January 31, 2013

Electric Blue Magic

Yesterday's bad weather ended with my husband's office closing early, but since I had to work until five I took the bus home.  One of my job perks is a free bus pass, and I'm lucky enough to have the bus stop just two houses down from mine, so I truly like the idea of public transportation.  But in reality I am a terrible bus passenger--the diesel fumes and the quick lurching stop and starts get me 'bus sick' in just moments so the twenty minute ride home seems like eternity. 

So last night when I started thinking about what to write for today's post I started searching for poems about riding on buses.  For the record, there are very few of them, and they aren't very good.  That actually surprised me a little.  But during my search I ran across a video of Ruth Forman reciting one of her poems, Poetry Should Ride the Bus.  I was stunned--I loved the poem, I was fascinated with her recitation and was incredibly excited at the thought of bringing you an amazing poem today.  Perhaps you already know Ruth's work, but in case she is new to you as well, she is an American poet whose poems focus on spirituality, love, challenge and grace.  A fellow poet wrote of her work "this is what Forman does best: brings us to the heart of all that matters and introduces us to ourselves." 


So here is a poem that reaches far, far beyond my hopes for a 'bus poem'--instead you have a bright, saucy and infectious poem that celebrates how poetry brings joy to our lives.  I hope it makes you smile and that you hear the electric blue magic whisper in your ear today!

Poetry Should Ride the Bus
Ruth Forman

poetry should hopscotch in a polka dot dress
wheel cartwheels
n hold your hand
when you walk past the yellow crackhouse

poetry should dress in fine plum linen suits
n not be so educated that it don’t stop in
every now n then to sit on the porch
and talk about the comins and goins of the world

poetry should ride the bus
in a fat woman’s Safeway bag
between the greens n chicken wings
to be served with Tuesday’s dinner

poetry should drop by a sweet potato pie
ask about the grandchildren
n sit through a whole photo album
on a orange plastic covered La-Z-Boy with no place to go

poetry should sing red revolution love songs
that massage your scalp
and bring hope to your blood
when you think you’re too old to fight

poetry should whisper electric blue magic
all the years of your life
never forgettin to look you in the soul
ever once in a while
n smile.

from We Are The Young Magicians Beacon Press April 1, 1993

If you would like to see Ruth recite this poem, you can watch it here:

January 30, 2013

 This is the poem of the air...

Yesterday was rain.  Today is snow.  Impossibly fluffy, huge snowflakes drifting by my window.  It looks so calm and peaceful, yet my school district is the only one currently open today--everyone else in the county is closed as the roads are treacherous with ice underneath the snow.  Here's a peek out my front door this morning:

Something rather amazing happened this morning.  You might recall that yesterday I got my first look at 'my' backyard owl.  Today, I was waiting for my husband to return from the gas station and I was standing in my front room looking out at all the snow when what to my wondering eyes should appear but this fine fellow!  To say I was in shock was an understatement.  And of course I didn't have my camera handy, because I live in the middle of a large city and really don't expect to see a handsome fox come strolling through my front yard!  But he was beautiful and looked just like this one.  What an amazing way to start the morning!  Welcome to my forest abode...owls, foxes, what will arrive tomorrow morning? Stay tuned!

hd fox wallpaper 1 red fox in the snow

Isn't this just a lovely poem?  It's a little sad, I admit, but try reading it aloud--this is the poem of the Air, slowly in silent syllables recorded...  Longfellow must have written this poem on a day much like today..silent and soft and slow descends the snow.  A beautiful day, a beautiful poem, a beautiful fox--life is a gift, isn't it?

Snow Flakes

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the Air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

January 29, 2013

When it rains....it pours!

Snoopy got it right last night...the thunder woke me up at 1:27 and there was no going back to sleep.  Winds, rain, thunder claps...in January.  I finally gave up trying to get back to sleep and ended up watching all 3.5 hours of Out of Africa as I listened to the storm rage outside.  For some odd reason the old Morton salt phrase 'when it rains it pours' kept popping into my head, reminding me of a couple of kitchen cross stitch patterns I did during my 'country' phase.

