleep with incessant chatter.

Our minivan's battery konked out last Wednesday night
So Thursday I took our Saab (the "emergency car") and got quite a fright.
You see, I was heading to a  job interview
Merrily cruising at about seventy-two.

When, to my horror, my shock, my chagrin,
The engine began to chug, shake, and shim.
No! Not now! What is going on?
I JUST filled the tank, so what the dawn?

In a split second I thought, "Uh-oh, dear Lord,
This thing is acting just like a Ford!
The speedometer dropped down, down, down to 37--
"Oh, dear Father," I begged-- "please get me to Chevron!"

With time to spare, I called hubby (who was FAR away)
Though there was nothing he could do from his phone in LA.
So I ate some crow, and swallowed my pride,
Called the interviewer,  and confessed  "my car died."

She asked where I was.
"In the assisted living parking lot."
She said, "You're three minutes from me,
I'll come see what you've got."

Well, I've got embarrassment, and wondered if God
Remembered that bosses don't go for slipshod.
Or was my asking for help in time of need
A better thing, after all, than self-reliance indeed?

She followed me to her trusty mechanic
Who said , "It's a Saab story, but don't you panic."
The boss lady drove me to the client's house,
While I was feeling sheepish, and small as a mouse.

I was applying to become this sweet person's art teacher.
She's 41, disabled, and art's a way to reach her.
You see, she's wheelchair-bound, afflicted by CP.
A pretty brunette who weighs but half of me!

She can only move her left arm, her right one barely works,
and her hand's not always steady--sometimes she get 'the jerks.'
Spasticity's a common thing for her to contend with,
So doing art with "Katie" requires a certain gift.

And not to brag on self--but on God--
I think I've got that gift.  (Please nod.)
Our one-hour interview became a four-hour lunch.
Boy, can three women talk a bunch while we munch!

The sweet slow-talking "Katie" asked about my family, students, pets, and car.
She asked, "Are you a patient person?" I cackled, "Hardee har har!"
"Yes," I said, "with people who try and who need my help,
but not with my two dogs who always yelp, yelp, yelp!"

She smiled. I asked her, "Do YOU think I'm patient?"
She paused, then nodded, "If you're a teacher, and have 4 kids, you're patient."
(Oh, if only that qualified me, what a difference there'd be under our dome,
Or as those Jews say, we'd have more shalom in the home.)

Oh, back to the  car-in-the-shop deal,
The Saab got fixed for $252 over a midday meal.
The lady has one more person to see this week
But I hope she picks me, with my personality squeak.

She seems rich as all get-out, the interviewing lady,
So, too, "Katie" herself, or more precisely, Katie's daddy.
He had the home built for his one and only daughter,
Totally designed from floors to sink where one draws water.

Her wheelchair goes through an automatic door that opens from kitchen to garage
and can fit under countertops--oh, my, what a suitable, bright lodge.
She can't feed herself or go potty on her own.
But she's sold paintings for charity. Mazel tov and shalom!

Speaking of Jews, I babysit two girls at a local synagogue.
It's easy work, for generous pay, on regular shabbat.
But let me tell you, easy ends when 1, 2, 3, 4 little boys
need me for diaper changes, lollipops, and playing with ALL the toys.


Oy vey! I was watching four boys this past Saturday.
While  "Samuel" was in service, something made me nervous.
I was helping little "Jacob" to pee on the pot, not the floor,
When the other quietly sneaked out, I never heard the door!

The two little squirts had disappeared down the hall
While toileting Jake had my attention. Oh, the gaul!
And 14-month old Nathan-- binky in his mouth--
Couldn't stay there all alone. I just wanted to shout!

"Where ARE you boys! Get back here or I'm toast!"
I felt a coronary coming on. Call 911 or just the host?
Their New York Jewish mother heard their voices near her door
Where she was half-attentive during her nephew's bar "mitz-voor."

Finally boys were back under my dictatorial watchful eye.
I was tempted to SIT on them--at least on the rottenest little guy.
Okay, I'm shutting this down and turning on the tube
To see Obama and Romney debate; will either be a boob?

Oh, by the way, not sure if you're the Crock Pot cookin' type,
But I'm ready to announce this new discovery with hype.
Put all your prepped food in a Ziploc bag
(Potatoes, seered meat,  carrots, et cetera) when you're not jet-lagged.

Then stick in the freezer, labeled as such,
"Add 1/2 cup water, cook on Low 8 hrs"--what a crutch!
We all need crutches to lean on for support
When life's moving fast, and our energy is short.

Truly, truly, I say unto thee
I'm about finished writing, my dear Kelly.

Questions, answers, comments, whatever. I'll reread your letter and hope
you will forever
Be grateful to the Lord above, that He invented sleep
 because I need some.
And that totally
didn't rhyme
but I don't give
a rodent's butt.

My favorite movie? I can't pick just one.
Recently Sarah's Key, but way back, Forrest Gump.
Never seen Tombstone or Gods Must Be Crazy.
Does that mean, good friend, that I am cinematically lazy?

Hey, girl, to answer your great question:
"If we had a weekend together, what would we do?'
I say wine and cheese and mountain breeze,
and lots of yackin' with you!

Yes, all my kids get along with each other and their spouse("s").
We all like to spend time where oldest son's house is.
What, you ask, would I do if I didn't like the women my sons chose?
Well, I think I'd keep them from my sons with a freezing water hose!

No, I think I would be much less hospitable.
I wouldn't buy them any gifts nor take them on vacation.
I'd snarl, "Go find someone else to bat your lashes at,
and while you're at it, "Cover up your entire bust!"
And THAT totally didn't rhyme either. (Again, I don't give a rodent's butt.)

What's Colorado Springs like now that the fires are gone,
Along with hundreds of properties?
Can I find some rhyming words
Like "gundreds of jalopities"?

Shoot me! Your letter was written on August 20th--
Two months and two days ago!
Please don't repay evil for evil. Remember, I love you!
Sincerely,
Zo

































O



3 comments:

Beth Zimmerman said...

Your talents, and humor, never cease to amaze! =)

Laurie said...

That letter is awesome
It's long and it's cute
It's friendly and newsy
It’s truly a beaut!

mybabyjohn/Delores said...

Well you've definitely got her caught up to speed on your happenings...