An Ogden Nash Baseball Limerick! Talk about bringing a bunch of writing themes together for one post! This will be great review...

Letter	Player	Verse
A	Grover Cleveland Alexander	A is for Alex The great Alexander; More Goose eggs he pitched Than a popular gander.
B	Roger Bresnahan	B is for Bresnahan Back of the plate; The Cubs were his love, and McGraw his hate.
C	Ty Cobb	C is for Cobb Who grew spikes and not corn, And made all the basemen Wish they weren't born.
D	Jerome "Dizzy" Dean	D is for Dean, The grammatical Diz, When they asked, Who's the tops? Said correctly, I is.
E	Johnny Evers	E is for Evers, His jaw in advance; Never afraid To Tinker with Chance.
F	Frankie "Fordham" Frisch	F is for Fordham And Frankie and Frisch; I wish he were back With the Giants, I wish.
G	Lou Gehrig	G is for Gehrig, The Pride of the Stadium; His record pure gold, His courage, pure radium.
H	Rogers Hornsby	H is for Hornsby; When pitching to Rog, The pitcher would pitch, Then the pitcher would dodge.
I	Nash, the author	I is for Me, Not a hard-hitting man, But an outstanding all-time Incurable fan.
J	Walter Johnson	J is for Johnson The Big Train in his prime Was so fast he could throw Three strikes at a time.
K	Willie Keeler	K is for Keeler, As fresh as green paint, The fastest and mostest To hit where they ain't.
L	Nap Lajoie	L is for Lajoie Whom Clevelanders love, Napoleon himself, With glue in his glove.
M	Christy Mathewson	M is for Matty, Who carried a charm In the form of an extra brain in his arm.
N	Louis "Bobo" Newsom	N is for Newsom, Bobo's favorite kin. You ask how he's here, He talked himself in.
O	Mel Ott	O is for Ott Of the restless right foot. When he leaned on the pellet, The pellet stayed put.
P	Eddie Plank	P is for Plank, The arm of the A's; When he tangled with Matty Games lasted for days.
Q	Connie Mack	Q is for Don Quixote Cornelius Mack; Neither Yankees nor years Can halt his attack.
R	Babe Ruth	R is for Ruth. To tell you the truth, There's just no more to be said, Just R is for Ruth.
S	Tris Speaker	S is for Speaker, Swift center-field tender, When the ball saw him coming, It yelled, "I surrender."
T	Bill Terry	T is for Terry The Giant from Memphis Whose .400 average You can't overemphis.
U	Carl Hubbell	U would be 'Ubell if Carl were a cockney; We say Hubbell and Baseball Like Football and Rockne.
V	Charles "Dazzy" Vance	V is for Vance The Dodger's very own Dazzy; None of his rivals Could throw as fast as he.
W	Honus Wagner	W is for Wagner, The bowlegged beauty; Short was closed to all traffic With Honus on duty.
X	Jimmie Foxx	X is the first of two x's in Foxx Who was right behind Ruth with his powerful soxx.
Y	Cy Young	Y is for Young The magnificent Cy; People battled against him, But I never knew why.
Z	Zenith	Z is for Zenith The summit of fame. These men are up there. These men are the game.

THE Blackberry Syrup

Have I ever told you of my days as an amateur wine maker?  Yeah, well, it was just one of those things that have gone down in our family's Polack book of legendary bloopers.  Here's what happened...

When I was a teenager in high school, every July/August was the time I would wander around outside picking wild blackberries on our farm.  Some years, I got quite a bit of plunder and would look for creative ways to make use of them.  My Polish Grandma told me a story of what they would do in the old country.  Just make blackberry syrup!  I thought it was a great idea.  I got a large Mason jar and layered berries and sugar just the way Grandma instructed me.  She had told me to put a cheesecloth on top, but when my Dad saw me doing that, he said, "Awww...they only did that because they were too poor for a lid.  Just use a regular lid, it'll work just the same."

Hmmm...well, it sounded like a plausible reason, so I did what my Dad suggested and used a canning lid instead of the cloth.  Grandma said to put it in the window sill for two or three days.  The days got away from me...I left it for nearly two weeks.  The fateful day arrived when I opened the jar and loaded our vanilla ice cream with the 'syrup'.

Syrup it was not...wine it was.  My Dad manfully downed part of the ice cream, declaring it to be pretty good, but I noticed that he didn't go for the rest of the jar.  We kids were forbidden...we weren't of age to try the syrup!