What is it with this strange winter weather?  It's supposed to reach a high of almost 60 degrees today (in January.  In Wisconsin), then rain tonight that will freeze on the roads, followed by up to six inches of snow tomorrow.  A high of 30 degrees tomorrow, and then only 12 degrees on Thursday!  The radio was warning which roads to avoid during rush hour this morning due to flooding.  This is nuts, seriously.

It rained so hard even my owl was pretty quiet last night, although this morning my husband and I got our first peek at him, perched in the evergreen in our backyard.  He looked wet and bedraggled and HUGE.  I'll keep my eye out and my camera handy and maybe I'll get lucky with a picture or two.
First winter rain 
by Matsuo Basho
First winter rain--
even the monkey
seems to want a raincoat.

Okay, this post seems to be all over the place--wet owls, typing beagles, and the Morton salt girl, plus a poem about a monkey in a raincoat.  This is what happens when I watch long movies all night long instead of getting a good night's sleep!

January 28, 2013

It is a truth universally acknowledged....

that all Downton Abbey devotees have a LOT to talk about over the water cooler at work today, but since my mother may not have seen it last night I am being very, very careful to not say anything about last night's episode!  So instead I am today celebrating the 200th anniversary of one of the greatest novels in history (and one of my personal favorites), Pride and Prejudice.  First published by Thomas Egerton in 1813, it was Jane Austen's second novel and her favorite.  She described it as her "own darling child".

If we were in Bath, England, we could visit the Jane Austen Centre (I didn't misspell Centre, I'm just being pretentious and pretending I'm British today) today and take part in the International Readathon it is hosting today.  Dozens of actors, authors and Austen experts plan to read the book aloud in its entirety during a 12-hour period.  Other celebrations are planned in Bath, including the Jane Austen Festival Regency Costumed Summer Ball in June, and the Bath Jane Austen Festival, held Sept. 13-21, which will include a Mr. Darcy lookalike contest, a masked ball and workshops on how to perfect the Regency look.

Or you could visit Austen's home in Chawton, which has been transformed into the Jane Austen's House Museum, or head to Derbyshire, where many of the Austen movies were filmed in the region's grand estates and gardens.
Chatsworth House, used as Pemberley Estate, in the 1995 BBC mini-series
Everyone knows the opening line of Pride and Prejudice by heart (alright, perhaps not everyone, but a lot of people do!).  The novel has sold over 20 million copies worldwide, and has engendered numerous film, stage and television adaptations. It has even spawned a zombie spin-off (and no, I have absolutely no desire to read that version!)  And certainly, the BBC's 1995 mini-series turned Colin Firth into an international phenomenon (read 'heartthrob').

Add caption

So today let's celebrate Jane Austen and her gift to the world:  Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy, as well as a wonderful cast of minor characters that lend so much to the novel. (Remember my earlier post about my Mr. Collins/potato print in my dining room?!).  And here's a little ditty by W.H. Auden, from a 1937 poem titled Letter to Lord Byron", in which he reflects on Jane Austen:

You could not shock her more than she shocks me,
Beside her Joyce seems innocent as grass.
It makes me most uncomfortable to see
An English spinster of the middle class
Describe the amorous effects of 'brass',
Reveal so frankly and with such sobriety
The economic basis of society.

January 27, 2013

Can she bake a cherry pie, charming Billy?

My mother had a pretty impressive collection of nursery songs that she used to comfort a sick or sleepy child.  She always had a baby in her arms (her own, a relative's, a neighbor's...and the standing joke was that she always had a baby in her arms if it was time to do the dishes!). We all loved to hear her sweet and calming voice as she held us in her rocking chair.  One of my favorites was the English folk song Billy Boy, which I also used when rocking my own children. 

