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.

Birthday Plans

My birthday is this Tuesday.
I will spend it recovering from taxes.
Oh, such fun is my birthday!

I will be fifty-nine years old.
Too young to die,
Too old to work at IBM.

My party is not on Tuesday.
My party is this afternoon.
My family celebrates on weekends.

My family is weird that way.
The government moved holidays to Monday,
And my parents misread the memo.

So, today is my party.
Yee haw!
I still won’t get a pony.
Damn.

Maybe Tuesday a pony will arrive.
I’m not holding my breath.
Who can hold their breath for two days?

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.

The Cedarville Line

Southbound on the Cedarville Line,
My Texas home is on my mind.
I’ve only got four States to go,
It’s a long, long way from Ohio.

Indianapolis goes flying by,
Someone behind me starts to cry.
I’m not the only one alone,
But at least (at last) I’m heading home.

The Land of Lincoln’s just a blur,
I turn around to look at her.
Her crying stopped a few miles back,
Now, it’s just the clicking of the track.

St Louis and the engines needed fuel.
The dining car refilled the gruel.
I grabbed another cup of joe,
Just a few more hours left to go.

Oklahoma, we just blew right past.
Next is Texas, home at last.
Cross the border to the Lone Star State.
Hurry now, let’s not be late.

Made it home on the Cedarville Line.
In fact, we made it right on time.
Texas underfoot at last.
Northbound before the summer’s passed.

Security

My grandkids rode around in my car.
We set the locks so they can’t go far.

They tried to escape just one time each.
The secret lock was out of their reach.

All safe.

We went home at last, sad to say.
We’ll go back up again someday.

Later, their Dad came down to visit.
Well, to a meeting, same thing, is it?

We went to dinner, which was quite a treat.
We got home, but he’s still in the back seat.

All safe.

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.

Diaspora

Thousands of raw acres
of prime South Texas land.
Mesquite, minimal water,
Fossils, fences and sand.

It’s a place to raise cattle,
With horsepower and sweat.
You can become wealthy,
It’s just not how to bet.

From the thousands of acres
Generations sliced off their share.
One ranch became ranches,
But nobody seemed to care.

The pastures were a man’s world,
There were no girls allowed.
There were many disappointments,
Some best not said out loud.

When I first visited the ranch,
It stretched as far as I could see.
Someone said, “That’s nothin’, son”.
“This used to reach to Uvalde.”

One by one, they moved to town,
It’s where they all belonged.
This could have been the King Ranch,
If they could have got along.

Sunday

Sunday is a day for family.
Time to spend together, chilling.
This is why God invented wine.
It’s to help prevent the killing.

It’s a time to recall old stories.
Reenact them with force.
Reopen some old wounds.
Then, the pasta course.

I’m not sure the term for
A loud, three-way argument.
There’s the same mutual respect
As in the Houses of Parliament.

There’s lots of good food,
So many emotions to tap.
After eating and discussing,
There may be time for a nap.

Sleep with one eye open.
Just sayin’.

Family Style

We ate dinner at a “family style” restaurant.
This is an interesting concept.
I’m not sure who invented it.

To their marketing team, it means
You have platters of food and you serve yourself.

To someone who married an Italian, it means
You have a loud discussion between courses,
And a fight over dessert.

Oops.

We’ve been asked to find another restaurant.
I guess I shouldn’t have told the waitress
She was dressed like a slut.