Attention Pianists!

Okay, here's one for the piano player in me...actually it could be for any musician who knows what they're doing.  Do you ever get amazed when you read the things people write in their arrangements?  So many of them are completely useless, repetitive, or are just a given.  Here are a few examples of notes I've seen in actual published music (I have to say, sacred piano arrangements are the biggest offender, with SATB sacred choral arrangements as a close second.) 

****Editor's Note...please forgive my sarcasm, I'm a music teacher and some times you just have to let it boil over when the students aren't looking!

"big and sweeping"...Okay...how do you sing a song 'sweeping'?  I mean, other than Cinderella...

"moving forward"...as if you'd suddenly stop playing and start playing in reverse

"with determination"..."I will play this song!  I will play this song!  I WILL!!!"

"with emotion"...as opposed to regular songs which are to be sung/played without emotion; or you could just cry as you play...

"with expression"...as opposed to regular songs which are to be sung/played as lifelessly as possible

"with enthusiasm"...as in not rolling your eyes the whole time

"with purpose"...stop thinking how pointless this all is

"bring out melody"...aren't you always supposed to bring out the melody?  Why add that in?

"with anticipation"...I would prefer 'without anticipation'...try not to anticipate the errors that are about to occur!

"with feeling"...also, aren't you always supposed to play with feeling? I've never seen 'with stark, robot-like motions' written into a piece

"thoughtfully"...Caution:  This song not intended for airheads!

"decrease tempo"...there is another term for this...it's called a ritardando...

"relaxed"...as opposed to playing tensed up, trying to provoke carpal tunnel

"with confidence"...just to remind you not to let your hands shake or let your eyes shift from side to side in embarrasment

"not pounding"...yes, this is really written in a piano book...I guess I can stop telling my kids not to pound on the piano...they'll write it in when they really mean it.

Phew!  And I thought I was overly wordy!  Whatever happened to teaching students to interpret the finer points of the composition?  Music teachers of the world, stand up and teach your students to actually look for and display the tone, theme, and drama of the music themselves, so we can eliminate this needless redundancy.  Redundancy we don't need...except, of course, my continual blog posts about chocolate.  That just goes without saying...

Phonetic Punctuation

This week's installment of Word of the Week is rather a focus on punctuation.  I challenge you to add this in to your day to day speech!  The kids will love it!

By the way, my hubby and I performed this Borge classic together in a singing group for our college before we were married. How sweet!  It was the first and only time he accidentally called me 'big guy'.

Summer, summer days

This is what I think of summer...
...drippy sweat
...bright window lights
...glistening morning grass
...dirt-smeared kids
...grass clippings
...flapping, scented laundry line
...plastic kiddie pools
...discovering each new vegetable in the garden
...my daughter smelling flowers
...freckles and suntans
...wildly blown hair
...fireworks

Lovely as it is, it's time for me to say good-bye to wonderful summer.  I like summer, but I LOVE the fall.

A Personal Limerick

There once was a mother of three,

Corny, she often could be,

Post-cleaning, she'd write,

Of chocolate all night,

and the antics of her family.

No that's not REALLY me, but I often sit alone all dressed up like this to read in my serene way.

Ellen Bartelle, Woman of Mystery, Part 9

It was a dark and stormy morning and the sprinkles were leaving a web of wetness in Herman's hair.  Ellen spotted him on the park bench and weaved her way through the smiling families to sit discreetly next to him.  She opened her Agatha Christie novel and appeared to begin a chapter while he looked over at her faintly.  She said nothing until the other pedestrians passed.

"Did you get what I need, Herman?"  She surmised that he had received her payment by the bloated look of his belly.

He weakly retrieved a folded sheet of paper and slipped it into her outstretched orange fingernails.  "Oh, man Ellen.  You wouldn't believe how sick I feel.  I had so many containers of nachos during the third quarter last night.  Then Margarita got mad because the Packers won and she left and I was alone there with the burritos and..."

Ellen cut him off, "Herman," she said, "did you dispose of the trash where I told you?  We can't have the evidence of all those snacks back in the dumpster the secretaries use...you could really get into trouble."

"Yes, yes," he said while rubbing his stomach, "I put them in Mr. Frank's office like you said.  I don't know why he can eat whatever he wants."

