Brethren Bunny

Once upon a time, I used to write quite a bit of poetry. I'm not sure what happened, but at some point, I just stopped.

I've been thinking about it quite a bit lately. It seems to be nagging at me. Every now and then, a line pops into my head, just begging to be written down and fleshed out... a fledgling poem hoping, waiting, dreaming of seeing the light of day.

This poem has been badgering me for quite some time. It's based on a true story. It took three psychotic rabbits chasing each other for what seemed like an eternity earlier today to shake it out of my brain.

Needless to say, you might start seeing more of my poetry here on my blog. I hope you like it and, if not, at least find it entertaining.

It's titled (not entitled! Too many people misuse that term!), simply, "Brethren Bunny."

It struggled and squirmed

breathing heavily

determined to escape, to flee from me

though hopelessly entangled

     in a trap of a viny vinca garden.

Quickly and carefully

my fisherman fingers freeing it

untangling the mighty mess of vines

     and watching

                        waiting

                                    bewildered

as it stumbled slowly toward me

     unnaturally unafraid.

It sought me out

stopping by my side and

sighed its final breath

beside kindred brethren.

'Twas the Day Before Break

'Twas the day before break

And all through the classrooms

The teachers were stressing

In Meets, Canvas and Zooms.

For you see the pandemic

Created an academic mess.

It seems virtual education

Is an absolute stress!

Some children were nestled

Snuggled up in their beds,

While others played, cartwheeled,

Or stood on their heads.

Each teacher in their own

Little space they called work,

Developing lesson plans,

Spasms, and jerks...

Plans that would guide,

Hopefully teach and engage

Knowledge-hungry students,

No matter their age.

As the slide Window opened

A loud noise pierced my ear.

Someone's dog barked shrilly

When the Fed-Ex man appeared.

Then the light of heaven

Shown bright in my eyes...

Oh, Johnny's cam was pointed

Up into sunny, bright skies.

Then, wonder of wonder,

But who should appear?

It was Clive, my student

I haven't seen all year!

I dashed to my Powerschool

Roster super quick

And nimbly marked him

'Present,' clickety click!

More rapid than meerkats,

In a blink he was gone!

I asked my friends, "Did YOU

Guys see Clive? Was he on?"

"Well Johnny? Well Judy?

Help me Buddy! Help Masie!

I just saw him right there!

I know I'm not crazy!"

At the top of the screen

Clive showed up again,

Unmuted and screaming

At his big brother Ben.

"Mute yourself please!

We've a lesson to learn!

Addends are important...

WATCH OUT FOR THAT...

Fern."

I attempted my lesson

And started anew,

But Clive stole the show.

We all knew it was true.

And then in a twinkling,

I came up with a plan.

"Math Scavenger Hunt!"

I yelled. "Ann, get one can!"

"Bob find two books.

And Judy, three clothes.

Buddy, four pencils.

Now Suzy, five gift bows."

"And Clive, this is most

Important of all...

Go find six puppies,

But they have to be small."

Clive turned and he dashed.

His camera went dark.

"Mr. Haworth," I said

To myself, "you're too smart!"

The online room became calm.

The students' voices abated.

I could finally impart

Some knowledge while we waited

On Clive to appear

With his impossible task.

I'm not sure how I did it,

But I knew just what to ask.

I restarted my lesson.

We began on number three...

Seven plus nine,

Plus blank equals twenty.

I reached for a book

And as I turned around,

I heard the bang of a door

And some whining sound.

A camera flicked on

And, well, there stood Clive

Holding a large box

Filled with something... alive?

He spoke not a word.

He opened the box.

Out jumped puppy

Number one like a fox!

As five more spilled out,

My students went crazy,

Including the littlest and

Shyest of all -- dear Maisie!

With my head in my hands

I gave a low whistle.

Away went my plans

Like the down of a thistle.

As I closed my eyes

And took a deep breath,

I heard, "Who's that new kid?

Her name's Elsabeth!"*

*(Special note for my non-teacher friends: When we get observed in virtual classrooms, our assistant principals, principals, superintendents, or whoever is evaluating our performance 'show up,' they simply appear as a name on the screen.) 

Presto! Instant Fireplace Renovations

Pop pop ordered an insert for the fireplace. Most of the time, upgrades to the house fall under one category -- me. 

Pop pop, as most of the grandkids call my father-in-law, told me there was a package on the front porch for me. I noticed the front door still closed and locked and questioned how he knew this. Apparently, Amazon told him that it was there. Someone should shoot that Amazon photographic satellite down. How else would it know there was a box there!

Regardless, I struggled. I moaned. I strained. I groaned. And, ten minutes later, the box was in the house. It was but a mere 10 minutes more that I found something to cut the top open. All I had left was to drag the open box to the soon to be renovated fireplace.