About thirty years Enesco came out with a line of figurines called Memories of Yesterday, designed from the art of Mabel Lucie Attwell, a very popular British illustrator in the early 1900's.  She was known for her cute, nostalgic drawings of children, based on her daughter, Peggy.  She was so popular in England that in 1921, J.M Barrie personally requested her to illustrate the gift-book edition of Peter Pan. 

I thought the figurines were charming, and my mother started gifting me ones that had a connection to my childhood memories.  I can't wait to show you all of them over the next few weeks!  Today's figurine is linked to my favorite nursery rhyme/folksong that comforted generations of children.  I can't wait until I am a grandmother and can sing it again!  Here's Mabel's illustration of a proud young baker; isn't she cute?

As Good As His Mother Ever Ma - Boxed in the Memories Of Yesterday pattern by Enesco China
I had to use my older camera for this picture, so I apologize for the poor quality, but I love the memories associated with this piece...every time I look at it I can hear Mother and one of her 'rocking songs' !

 Billy Boy

Oh, where have you been,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Oh, where have you been,
Charming Billy?
I have been to seek a wife,
She's the joy of my life,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Did she ask you to come in,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Did she ask you to come in,
Charming Billy?
Yes, she asked me to come in,
There's a dimple in her chin.
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Can she make a cherry pie,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Can she make a cherry pie,
Charming Billy?
She can make a cherry pie,
Quick as a cat can wink an eye,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

I'm linking today to Claudia's Favorite Thing Saturdays, where you can find all sorts of wonderful collections and memories. 


January 25, 2013

It's time to heat things about a bit!  

It's still cold outside, so I'm turning to one of my favorite movies to help set the mood for an evening that doesn't involve snow, wind chills or frigid temperatures!  We're having company tonight so I'm stepping into Rick's for a little inspiration.  Care to join me?
Right about now I think all of us could use a little added warmth, so I have a big pot of Moroccan chicken simmering in the crockpot with peaches, dried apricots and all sorts of pungent spices.  I've  experimented with a new Tunisian carrot salad recipe--shredded carrots tossed with raisins, parsley, feta cheese and dressed with lemon juice, olive oil and harissa sauce (a Tunisian hot chili sauce).  That ought to heat things up a bit!  We are looking forward to entertaining friends tonight, and all I need do after work is cook the couscous, make a citrus ginger dressing for the tossed salad and warm the naan flatbread.  Pour the wine, and let the spicy fragrances of Africa transport us to a warmer place, even if it is only for a night....
Close your eyes (so you don't have to see the thermal underwear, flannel shirts, parkas, caps, gloves, wool socks and extra afghans strewn about the room) and picture this instead.  In the distance shimmers a welcome shade of green....under waving palms a chance perhaps to dream....
Nature Other Desert oasis Wallpaper (click to view)

The endless sea of sand
Such beauty to behold.
Glistening under the brightest sun
The colour of liquid gold
The camels trek in endless lines
Carrying their heavy load
Uncomplaining on they march
Across the sea of gold
In the distance shimmers
A welcome shade of green
The cool oasis beckons
Under waving palms
A chance perhaps to dream
Time will come to leave this place
It will be hard to part
Because for now I feel it etched
Forever in my heart. 

Here's looking at you, kid!

January 24, 2013

It's snowing out again.  It wasn't supposed to snow this week, but someone forgot to tell that to the beautiful snowflakes blowing around outside my window.  Since I am tucked in safe and warm inside my home I enjoy watching the fluffy flakes drift past--it looks like I am in a giant snowglobe that someone has gently shaken.

But if I were out deep in the woods on a snowy evening it might be a different story.  The first poem I ever memorized was Frost's Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, and it remains one of my favorites.  There have been so many essays written about the true meaning of this poem, and so many tiresome analyses of what Frost intended to convey in this poem, but this is one of his poems that I prefer to enjoy for the lovely iambic lines and simplicity of language.

A few years ago I ran across a beautiful copy of the poem, illustrated by Susan Jeffers, that really captures the hauntingly lovely trek through the woods.  I love to display the book on my coffee table during the winter months, where people can enjoy this treasure of a book.
And there's my owl, stirring up trouble as usual!  I love the joyful fun conveyed in the creation of the snow angel.
 The poem ends with the plaintive nod to obligations and responsibilities that can no longer be put off, but perhaps they are not too onerous if the end of the journey brings you home to loved ones.

We all have promises to keep, don't we?  Responsibilities and bligations to family, employers, friends, our faith, and our communities can weigh us down at times, but taking a moment to enjoy nature and feel at one with the world goes a long way towards restoring our weary spirits.  I hope we can all find a few moments to 'watch the woods fill up with snow'!

January 23, 2013

Remember the little brother in the movie Christmas Story?  Remember how he could barely move once he was bundled from head to toe?  I'm seeing plenty of little ones trudging up my street on their way to school this week looking just as wrapped and stuffed into snowsuits as little Randy. 

Randy: I can't put my arms down! 
Mother: Well... put your arms down when you get to school. 

Yesterday I was reminiscing about my dramatic interpretations of sweet little Heidi and her Alps climbing adventures on my way to school during the winter, clambering over the mounds of snow along the curbs.  Why walk on a shoveled sidewalk when you can face the perils of the treacherous South Dakota alpine snowdrifts?!   

There was a definite ‘down-side’ to my winter adventures, however.  I don’t know what the rules were at your elementary school, but in my school district girls were not allowed to wear pants in school until in the 1970’s, hence my elementary and junior high years were spent clad in skirts.  As you can see from the picture outside my house I am sporting my nifty blue parka and white furry earmuffs, plus a pair of winter pants and the dreaded snow boots.  The snow boots caused a lot of grief—you dressed in the morning, and then pulled on a pair of warm winter pants.  Then warm socks and your shoes.  Then over your shoes went a plastic bag to keep melting snow from seeping into your shoes and socks.  And finally, on went the rubber boots—tugging, tugging, tugging to get them to slide over your shoes and then secure the top with an elastic band that looped around a single rubber button.  Then wend your way to school (through the Alps!), guaranteeing that at least several inches of snow made its way into the boots, where it proceeded to melt and get your socks all damp. 

Arriving at school, the boys merrily hung their coats on the hooks in the hallway, while we girls sat down and tugged off our boots, with our shoes usually sliding out in the process.  Then we had to wiggle out of our winter pants and put our damp socks/shoes back on, all the while making sure we weren’t sitting in puddles of water on the floor and that our skirts were preserving our dignity.  School would then commence, and by the time your socks were starting to feel slightly less damp, it was morning recess time, where you started the whole process again.  Morning recess was followed by lunch, and then afternoon recess, and then, finally, the trek back home over all the snow banks, each time requiring the whole boots on/boots off routine.  It was quite the ordeal back then, but now it is just another story in my arsenal when I need to remind my children how much harder I had it than they ever did! 

And if you happen to go for a walk today (in warm, comfy, modern snow  boots!) here’s a lovely poem by Elinor Wylie to speed you on your way.  
Velvet Shoes
Let us walk in the white snow
In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
At a tranquil pace,
Under veils of white lace.
I shall go shod in silk,
And you in wool,
White as white cow’s milk,
More beautiful
Than the breast of a gull.
We shall walk through the still town
In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
Upon silver fleece,
Upon softer than these.
We shall walk in velvet shoes:
Wherever we go
Silence will fall like dews
On white silence below.
We shall walk in the snow.

Have a wonderful day! 

January 22, 2013

Even our owl agrees...this morning he was saying 'it's cooold, it's cooold'!
You can find this great owl print at

I admit it--I like to pretend I'm pretty tough when it comes to wind chill temperatures.  I pride myself on being a prairie girl with pretty thick skin when it comes to the bitter north winds that blow all winter long.  I was the little girl who imagined the snowbanks were the Swiss Alps and pretended I was Heidi as I clambered along the 'mountains' on my way to elementary school.  And later I was the mother who sent her children off to the same elementary school with the admonition to 'walk fast, and if you get cold, walk faster'.  My personal standard for walking to school was negative 45 wind chill; only when it reached negative 46 did I drive anyone to school!  Adversity, which includes nasty wind chills, builds character--right?

