Roadtrip

Are we there yet?


I just so love being in the car.
Houston now seems very far.
We’ve been there other times before.
Each time it’s south-er even more.
I really wish you’d let me drive.
I can’t deal with all this right-lane jive.
My eyelids are about to drop.
I think I need a Buc-ee’s stop.
The GPS says two hours to go.
That I didn’t need to know.

Are we there yet?

Adventure Escaped

We are going to get an RV.
It is time to hit the open road.
We will go wherever we wanted.
We will be Grandparent Ninjas,
Swooping in to visit and vanishing.

Off to discover America on the open road.
We would have no schedule to meet.
Sleep wherever we wanted to sleep.
Stay as long as we liked.
Vanish with the wind.

We learned some of the lingo.
I signed up for all the emails.
We watched all the RV programs.
We yelled at all the families
Who obviously picked the wrong unit.

I started a blog because I was serious.
I began mapping our planned journeys.
We would retrace some of the long roads
We had previously traveled by car.
This would be so much less stressful.

Finally we started looking at RVs.
I wanted a Class A like Willie’s bus,
Just with less smoke.
My wife wanted a travel trailer.
She didn’t want to be a bus driver.

Some RVs seemed a wee bit small,
Especially for larger people.
Then, my wife reclined on an RV bed,
With her relatively bad back.
She said, “Where will you sleep?”

We both considered driving with forty feet
Of metal following behind on every turn.
We’d both backed into things in cars.
I wondered how to determine bridge ratings
Before we plunged into a raging river.

Soon we realized it was convenient to
Sleep wherever you wanted to sleep.
Stay as long as you liked.
Have coffee and breakfast in the morning.

We will save a lot of money not getting a RV.
This savings will help cushion the sadness.
Much of the savings will end up going to
Our friends at Hampton Inns worldwide.
We’d drive beds with us but they have them already.

Since we don’t have to drive our beds around,
The rest of the RV savings fund goes to
Our friends at Southwest Airlines.
They go pretty much where we would have driven,
And they actually go faster than my wife.

I’m sad we are not getting an RV.
On the other hand, I can afford the groceries
My wife can fit inside a car, even a rental.
I’m not sure how much of Carfagna’s
She could have fit inside a toy hauler.

Parenthood

Can someone hold my child?
I am so completely enraged,
I probably should not
Be near him currently.

There is a wide, black trail of
Instant Coffee, running from
My kitchen to the bedroom.
Across my new white carpet.

My husband said he calls it,
“The Trail of Tears.”
Someone should hold him, too.
In case this becomes a rampage.

Deep breaths.
Deep, cleansing breaths.
Maybe a glass of Chardonnay.
It’s better now. Somewhat.

It’s just a very messy line.
It will all come out in the wash.
It’s not really grounds for murder.
It’s not even grounds for divorce.

Grounds.
He he he he.
I crack me up.
I better start cleaning.

My Beloved, the Non-Weeble

Editor’s Note: Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down. So, my wife is not a Weeble. Some people are just accident-prone. I know one of them. She married me. Oy vey. This is in her voice, since that’s the only way it makes sense. You just have to imagine the cries of anguish at the end of each stanza. 

I think I’ll have a glass of tea.
Ouch! I think I sprained my knee.

I was writing out my shopping list,
I stopped because I sprained my wrist.

The list said, “Ribs. At least a rack.”
Wow. I think that I just wrenched my back.

I filed the list in my to-do folder,
But now I may have popped my shoulder.

I turned on the TV and saw Bethenny Frankel,
Then dropped the remote and broke my ankle.

It’s Spring, we should be on a ship,
It’s just I may have strained my hip.

I reached to remove a piece of fluff,
And I think I tore my rotator cuff.

I know it’s time to feed the pup,
It’s just I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.

My husband said, “Hey, let’s get frisky!”
I said, “Oh, my God! That’s much too risky!”

My husband thinks he’s such a clown,
I’d hit him, but I’ve fallen down.

Again.

Grandparents

A grandmother wants control of her title.
Choosing what she is called seems vital.
Some will never be “Grams” or “Granny.”
They want to be called “MomPlus” or “Sammy.”

Grandfathers don’t really seem to care.
Since we get called random terms here and there.
I have been “Grandpa”, “Papa”, “Grampy”, so to speak.
All of those were just in the past week.

Next time, I’ll have another name.
I will probably have myself to blame.
I said my name was King Frank-Bob.
We’ll see if that’s accepted by the mob.

I answer to the term my grandkids choose,
Either good or bad, win or lose.
Call me a saint or call me a sinner.
Just don’t call Grandpa late for dinner.

A Child of Many

I’m a child of the Sixties,
I can sing any Beatles song.
Peace and love,
Sex and Drugs,
I’ll party all night long.

I’m a child of Catholic schools,
I know a lot of prayers.
Glory Be,
Our Father,
He watches over us everywhere.

I’m (mostly) a child of Texas,
I got here when I was two.
Whataburger,
Ranching,
A State with its own worldview.

I’m one of the last Baby Boomers,
I was taught right from wrong.
Princess phones,
Playing outside,
In college, I even saw a bong.

I’m a child of many,
My folks, the highest percentile.
Selective amnesia,
An occasional drink,
And my shrink on speed-dial.

Ellie’s Blues

Editor’s Note: Sometimes, even a bluesman visits his family. The joys of grandchildren climbing all over you is generally followed by a rare, short-term but hellish disease.

Ellie’s cold is killing me.
Doo-dah, doo-dah.
Snot as far as I can see.
All the doo-dah day.

Gonna run all night (my nose),
Gonna run all day.
I need some antihistamines.
I need to get away.

The kids’ house is a haz-mat site.
Doo-dah, doo-dah.
Boogers running day and night.
All the doo-dah day.

Gonna run all night (my nose)
Gonna run all day.
I’m back home in Dallas now.
With a blocked airway.

Strings

I found an old guitar,
Up in the attic at my Mom’s.
She said it was my Grandpa’s.
He would play it on the lawn.

I never knew he had one.
I never knew he played.
Yet, I could almost hear him,
As I saw the strings were frayed.

I took it from the attic,
I had it cleaned and tuned.
I tried to learn to play it.
I wanted music to resume.

I wonder if he wrote a song.
I wonder what he played.
I’d like to sing it with him.
My memories ceased to fade.

When you’re listening to a concert,
Watching some now famous star,
You should think about his Grandpa.
And wonder if he played guitar.

 

The Texas Volunteers

Hats off to the Texas Volunteers!
They’ve been marching on for many years.
They rose up when they heard the call,
They came together, one and all.

Patrolling someone’s vast estate
A mission that became their fate.
Keeping watch from some tall tower,
Often drenched by a sudden shower.

There was never a bet they couldn’t make.
There was never a chance they wouldn’t take.
They often find themselves at disadvantage,
Yet I’ve become their collateral damage.

I fight with the Texas Volunteers,
With Texas sand between their ears.
They take every job that they can see,
But then they always stop to ask “Why me?”