Don’t let its minuscule size fool
you... It was a beast!

Approximately 15 minutes and eight pages of instructions later (plus instructions hurled my direction by the spectators), I had the unit in place. Then, I simply plugged it in and pressed the "on" button on the handy-dandy remote control that came with it. Voila!

Somehow, the little electric heat box with its holographic flames I put in the fireplace seemed anticlimactic. It made me yearn for my childhood and the day my dad got a real wood stove for the fireplace.

Thinking of that stove brought back some fond memories of times I spent with my dad. It seems like we spent a lot of time together cutting wood and hauling it to the house to feed that stove. We had a lot of fun adventures.

Once, he stood behind the truck and then asked me to back it out. And then there was the underground bees nest. It seems I remember the axe head flying off once. Good thing I yelled "fore" like they do in golf. My dad could have been hurt! I even had to stand on the back of the truck once to help it get traction. That might actually be related to me backing the truck out. Hmmmm...

Once, I even remember him joking with me by saying "don't cut that tree down! Do you want it to land on the truck?"

While there are other fond memories I could regale upon my readers, there is something to be said for Pop pop's genius. One Amazon purchase plus one easy click of a button equals -- presto! Instafire! 

Fish Lies, Fact or Fiction?

After watching innumerable videos on fly fishing and listening to twice as many podcasts on the same subject, it seems I grew up under a cloud of false beliefs and ignorance.

According to a recent Orvis podcast, feeding lies, sheltering lies and prime lies refer to distinct areas where trout go to eat, to be protected and to be in an area that provides all the elements the fish needs to survive, respectively.

These definitions are radically different from what I believed growing up.

When I was younger, a feeding lie referred to the size of your fish. More accurately, it referred to the size you actually said it was. Hence the common phrase, "What's this mess you're feeding me," or some variation, which often followed such slightly altered statements of fish size.

Sheltering lies, however, often have an element of truth to them. In general, they are are statements that can't quite be quantified.

"That bass had the biggest attitude of any fish I ever caught," "that sunfish put a lot of heart into that fight," and "that was the biggest pumpkinseed I ever saw" are good examples of proper sheltering lies.

Unlike the feeding and sheltering lies, the prime lie can take many different forms. Instead of going into an elaborate detailed description of a prime lie, allow me to give you an excellent example.

I caught my first striped bass on a fly rod when I was a teenager. In fact, I caught it within the first two casts the first time I picked up a fly rod. At the time I had no clue as to what I was doing. I cast out a little weighted fly and stripped it back. Cast it out again and was stripping it back when the fish hit. I set the hook and struggled some, but managed to land it. I'd guess that it's about 14 or 15 pounds.

What makes this a prime lie is that technically, it's all true. I was 17. It was my first time holding a fly rod. Cluelessness did indeed hold me in a firm grip. However, notice the verb tense change in the last sentence.

When I caught the striper, it probably weighed in just over a pound. If the bass is still alive, though, it could very well be 14 or 15 pounds or more by now. Herein lies the quality element of the enigma that is the prime lie.

Imagine my surprise at discovering all these years later that some disrespectful fisherman changed the meaning of my perfectly crafted fishing terminology! Despicable!

Fish Identification 101

I must confess to being deeply depressed. I squarely blame Tom Rosenbauer of Orvis for my depression. In short, Tom let me down.

Allow me to share some background knowledge. Through this knowledge, I hope my readers come to understand my need for a personal apology from Tom for this severe oversight.

My wife took me on a fly fishing sojourn recently in the mountains of North Carolina. Prior to this three day journey, I have been binge watching fishing videos on YouTube. Primarily, I've been watching the Orvis videos and concentrating on the ones with Tom Rosenbauer.

I've even been binge listening to the Orvis podcasts with Tom. By the time my wife and I left for our trip, I had covered all of the 2014 podcasts and was well into 2015. I've been eagerly listening to each piece of advice Tom and his guests have shared with me. Heck, I've even taken notes on some!

I carried all this new knowledge with me as I waded into the stream that flowed by my AirBnB. I looked the water up and down. I perused through my flies and asked myself, "Hmmm... What would Tom tell me?"

A little black and white dry fly jumped into my fingers. I deftly tied it to my tippet with a firm Haworth Haphazard Overhead Hug knot. (Yes. I named the knot I invented after myself.) Within two casts I landed a little rainbow trout!

Needless to say, I was absolutely elated! Tom and I exchanged imaginary hugs and high fives. He complimented my extraordinary fishing talent. I complimented his excellent tutelage.

Now, fast forward to day three and ten more fish later. I'm busy fly fishing my heart out, changing flies, changing tactics and changing locations, all the while looking for foam and casting to the seams. Three fish made a mockery of me by tugging my strike indicator under and letting go faster than a dog on a potato chip.