I thought you might enjoy a few pictures of my childhood on the frozen prairie, proving once and for all, that South Dakotans are made of stern stuff.

Here's my dad, digging DOWN to reach the TOP of a  farm's propane tank!
 A little snow didn't keep us kids from having fun!  

My sister checking out her Christmas bike!

My brother and sister ice skating in our backyard--our Dad turned our summer garden into our own personal ice skating rink...we were lucky kids!

A new winter sport--snow swinging! 

Every South Dakotan's face has 'felt the Winter's wind', as Keats describes below in his poem written in 1818.  The trick is to bundle up and then pretend you are so tough you don't even notice it.  Sometimes, it almost works.

The Winter's Wind

O thou whose face hath felt the Winter’s wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,
And the black elm tops ‘mong the freezing stars!
To thee the spring will be a harvest time.
O thou whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness, which thou feddest on
Night after night, when Phœbus was away!
To thee the spring shall be a triple morn.
O fret not after knowledge. I have none,
And yet my song comes native with the warmth.
O fret not after knowledge! I have none.
And yet the evening listens. He who saddens
At thought of idleness cannot be idle,
And he’s awake who thinks himself asleep.

And one last picture, just because it's my birthday today and I am rather fond of this photo.  For whatever reason I woke up on my fourth birthday GRUMPY and not even the beautiful doll cake made by my Aunt Nellie could improve my mood.  But even though I'm a grump (I wouldn't even smile for the camera!), I'm surrounded by people I love--my grandparents, my beloved Aunt Nellie and Uncle Lowell, my cousin Brenda and of course my mom, who was behind the camera.  

4th birthday and obviously not happy about it!  At least my beautiful mother is smiling!

I think I was channeling Grumpy Cat that day! 
A Little Bird Told Me It Was Your Birthday Funny Pic

Stay warm and away from grumpy people today!

January 21, 2013

I remember my mother's White Christmas album, with Bing Crosby crooning his gal to stay a little longer, because baby, it was COLD outside.  And boy howdy, did he call it.  A friend of mine from South Dakota let me know that yesterday afternoon it was -45 degrees with the wind chill.  That prairie wind that never stops blowing is making its way across the Midwest, and this morning we are under a wind chill advisory.  My weather channel just let me know that it is (and I quote) VERY COLD outside.  I think I would have figured that one out on my own, but thanks for the heads up, weather.com.  At the top of the article it reads "Bitterly Cold Air Invades Lower 48."  Invades?  An army of frosty winds blowing through my state--that's a rather daunting thought for an early Monday morning!  I think I'll head to the kitchen for a steaming cup of tea and some raisin cinnamon toast. 

When winter winds are piercing chill...a perfect poem for today!  I hope all of us can stay warm and inside--if you have to go out, bundle up!  I think Henry was a bit more optimistic about the wind than I am--it may indeed be wild music, but it doesn't go far in cheering me up!
Woods in Winter  
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!

But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.

January 19, 2013

GIFTS Banner Wedding Decoration Reception Gift Table CUSTOM ORDERS To Your Colors

Oh my goodness!  I don't think there is anything nicer than arriving home and discovering a present waiting for you in the mailbox!  Last week I received a beautiful engagement calendar from my childhood friend, Mary, who knew how much I love the Downton Abbey series.  I was so touched and excited, and it now sits beside my computer at work where I can see it every day and be reminded of a cherished friendship.
And last night I arrived home from work to find a mystery present from my cousin Brenda!  When I was in Indiana recently for her father's funeral we were reminiscing about all the fun times we had growing up together, and I laughingly reminded her how much I had envied her for owning The Barbie Game--Queen of the Prom, which we played a lot when my family visited in the summer.  But the annoying part was that since it was her game, somehow she always ended up with handsome Ken while I got stuck with Poindexter!  Not even Tom or Bob, but Poindexter. Every time!!  Seriously, is that even a real name?!