"I told you, Herman, he is a mastermind of planning...he's the reason Fit for Life is able to be so successful.  He can do whatever he wants.  Us on the other hand...anyone could do our jobs."  She paused, expecting a reply, but Herman only let out a small, deep belch, then moaned.

She unfolded the paper and perused its information with surprise.  The implied culprit was who she suspected, but she was stunned by the meticulous manner in which Herman of all people was able to record the data.  He had entered an entry time, exit time, and activity for every person who had come near Accounting the previous day.  He had made his entries in neat rows, placing asterisks next to the most suspicious of the names.  He had done a great job...she'd have to remember him if she ever needed some help in the future.

Herman declined her offer of a Snickers bar, which she had meant as an extra thank you, and left abruptly after their business was concluded.  Ellen smiled...she was in possession of all she needed to make her final show down.  Too bad she had one more day at work first.  She groaned at the thought of editing that dull article on artichokes.  "Only one more day," she thought as she began the trek toward her work building, "I just have to survive working there for one more day."

She entered the building, this time passing security without the stress of contraband.  She began walking up the stairwell and she didn't even get winded.  She took a seat at her desk and bent over to change out of her tennis shoes.  When she sat up again, she was startled by the disapproving presence of a perspiring Latina.

Ellen didn't even have a chance to say hello.

Margarita started in on her, "I don't like what you're doing, I don't like it at all.  I said to Herman that you were not good for him.  He didn't even ask me what I thought of you..."

Ellen was amused.  Surely Margarita didn't think she was interested in the lazy teen!  "Margarita, please...it's not what you think.  Herman and I have a business proposition and that's all..."

"I know what girls like you are like.  You give him food and you talk to him real quiet..." 

This time Ellen interrupted her with more purpose.  "Margarita.  Stop it right now!"  She had been attracting some unwanted attention.  She motioned for Margarita to follow her to the ladies room where she was able to calm her nerves with the vague promise of never talking to Herman again.  Then she threw the motherly bloodhound onto another scent.

"Really it's not me you should be worried about.  Have you seen the way that lady security guard looks at him when he comes in every afternoon?"  Ellen didn't mention that she was watching him because she'd busted him for chicken nuggets on more than one occasion.  Margarita got a new glint to her eyes, then thanked Ellen profusely before leaving to scout out the new threat.  Ellen breathed a sigh of relief.  That was a little too conspicuous for comfort.

She returned to her cubicle and read through several dull manuscripts before breaking for her unappetizing lunch of leek soup.  While she quietly slurped, she dreamed of the fattening burgers she would be free to have soon...so soon.  She was mid-daydream when Editor Wilhelm marched in to give his afternoon motivational speech.  Carla, his secretary always sat up a little straighter after he uttered, "Let's go, team!".

She hydrated, then plunged in again, working steadily through the afternoon until the happy moment of her release.  She skipped out the door, down the stairs, into the streets, then hopped onto the bus toward home.  The comforting smell of fried chicken greeted her as she came in the door.

Her Mom smiled at her.  "Hi."  She was a woman of few words.

Ellen smiled back and leaned over the deep fryer in delight.  It would be a great night.  After a hearty dinner, she'd go down to her room and send out the necessary emails for her meeting tomorrow night.  She'd thought and planned, and finally the time had come.  It was the beginning of the end for the case of Fit for Life.

Some Food For Thought...

"If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome."

Anne Bradstreet, one of my all time favorite author/wives

Enjoy your taste of fall!

Womanly Word of the Week

Did you know that there is a specific word for worshipping your wife?  There is, it's...

gyneolatry: noun; the worship of women.

What smart man would practice this art?  How about these sentences...

The tenderness and heroism of his own mother left Herman with a deep sense of gyneolatry.

OR

Clarise sighed for the olden days of chivalry and gyneolatry; her jockish belcher had none of the finesse and refinement of a Mr. Darcy.

The Young Man's Vanity...

Last night, I sat down at the table with the children to do their 'quiet-timers'--their devotional books.  After reading the verse, there was a short paraphrase, followed by the instructions for the activity.  The kids were supposed to draw a picture of something they praise God for.

My daughter began meticulously drawing and coloring a Bible, complete with bookmark and cross on the cover.  She colored it purple, because that's one of her favorite colors.

My son began hastily drawing what looked like a person.  Being a spiritually minded person, I asked him sweetly, "Is that Jesus?".

