Bathroom Poem for Those of Us With Septic Tanks

Those of us with septic tanks,
Would like to give a word of thanks,
For putting nothing in the pot,
That isn't guaranteed to rot.
Kleenex is bad, cigarettes too,
Feminine products are taboo,
No hair combings please - use the basket.
There's a very good reason why we ask it.
With your kind cooperation
We'll keep our tank in operation!
--Author Unknown

Actually, these are good rules to follow for any septic or sewer system.

Winter Poem

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WINTER POEM

It's winter in Northern Ontario
And the gentle breezes blow
Seventy miles an hour
At twenty-five below.

Oh, how I love Northern Ontario
When the snow's up to your butt
You take a breath of winter
And your nose gets frozen shut.

Yes, the weather here is wonderful
So I guess I'll hang around
I could never leave Northern Ontario
I'm frozen to the freakin' ground!

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Ode to a Clean Refrigerator (or Look Who's Crying Over Spilled Milk)

Spring Cleaning forced itself upon me yesterday when the top shelf of our refrigerator dropped on one side, upsetting the pitcher containing the recently opened 1.33 litre bag of milk (oh how I miss screw-capped milk jugs!). Milk quickly drenched the second and third shelf items, seeped into the crisper drawer and puddled on the floor of the fridge. To make matters worse, the dangling shelf upset a can of black beans that my beloved had opened less than an hour before while making me a tasty mid-morning wrap, spilling black bean juice that flowed along the second shelf and ran down to the third shelf. The bottoms of many bottles, cans and other containers of food were engulfed by either milk, black bean juice, or both. Ugh!

On the bright side, the refrigerator was long overdue to be cleared of the detritus that settles upon all but the obsessive-compulsive clean freaks, so the end results of the clean up, which entailed removing everything from the shelves and crisper drawers, was gratifying. The down side was that with my blood pressure looming so high of late this was chore that was risky as well as gross. The experience inspired me to write this poem today:

Ode to a Clean Refrigerator

Legumes languishing fuzzily in opaque cottage cheese
Containers so carefully washed for reuse join the
Dried husks of once-broccoli and the slimy remains of
Lettuce putrefying beneath a bag of carrots in the dreaded
Crisper drawer, decaying remnants of forgotten meals,
Exiled to the compost heap of life.
Worm food.

Gleaming chrome, sparkling glass shelves, and brilliantly white molded
Surfaces bask in the glory of redemption from
Sticky residues of opened jars carelessly set and
Spatters of unknown origin defiling the Clean, embedded with
Particles drawn in on currents filled with motes and fur,
Wiped away by my unwilling hand.
House work.
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From now on our milk will be transferred to a screw-capped jug--no more plastic bags with the tips cut off, waiting to topple and drench the contents of the refrigerator. (A quick Google search let me know that I'm not the only one annoyed by Canadian milk bags). Also, my beloved has promised to refrain from setting opened cans of beans or other foods in the fridge--he will cooperate in storing the food in sealed plastic containers, preferably clear ones to enable us to view their contents. Hopefully there will be no more crying over spilled milk...or other liquids...in the refrigerator!

For an interesting article about milk, including history, production, varieties, distribution (including packaging!), and culture aspects, take a look at this Wikipedia offering.

And for a fairly brief yet comprehensive history of the refrigerator see The History of the Refrigerator: The Cold Truth and Hard Facts, by Marjorie Dorfman at House Not So Beautiful "where dirt and chaos reign supreme". Sounds like home, except, for the moment, my clean refrigerator.

So it goes.

Ode to Cranky Men

I chanced to pass a window

While walking through a mall

With nothing much upon my mind,

Quite blank as I recall.


I noticed in that window

A cranky-faced old man,

And why he looked so cranky

I didn't understand.


Just why he looked at me that way

Was more than I could see

Until I came to realize

That cranky man was ME!


(found on Have Fun With English)

Crabby Old Man

My brother forwarded me an email with the following message and poem:

NOT JUST FOR NURSES BUT FOR ALL OF US TO THINK ABOUT...


CRABBY OLD MAN

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Tampa, Florida, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Missouri. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this " anonymous" poem winging across the Internet.


Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? .What do you see?
What are you thinking.....when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, ...not very wise,
Uncertain of habit ........with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice....."I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice...the things that you do.
And forever is losing ......... A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not...........let's you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ... The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse......you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am ......... As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, ....as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .........who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen .....with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now. .......a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty ......my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows......that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now .......... I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide .... And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty ......... My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other ....... With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons ....have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me.......to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ......... Babies play 'round my knee,
Again , we know children ....... My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me ............ My wife is now dead.
I look at the future ..............I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing......young of their own.
And I think of the years..... And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man.........and nature is cruel.
'Tis jest to make old age .....look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles..........grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone.. ......where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass ..... A young guy still dwells,
And now and again .......my battered heart swells
I remember the joys........... I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living.............life over again.

I think of the years all too few......gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact........that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .........open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see........ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within....we will all, one day, be there too!


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The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be
seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart.