muffinandbagels

There are some occasions when you may be brought up short
When you realise you are not quite the person that you thought.
If it happens to you only once it isn’t very nice
But really most disturbing in a week it happens twice.
It started as a consequence of middle daughters choice
Of a class in stand up comedy as training for her voice.
After many weeks of classes, they all put on a show
And to ensure enthusiasm all her relatives did go
Robin made great efforts in preparing her display
Choosing careful topics such as stand up comics say.
Not just normal conversations , as I can allege
But other sorts of topics, nearer to the edge
Her niece at the performance said I’m shocked, and really can’t
Believe I’d hear that sort of thing said by my elderly aunt.
If middle daughter’s elderly then clearly we’ve been told
My wife and I must now accept that we are getting old.
But that was just the start of things, as background I’ll explain
The homeless have set up a tent city once again.
Its down beside the river by a trail that gives
Access to the mansion where the lieutenant governor lives
Last Thursday in the evening my wife was driven there
To listen to a speaker with wisdom he would share
About an early church near by where poorer people went
United in their fond belief in what the bible meant.
At eight o’clock I drove the car to fetch her from the fray.
And found the building door was locked, so outside I must stay
The commissionaire then soon arrived and peered out of the door.
With the greatest of suspicion saying “What are you here for?”
Well I know my winter garments may not be very pretty
But he thought I had come directly from my place back in tent city.
Some come here in the evening is what I was told.
And I can’t say that I blame them for escaping from the cold.
I finally convinced him I was here to find my wife,
So then he let me pick her up, and get back to normal life.

I believe that the completion of this epic piece of traffic management is imminent, so of course is a bad poem.

Very soon I shall go out,
To try our brand new roundabout.
Just assuming that the work’ll
Soon complete Victoria Circle.
Of course I have not tried it yet
But seen instructions on the net.
Where safety travel preordains
Travelling in the proper lanes
You can’t go wrong, it is quite clear
There are arrow markings there
Once you take the proper station
You’re bound to reach your destination..
Travelling with spirit blithe
From King Street all the way to Smythe
Or from the Woodstock Road you can
Reach the Boulevard Ste Anne
Those on foot you must avoid
Or they’ve the right be annoyed
As going in or out they say
Pedestrians have the right of way
There’s one thing that I do not know,
What happens with a fall of snow.
As it falls, then dear oh dear
The arrows all will disappear
And those who’ve yet their lanes to master
May end up in complete disaster

Today we’re doomed to snow and slush.
And therefore I will hardly rush
To dress myself to weather’s liking
And to spend the morning biking.
Who knows what else may be in train?
Perhaps we’ll get some freezing rain.
All told it isn’t really nice
To ride out on the snow and ice.
All kinds of doom we fear transpires
Even with the fattest tires.
To slide and fall and bang your head
Means spending Christmas in your bed
I have some sense, I will not try,
I’ll toddle off down to the Y.

An unfair description I hope of my technical competence reflected in a verse of yesteryear

It was early in this century a grandson came to stay
And brushed against a lampstand that was standing in his way.
He slowly knocked it over in just a single stroke
And so we all discovered that the lampshade now was broke.
My wife and I are older now, and settled in our ways
With lazyboys for each of us early in the days
A crossword puzzle for my wife, the internet for me
Until she takes a little break and then the puzzles free.
But yesterday just as I moved to enter my wife’s chair
I noticed the connection to the light was no longer there.
A competent performer I did not stop to bitch
But carefully dismantled the electric lighting switch.
My efforts were a failure, so to compensate my ire
I went and bought a new one at the blessed Canadian Tire
Untangling the cables and connecting wire to screws
I found another problem, really not good news.
The thingy used to turn the switch was meant to fit a hole
But the new one was too big for it, I could not reach my goal.
Frustrated now and angry having wasted half a day
I realised we could afford a new lamp any way.
So once more at the tire place I found a lovely light
And all I had to do with it was assemble it just right
But sadly now the lampstand from four pieces must be built
And when I had assembled it, it had an awful tilt
I realised that evening before I went to bed,
That in assembling the lampstand I had crossed the blasted thread.
My sleep last night was broken, each time that I thought
Of the fact that had sabotaged the lamp that I had bought.
On waking up this morning with energy and verve
I repeated the whole process to eliminate the curve.
Which left me with the lamp shade from the one I had replaced
So I put it on the lamp stand that my grandson had defaced.

.