He honked out a no matter-of-factly.

Who could it be that he would praise God for most?  Could it be me, his hard-working, loving mother?  I began to swell with motherly pride in anticipation of the coming compliment.  Then I asked him who he was drawing.

He looked at me as if the answer were obvious.

"That's me."

Oh.

I don't know where he gets that vanity from.

And now the winner...

I did my best to get a-posting early, since I knew you all were logged in early from the excitement.  Please stop jumping up and down or we'll never get this done...  Thank you...

And now, drumroll please...

The winner of the Word of the Week Balderdash challenge is...

The Town Crier!!!!!!!!

Here is the winning submission...

beltroon (n): someone who is a brash, obnoxious, irritating, incessant blabbermouth.

The word "paltroon" (a favorite of C.S. Lewis) means someone who is a coward. Etymology: "to cower." Apparently, "troon" must be the part that refers to the fact that it is a person and "pal" or "paltro" meaning to cower. Origin places this word in use in the 16th century.
If this is the case, then the key to defining this word will be the meaning of "bel" or "bell." It seems obvious that a bell is (esp. in the time period) a large metallic object, usually in the tower of a cathedral which tolls loudly enough for everyone in the town to hear at important times. Thus, the word "bel" must mean something that is loud and "troon"
of course referring to a person.


Now, it is not necessarily implied that being loud is a bad thing. It could mean that someone is merely warning of danger. However, since "troon" is apparently (in other words) used in a derogatory sense, we must assume that "beltroon" is meant to be some sort of slam as well.


So when you put it all together, the word must refer to a person who constantly is speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear, with an obnoxious, irritating tone.


Example sentence: The old men in the barbershop rolled their eyes as they heard Bob, the town beltroon, coming down the sidewalk. They waited with bated breath, hoping the barbershop was not his destination. As Bob entered, each person suddently began finding excuses about some important task that needed immediate attention, leaving the poor barber, and the unfortunate patron whose hair was half-cut at the mercy of Bob's beltroonery.

Congratulations on winning this great honor!

Now a few comments...First of all, thank you for your participation.  It was great fun to see the variety of submissions, and it was really nice not to have to come up with a new identity and submit myself (no, I am not the Town Crier!).

I have to say, my heart was pulled to Tabitha's noun definition, as well:

beltroon-noun: The clear congealed fat that forms on a lamb roast.

Anything involving congealed fat gets your attention right away.  I really laughed on that one, but in the end I was won over by the etymology, and different form 'beltroonery'.  Besides, it's so useable.  I think I'll call someone a beltroon right away!

Thanks again and stay tuned for the next word of the week!

Twenty Minutes To Myself

I needed twenty minutes to myself
   to unwind from the long day.

I thought, "I'll take a bubble bath
   while Daddy and babies play."

I was eager and excited to unwind.
   Daddy understood; he didn't mind.

I closed the door to soak my bones
   The next thing I know, I'm hearing moans.

Outside the door, little girly thing
   Had discovered Mommy's lonely fling.

My much needed immersion
   Was to her, utter desertion.

I avoided chubby fingers 'neath the door in despair,
   I ignored her, turned away, and I washed my hair.

A minute later visits my little guy
   To tell me he heard the baby cry.

Next was my oldest, full of children's news.
   Ten minutes in, I still had the blues.

Four visits later, I still heard cries
   And knocks on the door and handle tries.

She busted in, fat cheeks in a smile
  To come and splash her Mom a while.

Babies never want to be with Mommy more,
  Than when she tries to close the bathroom door.

<<sigh>>

Ellen Bartelle, Woman of Mystery, Part 8

It was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon.  Ellen was sipping her Starbucks caramel macchiato right across the street from Seattle's Best Coffee shop, and the irony of the dueling coffee joints struck her yet again.  In younger years, she had made a joke of it by asking the Starbucks baristas where Seattle's best coffee was, to which they had to direct customers across the street.  Starbucks had won her over today, however, because of the prominent building overhang which protected her from the latest passing drizzle.

She lifted her sunglasses to check for her contact...then lowered them again to maintain her anonymity.  She thought through the data she had researched yet again.  It wasn't a big surprise for her to discover that it was the Mayor himself that had been embezzling money from Fit for Life.  She had suspected for some time that the company was merely a front for his wealthy campaign donations.  What had confused her was how he was able to keep his fingerprints off the evidence so well.  Now she knew, though, there had to be someone on the inside.  Someone had to know how to maneuver the accounts so there weren't any red flags.  Ellen fished through her fanny pack for some lip balm, so she would look a little more put together when her contact arrived.  She should have fished for some breath mints, too.

The conspicuous clearing of a throat got her attention just as she was recapping the wintergreen Blistex.  She looked directly into the eyes of Herman, the night janitor.

She put on her business tones, "Hello, Herman.  I'm so glad you were able to come.  I know your shift begins in a few hours and I'm glad you could make the time to help me out."

He shifted his weight, then demanded of her, "Are you going to sneak in the snacks to work tonight or what?  Because I'm not helping you unless you bring the goods first.  I have a lot of other things to do than work extra and spy on the Accounting room for you.  I don't mind, though, if you can sneak in the snacks for me."

"Yes, yes, Herman, just give me your list and I'll find a way to make it happen.  I just need to know that you can watch who goes in and who goes out all day.  If anyone from outside Accounting goes in and uses the computer, I need to know.  It's really important, okay?  If they see me standing there, it'll be a dead give away."

Herman sat down in the wicker chair then nervously began popping his knuckles.  "Okay, here is my price."  He handed her his snack list.

Ellen glanced over the items in shock.

"One, two, three, four boxes of pizza rolls, bean burritos, nachos...drinks...Why in the world would you need all this food just for yourself?" she queried with animation.

A slight smile crept onto his face.  "Well, you know, I'm not always by myself, I have some friends.  Besides, tomorrow night is the beginning of football season, and Margarita was wanting to do some tailgating.  She said she'd come into work with me as long as we could have snacks and watch the game, you know...".

She did know.  Herman and Margarita were an odd pair, he was nineteen, she was fifty-seven.  Ever since Herman's mother had passed, Margarita had stepped in to fill in the nag gap.  She yelled at him for scuffing his shoes.  She got angry at him for dropping out of college.  She insisted that he present all girls for her approval before they were accepted for dating.  They were close, and they couldn't stand each other.  Sports had always been a common bond for them.  They argued over their conflicting favorites on a regular basis.

Ellen sighed.  It would be up to her to get the snacks past security, which was no small feat.  The security guards would never spot a bomb or gun, but they had been trained to meticulously uphold the standards of nutritional health the bilious Mayor had set.  She would have to wrap everything magnificently well to cover the scent of the heated food through the hallways of Nutrition...there was no way she could use the microwave there without detection.  She could pull it off...she had to pull it off, because she needed the information Herman could provide.  Once she knew who the accomplice was, all the pieces would be in place to complete her mission.

She said good-bye to Herman, and began to walk down the splashy sidewalk toward the grocery store.  She pondered the complexity of the case, and wondered if she should raise her rate.  She had a client who was an embezzler, she had an unknown accomplice, she had a bitterness-filled blackmailer, and she had a man from her past with serious questions about what was going on.  Ellen smiled to herself as she passed into the small store and breezed past the produce section.  It was a lot to handle, but she could do it, for after all, she was Seattle's premier private investigator...and she knew mysteries as well as she knew the fat content of a Hershey's bar.

So, About Ty Cobb...

Well, the time has come to continue my chronicle of the Baseball documentary by Ken Burns.  I have enjoyed the time watching it...like I said, we're a little weird like that.  I've learned a few things.  I understand the statistics of baseball a lot more, I feel pretty well-versed on the ins and outs of the steroid years.  I know who my hubby does and doesn't like in the game, and I've picked up some useful terms along the way.

Here is what I've learned about the legendary player, Ty Cobb.  He was a phenomenal, old school player.  Many people consider him one of the all-time best baseball players in general, and best batters in particular.  He's in the Hall of Fame and played for Detroit.  He set many records that modern players are trying to break even today.  Now, for the interesting stuff...

He was probably one of the most prejudiced, surly people I've ever heard of.  If there was a Hall of Fame for mean players, he'd definitely be in.  In all fairness, he did have a pretty rough life as a child.  He was from Georgia, and grew up trying to meet the expectations of a very stern father.  His father's only words of wisdom for him were, "Don't come home a failure."  Even his mother was pretty disinterested in him as a child, so he grew up as a bit of a loner.  He discovered that through hard work and aggression, he could play baseball very well.  Just as he was about to be hired into the minor leagues, a feat he was sure would at last impress his father, his father was killed...by his own mother!  She shot him when he was climbing in the window, suspicious of her having an affair.  Yikes!  Definitely not the ideal bringing up.