So I opened the package last night, and found myself holding my very own vintage Barbie Game, with a note that read "Now you can have Ken every time you play"! I was simply blown away with the thoughtfulness and love and good memories behind this gift and happy tears quickly sprang to my eyes. I think my husband and son were a little startled when they came in the room and found me clutching a Barbie box and laughing and crying at the same time, but don't you just love unexpected gifts that you know have so much thought and love behind them?  

And speaking of poor unwanted Poindexter and handsome Ken, I did own a Ken doll who looked just like this handsome guy.  Well, almost like this handsome guy...this Ken doll had some kind of fuzzy hair and my little sister SUCKED ALL THE HAIR OFF HIS HEAD.  So I did end up with Ken, but he was bald. I've forgiven my sister.  Kind of.

Brenda and I, pre-Barbie and Ken era.  We were quite the fashionistas!
 And because unexpected presents are one of my very Favorite Things I'm linking up today at Mockingbird Hill Cottage for Claudia's A Favorite Thing Saturdays.  Please take a few moments to enjoy the beautiful collection of favorite things on her blog at http://mockingbirdhillcottage.com/.


Thank you, Mary and Brenda, for the lovely day brighteners, and I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!

January 18, 2013


I had a hard time sleeping last night, tossing and turning, and it brought to mind poor Pooh, who had the same problem:  "But Pooh couldn't sleep.  The more he tried to sleep the more he couldn't.  He tried counting Sheep, which is sometimes a good way of getting to sleep, and, as that was no good, he tried counting Heffalumps.  And that was worse."

And when you finally get up because you can't stand to toss and turn in bed any longer, feeling rather dispirited, who better to turn to than Winnie the Pooh and friends?  They are loyal and loving, and always know how to make someone feel better.  The world is a kinder and more gentle place with Pooh and company in it, and for that I offer a big thank you to A.A. Milne, who was born on this day in 1882 in London.  Although he wrote plays and novels, including mystery and detective stories, he is of course best known for his two Pooh books about a boy named Christopher Robin (after his son, who bears the same name) and the miscellaneous characters inspired by his son's stuffed animals.  Christopher Robin's bear started life as "Edward" but was renamed "Winnie the Pooh" after a Canadian black bear named Winnie (after Winnipeg) was left to the London Zoo during WWI.  "Pooh" comes from a swan at the same zoo named Pooh.  The rest of Christopher Robin's stuffed toys, including Piglet, Eeyore, Kanga, Roo, Owl, Rabbit and Tigger all found their way into the stories which are set in the Hundred Acre Wood.  

The real stuffed toys owned by Christopher Robin Milne and featured in theWinnie-the-Pooh stories. They are on display in the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building (formerly the New York Public Library Main Branch) in New York.

Happy Birthday, A.A. Milne! 
 His first poem about Pooh, titled Teddy Bear, was published in Punch magazine in 1924.

Teddy Bear

A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat
Which is not to be wondered at;
He gets what exercise he can
By falling off the ottoman,
But generally seems to lack
The energy to clamber back.

Now tubbiness is just the thing
Which gets a fellow wondering;
And Teddy worried lots about
The fact that he was rather stout.
He thought:  "If only I were thin!
But how does anyone begin?"
He thought: "It really isn't fair
To grudge me exercise and air."

For many weeks he pressed in vain
His nose against the window-pane,
And envied those who walked about
Reducing their unwanted stout.
None of the people he could see
"Is quite" (he said) "as fat as me!"
Then, with a still more moving sigh,
"I mean" (he said) "as fat as I!"

A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at.
But do you think it worries him
To know that he is far from slim?
No, just the other way about---
He's proud of being short and stout.

Thank you, Winnie the Pooh and A.A. Milne for getting my Friday morning back on track!

"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"
“What's for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?”
“I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting to-day?” said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It's the same thing,” he said.”