This quote by Mojo is so hilarious and topical that I had to share it with you for my last quote of the day. Anyone who wishes to, please hop on the bandwagon and share your quotes. HERE are the rules. Thanks, Rugby, for nominating me.
How Not to Walk a Crocodile
I’ll admit, it’s been a while
since I walked a crocodile,
so my technique is rather rusty
and my memory is dusty.
Still, I’ll tell you if you sit awhile
how not to walk a crocodile!
Don’t walk him through the butcher shop.
The butcher will just call a cop.
Don’t visit bakeries at all.
His roar will cause the cakes to fall.
That store where Mother bought her dress?
No place to walk your croc, I’d guess.
And though your pet may need some air,
it’s best that you don’t take him where
small dogs are left out for our viewing
just right for crocodile chewing.
Dog parks do not work for crocs
Find a new place for your walks.
Don’t walk him on your grandma’s floor.
She’ll sweep you both right out the door.
Don’t take him to your Sunday School.
He’s sure to break the Golden Rule.
And if you take him to the deli,
no saying what ends in his belly.
I’ll share a secret with you now.
It is, I really don’t know how
to take a crocodile for a walk.
All of this has just been talk.
And can I guess by your big smile,
you do not have a crocodile?
I guess it was the recent sighting of a croc on the beach at night that sent this little ditty rushing into my head this morning. I would love to have someone illustrate this. Anyone want to try? Send a sketch of your vision of the croc in one of the given situations. You can either email it to me or put it on your blog and send me a link!
Here’s a photo of the croc that was on the beach near the house I rent. You could see my house in the background if it were light! Photo by Susana Vijaya. (She estimated the croc to be 3 meters long!)
Update: If you’re not ready to leave croc world yet, here’s an oldie but goodie. (Thanks to Marilyn for the memory jog.)
When wind howls like a banshee to fill the dark night air
and monsters lurk in closets or in creakings up the stair,
when your brother knows they’re out there––these creatures he can’t see,
when nightmares wake you up at night and you have to pee
but daren’t leave your bed in fear those creatures will come “getcha”
(all those night-born monsters that come out at night to fetch ya,)
or when sister wets the bed again and seeks a drier nest,
for lying on her soggy sheets, she knows she’ll never rest––
it’s times like these when all the kids form a small tribunal
and determine that their parents’ bed should be declared communal.
The prompt word today is communal.
What do you consider is the most perfect food for you? Ham and Scalloped potatoes. My mother’s was the best ever and I’ve never duplicated it.
Are you focused on today or tomorrow? Today, but I’m taking tomorrow into account.
If you could interview one of your great-great-great grandparents, who would it be (if you know their name) and what would you ask? Rather than a great-great-great, I’d interview my father’s father, Walter, because he died before I was born and I’d love to ask him what it was like for a gentle baker from Holland to be henpecked by his wife into driving out to South Dakota by covered wagon with his two young daughters and building a shanty and turning into a farmer–something he knew nothing about. (My grandmother and 3 year old son, my father, came out by train a year later after he’d set everything up.) I would love to hear his side of the story and experience his gentle personality.
What inspired you or what did you appreciate this past week? Feel free to use a quote, a photo, a story, or even a combination. I appreciate being with my long-time friend Patty, my sister and brother-in-law Jim and my godson Riley and his two adorable boys. You’ve seen them before. Here they are in their newest incarnations:
(Click on first photo to enlarge all.)
We were small fry in a grown up world,
our dresses starched, our hair tight-curled
on a candlestick by mothers
who scrubbed the faces of small brothers
with fingers they had spit upon
to purge the dirt they’d lit upon.
We had no choice in any of this.
Nor in the neighbor lady’s kiss.
Sour and moldy though she might smell,
we pretended we loved it well.
So went the life in days gone by
so long as you were just small fry.
Now children pose for selfies and diss
the thought of an old lady’s kiss.
They refuse to run through traces.
Don’t allow spit-scrubbed-at faces.
Skirts go unstarched, hair goes uncurled
now that children rule the world!
Fry is the WP prompt today.
To see the enlarged photos and read the captions, click on the first photo.