From that time on, he really had a 'me against the world' mentality.  He elevated himself to excellence through sheer will power.  He is actually a great credit to what hard work can do for you.  He did great and became a legend fairly early on in his career.  Fans loved having his talent, but people didn't like him...especially the members of his own team.  He was known for sliding into bases with his spiked cleats as high as possible so he could shred up the legs of the baseman.  He was brutal, ferocious.  If he could hurt another player while playing, he was glad to do it.

One of the stories I remember best was of him coming back to his hotel room after a game.  He had to share with another player on the team, who had arrived before and gotten into the bath tub.  Cobb ran in there, pulled the naked, startled player out of the tub, and screamed at him, "Don't you know that I HAVE to be first?  I ALWAYS have to be first!"  Okay...needless to say, he was unsuccessful at both of his marriages as well.

He was very prejudiced, and not just against blacks.  He called the amazing shortstop Honus Wagner, "kraut-head" and told him he'd cut him to ribbons during their epic match-up.  (I was personally thrilled that the  kind and talented Wagner won out... it just seemed like justice!).  Wagner out-classed and out-played him.  By the way, he is also in the Hall of Fame and is another of the all-time greats.

One of the most infamous of his incidents which actually earned him a short suspension from playing was the brutal beating of a handicapped fan.  Apparently the fan said something Cobb didn't like...fans did that even more back then, I think...he said something that was on the racist side.  After the fan kept it up through six innings, Cobb climbed into the stands and began hitting and kicking him with his spikes.  The man had lost both hands and part of an arm in an accident, so he couldn't defend himself and Cobb nearly killed him before security pulled him off.

Here's something I thought a little funny.  Cobb was a strong advocate of denying yourself sweets and unhealthy food in favor of good nutrition, which would make you stronger for the game.  When Babe Ruth came along with his beer drinking, hot dog downing successful home runs, Cobb despised him, preferring the harsh self-denial mode he'd grown up on ...think of that!  A life without chocolate!

He continued to excel throughout his career, but the end of his long life was what he reaped for his dramatic unkindness to others.  He died a rich, successful, acclaimed man...but his former wives hated him, and his children felt shunned by him because they weren't the successes he expected.  In his final years, he traveled alone throughout the country until he was admitted to the hospital for the final time.  One of his final quotes was, "I played hard and lived hard all my life, and have no friends to show for it."  How sad!

I used to think that our society today overlooked the moral defects of superstar players too much.  I guess I've learned that it's nothing new to appreciate a talent, and overlook the harshness in someone's character.  Ty Cobb had a lonely, but successful life.  He felt like the world was against him, and ended up regretting his headlong pursuit of personal excellence.  He wasn't able to find and keep what REALLY mattered in life.

They say truth is stranger than fiction...

Next time, we'll focus on some of the notable gentlemen of baseball, because there are quite a few.

Word of the Week

My friend Jenny suggested I put this twist on the word of the week:  use one of the randomly lettered 'words' from the word verification security tool...you know, the one that pops up when you post a comment...and make up a meaning.  I was really tempted to do the Balderdash thing, and just try to pass it off as one of my regular odd vocabulary words, but I thought it would be even more fun to make a contest of it.

Here is the plan, folks...I'll give you the word, along with a sample definition.  You post your personal definition in the comments.  I'll judge them by Saturday morning and post the winner's name, link (if applicable), and a sample sentence of my own on Saturday morning.  And for the winner, we have the glorious prize of...wait for it...

A Post in Crazy Creative Magazine declaring you're the winner!!!!


Wow.  If that doesn't motivate you, I don't know what would.

Here is the word for the week, now let me know your definitions...

beltroon

Hmmm....

beltroon: noun.  A loud, sudden squeaking sound.


Sample sentences:

Harold's face went white during the pep rally when, as he began to sing the fight song into the microphone, his lovely baritone was shattered by an adolescent beltroon. 


Delilah stepped back to the accompaniment of both a crunch and beltroon; to her horror, her stumble had landed squarely on her poodle, Polly.


Your turn, folks!  Please respond quickly, so I'm not forced to award myself with my own 'you're so clever' spiel or make up some pseudo identities.

