5 lonely nights till the cauldron is lit,
I miss the old days, with the flames and a spit.
The dungeon was fun, the screams were many,
I think our last victim was Harold. Or Vinny.
The chains would scrape and the shackles would hold,
Reduced to tears were the loud and the bold.
I’m really not mean. I dress to the nines.
And I’m inspired by reruns of “Criminal Minds.”
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
(Y’all have got to lighten up. Keep a sense of humor. Seriously.)
6 more moons until spiders crawl,
Filling the floor and ceiling and wall.
Where are the lizards? In the teacups again!
Nothing like lizard-drool mixed with my gin.
I can’t find my owl. Where has Albert flown?
Ah! Here he comes now, with a new feline bone.
All my sweet pets, are ready to play,
To hunt, pounce and howl on Halloween Day!
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
(Keep your pets safe on the 31st! I’ll be watching.)
Only 7 more days to the spooky event!
My nails have been done and my fingers are bent.
Now I’m wondering what to do with my hair?
To color it orange or shave it off bare?
The wardrobe is finished, I’m going with black.
With a plunging neckline and a cool, open back.
What about shoes? Flats, boots or pumps?
It won’t really matter, as long as it thumps!
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
(The witch wears Prada. Really.)
Twas a few 8 days till the graveyard tour,
Ghosts will be easily found, I’m sure.
The moon will be glowing and winds will be strong,
Vampire bats fill the air with a song.
“We fly and we flutter and search the mud,
Heartily looking for a drop of blood.
Count Dracula sends us to do his will,
Snatching bites where we can with joy and zeal!”
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
(Feel something fluttering on your neck? Good…)
Twas a 9 scant days before monsters groan,
Bats will fly and the tortured moan.
We’ll dance in the dark while Michael sings,
And the echo of “Thriller” rings and rings.
The ominous sounds of Vincent Price,
Plainly evil, will call and profoundly entice.
Kasem will air while I rest in my bed,
Celebrating the tunes of the dead and undead.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
(Everyone do the “Thriller” dance. Go ahead. We’re watching.)
Twas 10 short days till All Hallow’s Eve,
And all the lost souls will mourn and grieve.
The werewolves will howl and bark at the moon,
The madness of midnight will pass too soon.
We’ll gather together in the light of the fire,
The spirits will dance with laughter and ire.
This post is heavy and excessively dark,
Let’s think on fun things, like a snake and a shark.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
(More wicked cackles filled with shouts of glee…)
Twas 11 dark days till the ghosties arrive,
And Frankenstein’s bride with the hair beehive.
The broom has been tuned and washed and shined,
I’ve offered free rides but they’ve all be declined.
The menu is finished, I’m making bat wings,
Our party will feature a troll that can sing.
I’ve been flying all night and I’m headed to bed,
As soon as I wash all these snails from my head.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
(Again with the obligatory witchy laugh and cackling…)
Twas a spooky 12 days before Halloween,
The goldfish are yellow, the frogs are bright green.
I’ve cleaned up the cauldron, I’ve put on the stew,
Next I’ll add in some spiders, not lots, just a few.
The mummies are ready, their wrappings are tight.
I’m hoping Count Drac will soon be in sight.
That’s all for today, I’ll post more tomorrow.
I hope you come back, or I’ll be full of sorrow.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
(Obligatory witchy laugh and cackling…)
We survived the first five days. Yay team. Bravo. Time to invoke the over-used “only 175 more to go” mentality. I detest that phrase.
School, like any truly noble endeavor, is not meant to be simply endured. Or survived.
Celebrate. Embrace. Jump in the deep end and flail about. Get wet. Put your head under the water and taste the salt. One cannot learn to swim by tiptoeing in the shallow end of a kiddie pool any more than you can learn to fly by reading a book at the central library.
You must do. You must live. You must experience.
School is no different. Reading helps. Writing helps. An abacus may help. Maybe.
To truly learn, you must taste and touch and feel. Mix the red play-dough and the blue play-dough and see what happens. Toss a crumbled Alka-Seltzer in a small Coca-Cola bottle and watch for bubbles. Steal a sheet from the hall closet and wear a toga to class as you act out the death scene from JULIUS CAESAR.
School, my friends, is doing. School, good folks, is living. Not math nor science nor English nor history nor any topic so anointed by the powers that be can ever be fully grasped though worksheets and lectures, accentuated with the occasional Power Point. It must grow. It must blossom.
So… we didn’t survive the first five days. We thrived the first five days.
The reading was good. The writing was less good. The abacus… that was living.
If asked, my school children will likely tell you “it costs nothing to be kind” is my go-to phrase. It rolls off the tongue. I treasure the thought. I say it all the time, probably too often for some ears.
Every teacher has a signature phrase. For Olon Shuler, it was “only in America.” For Grey Cartwright, it was a rambling sermon about “this red pen will cut you down faster that any samurai sword ever could.” For my mother, it was “drama is life-life is drama.”
I’ve also been known to utter, “You’ve over-cookin’ my grits, son.”
And, “It’s not rocket surgery.”
And the always mystifying, “You’re treading on thin water.”
But the big one for me? “It costs nothing to be kind.”
Now you know what I believe. Now you know how I aim to live. Kindness. Random acts or intentional moments. Either way, it matters. The world, for all practical purposes, is a small place and I’m a big believer in trying to get along while helping the man next door.
It doesn’t seem like too much to expect. Or ask.
On more than one occasion I’ve asked Sophia and Miles, “would y’all rather be angry for one minute or happy for sixty seconds?” They invariably choose the sixty seconds. Smart children. Perhaps, even, wise.
Imagine my surprise this week when I shared some good news about some kids I know pretty well. I expected the adults in my life to surrender sixty seconds and say “well done. I’m proud of you.” Maybe a pat on the head or an encouraging smile. But that did not happen. The sharing was problematic. The expectation was too much. Sixty seconds was too much to give. Sixty seconds was too much too share. So much for the man next door.
It costs nothing to be kind.
Maybe I’m wrong. It might cost sixty seconds. Maybe.
For some, that was too much to ask.
You reap what you sow, you reap what you sow.
Jeffrey Griffin 