Last week you read about life off The farm called "Blue Bell - don" This week's a silly story, 'bout Winter HERE, and who has come... For many neighbours in this valley Pop by for words of praise Or blessings of encouragement To get us through cold days. ************************************* Last June, our Smitty, "RESCUE DOG", Took a hunk of Eileen's arm (Eileen lives just up the hill On the neighb'ring Danish farm). But since then, Eileen's persisted In attempts to "Buddy Up" With our Labrador/Rottweiler cross, So abused as a young pup. Quite early on many a winter's morn And when my bare ass hangs off our bed, Eileen and Thunder, her fat old pooch Pass right by my window ledge! And traverse to our side porch Purpose : "Can Smitty come and play?" And in pajamas, Richard porch-leans And thus in bright sunshine will stay And visit while the dogs scoot 'round And Smitty gives Eileen a slurp To say he's ever so sorry - Then jogs off with a belch and a burp!
But Thunder doesn't like 'being used' As a distraction or a foil For his mistress, to make another friend... It rather makes his old blood boil!
So off he totters back up hill And Eileen must quickly trot She once more passes the big window But this time I'm 'out of cot' ! For the less one sees of my repose With menopausal flashes The happier one will usually be- NOT to see protruding asses! Speaking of 'behind' the times Every Thursday Mom enjoys Offering, like in days of old, Piano lessons to teen boys Who want creative outlet In this remote mountain vale And often in the kitchen Our entertaining will prevail As one mother we'll call Fairlight Who's a hermit quite like me But feels her son should benefit: He plays; she has a cup of tea! On Sundays, it's off to St. Peter's For miles you can see the steeple As it sits up there on Clockedahl Hill And beckons all Danish people. This year, its special hundredth Is a time we will rejoice And celebrate its history With song in much-raised voice We appreciate its craftsmanship And the beauty of its wood We enjoy the parish folk so much -- They're welcoming, warm and good.
A neighbouring town is Plaster Rock And is famous for two sites The place where massive ferns will grow... (Read of this in my future writes), And the world site of Pond Hockey Where every Febr'ary cold Hundreds of teams from 'round the globe Play on the small lake of old. In fact, it too celebrates this week It's in its one hundred-FIFTIETH year! Since 1867, teams have skated On that ice so sheer. Teams named with silly humour Like "Pond Scum" and "Timber Twats" Or, one of our favourite names: "The Raggedy-ass River Rats" ! There are teams of men, but ladies too And they're all TOUGH, outside the tent Where beer is poured quite freely At this world-renown event. How often in the winter Do you see an outdoor sport Where the loos are placed in snowdrifts And the players roughly cavort RIGHT beside Joe Public Which is why the nets are tiny (Though Richard had a puck zip by And he fell right on his hiney!)
Meetings in small communities In the rural countryside Are another way of getting involved And taking some local pride. While Richard worked the potato fields Last fall, to feel a part I'm now off to meetings galore Historic, Planning and Horse Club, to start! While Founder's Day celebrations With parade, barbeque and dance Are traditionally planned, I don't see how A tomboy like me could enhance A BEAUTY PAGEANT? of teenage girls Who will dress up and model and pose. All I know is grubbies and sweatshirts NOT lace, and sequins, and hose!
And while a saddle club's more my style I can't seem to find the straight path Everyone argues and thinks they're right (Mostly women, who cat-fight with wrath!)
So, I'm not sure how long I'll be meeting In these groups where I've tried to fit in But I'll give it a go, for this year at least, Do duties with tongue-in-cheek grin. Another winter-time delight In mountain-country deep (Other than waiting for spring to come By reading oneself to sleep!) Is having neighbours over To play games into the night But this week, we were brought to realize That mere Scrabble evokes a good FIGHT! For many years I've struggled To beat Richard at this game, A few times I've come close But more often, I admit with shame That though I'm a teacher of English He can whump me by a mile And as he's most competitive I don't always end with a smile. Joy bought me a version that SHOULD have helped more But, until this year, it Did NOT bring me to fore:
However, just this winter I've finally learned to beat That man I call my partner Who's NOT happy in defeat! And this weekend we found out That ANOTHER man is faster And of equal strength to Richard's - And THAT man's our meekest pastor!
His wife, like me, got upset, And I understood her scorn As myself, the organist, (and Richard, too!) Began to feel forlorn. That vicar is competitive! Just like ole Rich, he sits And plans so many moves ahead While we just take the hits.
Despite extra points for authors' names Or a literary phrase (The pastor's wife got "Dante" Which SHOULD have put him in a daze As it was like the devil himself From the famed Inferno came To visit the board and take over at will... -But Pastor STILL won the game!) While all this serious intellect Went on beside our fire Down the hall were bellows and grunts And great yells of "You're a LIAR!" As Balderdash was loudly played And later, "Dirty Marbles". So, we took deep breaths and calmed ourselves To ease the tension of these squabbles. "Everyone to the living room!" I called, for my favourite time Is when drama and hilarity Team with parlour games of rhyme, Or witty word games, acted out. Thus, within this larger group Charades became the favourite Of this New Denmark troupe. But again, like Richard, Vicar sought To beat my team right out (Both from Ontario with German surnames - Could THAT be what this is about?) How could my team of thespians Act out "Titanic", or "Moby Dick" Without pointing to body parts That were embarrassing in front of The Vic? But HE had no compunction About hurling himself to the floor And writhing about with urgency To try and get the top score!
******************************************* Ah, the cold days of winter, then Have been thusly passed with ease As long as the dogs don't bite And pastors continue to tease. For whether or not my butt is seen After 9, either day or at night. When Thunder's coerced to go for a walk And Eileen might be in for a sight, And whether or not hot chocolate Isn't drunk as much as the liquor It takes for Peter to do "Titanic" With his nipples, in front of the Vicar, We'll always get through the storms Of this 'time on hold' of all seasons In the hill-billy mountains of N.B. With our Raggy-ass River-Rat Reasons! - J. Ivanel Johnson, 2017