A Nod to my Heritage...

Here's a shocking admission for you...I'm Polish.  Yes, yes, I know...you probably have some joke or other to tell me...which  I'll reuse as a blond joke.  Ha! Ha!

In all seriousness, it's a very handy thing to be a Polack.  (Yes, this is the correct spelling...apparently those who spell it 'polok' or 'polock' are just plain ignorant!  I had to look it up...)  So anyway...   All the clumsy, irrational, silly, and thoughtless things you do can be proudly displayed under the flag of your heritage.  I try to have a Polack moment on a regular basis...just for the fun factor of it.  By the way...it's not hard for me to contrive...it really does come naturally.

Here's what happened to me yesterday morning (I'm writing this on a Monday, so of course to add to the interestingness, we were all trying to get ready for church).  My daughter was dressing up for church, and I noticed that one of her flower clips was losing the flower, so I decided to quickly fix it before we left.  I whipped out the handy super glue container and started pasting.  Some of the glue was stuck, so like any normal Polish person, I squeezed harder.  The quick drying glue squirted all over my left hand, gluing my three middle fingers and my wedding ring together before dripping onto the laminate floor.  Of course, concerned for the flooring, I immediately wiped up what I could before it dried, later realizing that my fingers were glued together.  I managed to painfully pry my fingers apart, but it was really difficult to bend each finger, and my ring wasn't moving AT ALL.

I quickly called my clever father-in-law, a chemist and glue expert, as well as amateur pie maker, to try to get out of my predicament.  I can't remember the name of the chemical necessary to break the bond, but since I didn't have any GooGone or paint thinner, his cheery solution was, "It'll be gone by Tuesday or Wednesday!".

So, there I was with my glued-up, partially functioning hand, scar-like white lines of glue declaring my Polishness to the world.  Here's the great part.  Some of you know this already, but for my readers who don't know me personally, I'm the church piano player!  Do you know what it's like to play an offertory with a non-bending left hand?  I do...now.  Sigh...at least I can always blame any mistakes on my heritage...this time!

Liebster Blog Award

Well, it seems that I've been nominated for a Liebster Blog Award.  Please, please, hold your applause!  It's an award for small bloggers given by other small bloggers as an encouragement.  Thank you so much to Gayle from Things My Mother Told Me for the nomination and recommendation!


Information about the Liebster Award:

1.  Rumor has it that someone in Germany, possibly someone named Liebster, created an award for new bloggers to show appreciation and thanks for their blog.

2.  Liebster means “beloved” in German and Spanish.

3.  You can only receive the award from another blogger, who has also received the award. 

4.  Awards are to be passed forward to other bloggers, 3-5 blog sites, with followers of 300 or less.

5.  Once you give the award to a fellow blogger, you are to contact the blogger and let them know.

6.  Copy and paste the award on your blog.

The winner of this encouragement award is to select three other small blogs to nominate and share the links for your selections, as well as who nominated you.

My nominees are:

Christine from The Good, The Pure, and The Lovely.  This is a great blog to read if you want a positive glimpse of Christian mommyhood.  From muddy boots to flower pictures to words of wisdom from THE Word, Christine has a very real, open love of her family and God. 

Linda at Encouragement From the Hill.  I love to read Linda's blog to take a moment and think about the most important thing...my relationship with the Lord.  Linda is VERY kind and VERY encouraging.  Try it out!

My last nominee is Laura at Wake Up and Smell the Chocolate.  To be honest, she had my readership at the title!  I love Laura's tongue-in-cheek writing style and her librarian experiences.  She's also the master of posting about strange feelings we all have, but never think about.  I often read one of her posts with my coffee in the morning and think, "Hey, I do have that crazy thought sometimes..." 

Now, to be perfectly honest, I had never even heard of this award until I was nominated today.  I don't think it's an award that will gain a lot of recognition, but it is a good tool to recognize and link up with some of the other small bloggers I really enjoy.  Blogging is personally rewarding for me as a tool for writing, expressing, or remembering this stage in my life.  Although, I would probably still blog if no one read it but me and my husband, it is really exciting to know that there are people out there really interested in my personality, humor, and faith.  Here's to the little guy bloggers!  Hooray for us!

...And have no fear, readers, Poetry Friday will resume next week.  I just thought I'd mention it, because I don't want you to be cranky over the weekend.  Have a great one!