I had all but given up when my line hung up. I paused and didn't move, not wanting to lose my hook to the very large rock or log on which it was stuck. That was the last straw. As I stood there, I realized my leader was moving sideways in the current.

"Monster fish on!" I mentally screamed and set the hook with all my strength. My line shot out of the water and sailed over my head like a warning shot fired from a cannon. I never even saw the 20 pound brown trout that took my hook.

In all the videos and all the podcasts, never once did Tom tell me how to discern the difference between a large rock and a monster trout. This, I believe, is pertinent information that should be passed on to future fly fishing stars such as myself.

Come to think of it, Robert Field of Field Trips didn't either! As soon as I finish drafting my letter to Tom, I may be firing one off to Rob, also.

Micro-Cut: the New Diet Plan

I'm always looking for the newest, latest and greatest diet plan not only to maintain my weight, but to help shed the last few (dozen) pounds. Still trying to hit that goal weight!

To date I've scrapped conventional diet plans like Atkins, South Beach, Weight Watchers, Keto-whatever, SlimFast and the like. All perfectly fine for some, but I'm busy working on my own amazing new diet program. It's called, simply, Micro-Cut: the New Diet Plan.

I'm hard at work hammering out the details of what's certain to be the next big hit in dieting! Maybe I'll take my idea to Shark Tank. Or, perhaps, I'll bypass those silly number crunchers and take it straight to the public! Why share my millions with those guys?

The premise behind Micro-Cut is simple. The smaller the serving, the fewer calories. So simple it's practically genius!

Allow me to give you an example with a simple cake. A normal slice of that freshly made death by ultimate chocolate decadence cake would be approximately 2,374 calories. I don't know about you, but I would have to run two back to back marathons (Usain Bolt style) to work those calories off!

However, with Micro-Cut, you only get a fraction of the calories of that same slice! All you need is an incredibly sharp knife in order to slice that razor thin piece known as the Micro-Cut. The best part is that you can have THREE Micro-Cut slices and retain that amazing figure.

I can hear my scientifically-based doubters loud and clear -- if three Micro-Cuts equals one regular slice, then the calories still add up to the original number!

However, if you take the length of the Micro-Cut, juxtapose it with the width, then divide it by the square root of Pi, round that to the nearest hundredth, then add that to the ounces of healthy sugar in the frosting on the actual cut and subtract that number from the number of Micro-Cuts taken, then divide the entire cake calories... Well, it's practically zero!

As you can see, it's a win-win situation.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a new dessert to make! Au revoir!

Warning! Getting Sick Equals Extreme Whining

Getting sick sucks. Colds, allergies, infections and especially the flu!

I love to eat, so when I'm not asleep, my brain constantly tells me 'Food, man! Home all day so we can eat all day! Yay!' Meanwhile, my stomach says, 'Sure, but it'll come right back up. What ya gonna do? You're choice.'

Thank you Swiss Army Knife
for saving the day!

Other bodily functions don't work right, either.

"Honey, where's that ibuprofen you got for me?"

"You took it already."

"No.  I mean the ibuprofen you put in a separate container for me. In case I needed more?"

"I didn't."

"I distinctly remember you telling me you did. I saw you do it."

"Mmm hmmm."

"But..."

"Quit your belly aching! I'm getting it!"

And worst of all (besides not feeling well) is the medicine.

Let's start with the cost. Now I know for a fact that the manufacturing costs of a pill the size of a flea couldn't be $150. So where does all that money go? I have my ideas and all I'll say about that is that I would like a turn at the wheel of the Ferrari my money just helped pay for!

Then there is the dosage. Take two or three ibuprofen when needed, but six hours apart. Now take this pill after every loose movement, but don't exceed three in one day. This medicine will be one in the morning and afternoon, and two at dinner. This medicine, however, should only be taken in the morning, unless, of course, you're experiencing extreme discomfort.

Again, bodily functions, like brain operations prevent me from remembering what pill does what and when to take what and where and why.

Finally there is the medicine itself. Pop pop picked it up for me. I got the medicine and looked at the box. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, so I took a nap.

Refreshed from my nap, I examined the box again. It's a box in a box. The inner box contains a flap with an arrow where I pull the inner one out. Except the inner box is stuck. Now I may be in a slightly weakened state, but I could not pull it out. Aha! Pliers!

Now we're down to pushing the pill through a thin, aluminum-like membrane. Except it wasn't so thin. And the back was protected by more cardboard. After approximately 10 minutes of pushing, poking and swearing, I proceeded to get my pocket knife. That took care of it!

After finally taking my medicine, I was ready for another nap. Not only does getting sick suck, it's also extremely tiring.