Like most of us this morning, I faced a day of woe
When looking out the window I saw the falling snow.
It might look very pretty on the lawn and on the trees
But it is quite appalling for my arthritic knees.
I suppose for all you skiers its something that you like
But it creates a problem if I want to ride my bike
When its cold and chilly it isn’t very nice
And wind and hills are nothing when compared to ice
Even going to the Y quite probably backfires
Until I find a dealer to install my winter tyres.
But walking on a treadmill is really not the same
So perhaps for exercise I shall find some other game.
A quite different experience would be a better thing
To occupy me happily while waiting for the spring.
Another form of pastime for the days ahead
I’ll ask my wife to join me for an afternoon in bed

envoi

I just heard from the dealer, they’ll pick me up here soon
And the car with winter tyres on will be here this afternoon.
Which means a different strategy, I’m going to have to try
To convince my loving partner we should not go to the Y.

This piece was written for a celebration of the life of 97 year old female journalist, Jackie Webster. She had been involved together with another journalist, Dalton Camp, in establishing a luncheon club in 1987, that is still meeting today.

Late in the nineteen eighties, with liberals in power,
A time which Tories might describe as not their finest hour,
Dalton Camp and Jackie looked to future not defeat
And determined that the Tories had to have a time to meet.
To reminisce on past times, to plan for times ahead
And its well known that the mind works best while it is being fed.
To meet for lunch on Tuesdays was the Webster plan,
But Dalton said not Tuesday, try Wednesday if you can.
And so it was created so very long ago
The Tuesday club on Wednesday, where some of us still go.
New members have replaced the old who seemed to fade away
And their politics now vary and can be different every day.
To become a member just a few things were desired,
Intelligence, good humour, and frequently retired
Not just New Brunswick subjects are considered when we meet
But other worldwide matters such as Trumps most recent tweet.
But one voice had stayed constant, a voice to fear impart
It came from Jackie Webster who was present from the start.
She controlled the discourse, the gavel in her hand
And demanded order, like one in another land.
In addition to the members she also would invite
Folks who felt important, so we could set them right
Ministers and Premiers, business men of fame.
The ones that she invited, almost always came.
Who’d ignore her invitation? The threat posed by her pen
Made those pondering refusal often think again.
Alas she now has left us, it will not be the same
But the Tuesday club on Wednesdays will perpetuate her fame.

This piece was inspired by the discovery this morning that Heinz baked beans in all their varieties were on sale at ons dollar a can. My lifetime staple food.

When I was but a tiny thing, and first began to eat
It was early on established that I could not stomach meat.
When they tried to substitute my mothers milk with broth
I threw up spontaneously upon the table cloth.
So soon it was established, by one authoritarian
That I would grow up to be a lactovegetarian
I have this meatless diet, but still there was one dish
I ate without a problem if it was made from fish.
But still throughout my childhood and even now most
Things I enjoy eating are often served on toast.
There is one tale of legend, one year on Christmas day
It was during wartime but a bird had come our way.
Luncheon was to celebrate the joy of turkey roast
But I rejected it demanding beans on toast.
My dietary problems have been going on for years
I have another sequence when I was reduced to tears.
Sent away to Scotland, to avoid the London blitz
With my brother and our gas masks, our own survival kits.
My brother had a birthday, and at lunch they served a broth
When I refused to eat it, it created family wroth
At teatime for his birthday a luscious cake was served
They said for me the same cold broth was all that I deserved.
My complaints were so vigorous and they came to a head
When instead of getting birthday cake, I was sent to bed
I could give you more examples of my struggles like a fool
And suffering malnutrition through my years at boarding school.
But once in all my many years I had a chance to show
There can still be an outcome thats positive you know.
I was taken to a restaurant by the father of a friend
Whose meanness was quite legendary, there were stories without end.
A quick look at the menu showed an eight ounce sirloin steak
Would be the most expensive order you could make
I ordered it and it arrived and to protect its fate
I hid it with a lettuce leaf, and left it on my plate.

Its time for celebration
Its time to say Hurrah
On the upper end of Smythe street
They’re spreading on the tar
For months we’ve been a detour
The traffic on our street
Has more or less quintupled
A quite revolting feat
But now its nearly over
Those endless giant trucks
Bearing loads of soil and stones
And costing many bucks
Can find another project
Disturb another’s sleep.
Likewise giant equipment
Backing with a beep.
So traffic can start moving
Smoothly up the hill
Kings College and Montgomery
Now both quiet and still
But wait its still not over
At the lower end they shout
Will they ever finish
That blasted roundabout