Julie Kemp Pick
"You can do it Mom, we're almost there," I tried to say calmly as we were in the middle of a crossfire between flying balls and leaping athletic shoes. She stopped several times, securely braking her walker to replenish her supply of snacks and liquids; fearless in the heat of danger. Finally she entered the car safely, unmarked yet compelled to reapply her lipstick. A task that was more important than making sure her seat belt was on and both legs were traveling inside the vehicle. Our mission was to hunt down great deals for our boys before they headed back to school, and to find a present or two for my brother's upcoming birthday.
This was a special event as both our boys and their fun-loving uncle were with us. My brother and my older son hate to shop, and until recently so did my younger son. We didn't arrive at the outlet mall until after 5:00, so we had no time to waste. My brother is a fast shopper who quickly surveys one store and moves on to the next. Then he and my older son would throw the softball around outside, while they were waiting for us.
My mom and younger son like to take their time rummaging through every rack and shelf. Suddenly, he began to speed things up by ripping off his shirt in the middle of the aisle each time he tried something on. Then my job was to find his shirt which was usually lying on the middle of the floor.
At one point, we couldn't agree on which stores to go to, so we all split up. Later I went to check on my mother who was in a boutique store a few doors down from us. I panicked when I couldn't find her, but then I saw her red head pop up. She was perfectly happy in this little store, while I was running back and forth checking on everyone. Yes my boys are 20-something, but on this rare occasion they actually wanted my opinion.
After we closed down the joint, we went for a big dinner at one of the few restaurants that was open after 9:00 PM. We were all exhausted from our shopping trip where every boy walked away with a present. As I gazed around the dinner table, I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I'm so thankful that they willingly participate in our silly family outings, and realize that these moments are really what matter in life.
They enjoy spending time talking about my mother's beauty shop schedule, almost as much as playing sports with my brother. I will miss them terribly when they go back to college and law school in a few days. After all the years of attending their football, baseball, basketball, and wrestling events, it really meant a lot to me that they participated in my favorite sport.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Punctually Late
Julie Kemp Pick
Every morning as the school bus would pull up,
The little girl would be seen running down the street.
As she screamed "wait for me," before the doors closed shut,
Barely catching her breath, surrendering to defeat.
The teenager lived a few blocks from the high school,
But that first morning class was always a chore,
She vowed to wake up earlier to abide by the rules,
After her alarm went off, she reset it for a few winks more.
Her English teacher sent her off to detention,
After she repeatedly came to class tardy.
The lesson of punctuality lost its retention.
She tried, but still showed up late for the party.
She served time for her crime at the Behavioral Adjustment Center,
Where she sat with a cluster of greasers, and druggies, in a daze.
While she worked on her paper about shutting down the BAC,
For which her teacher who sent her rewarded her with an "A."
Years later, her husband thought he would break her,
When they were invited to an early morning affair.
He set all the clocks back an hour, before he would wake her,
In the hope they would arrive at the designated time there.
She grew suspicious and found the forgotten thermostat clock.
He confessed that his trick was to help her become punctual,
She smiled to herself as she paused to take stock,
Oh how he would've enjoyed the meal, had his jaw been functional.
P.S. In keeping with the theme, I want to extend a very belated thank you to Rosalind Adam for passing this adorable award on to me. Rosalind is a gifted writer who is always entertaining, extremely generous, and hopefully very forgiving.
One of the rules for this award is to list a recent book that I would recommend. I'm really enjoying Talli Roland's The Hating Game which is a fun, fast paced read filled with surprises.
I would like to share this award with these delightful bloggers who are witty, talented and supportive. If I've forgotten anyone, let me know and I'll be happy to add you to the list. Please forgive me for changing the rules, and encouraging everyone to do whatever works for them. Be sure to check out all of these wonderful blogs listed in no particular order:
Julie @ What Else Is Possible
Rhonda @ Laugh-quotes
Delores @ The Feathered Nest
Susan @ I Think; Therefore I Yam
Elaine @ My Next 20 Years of Living
Every morning as the school bus would pull up,
The little girl would be seen running down the street.
As she screamed "wait for me," before the doors closed shut,
Barely catching her breath, surrendering to defeat.
The teenager lived a few blocks from the high school,
But that first morning class was always a chore,
She vowed to wake up earlier to abide by the rules,
After her alarm went off, she reset it for a few winks more.
Her English teacher sent her off to detention,
After she repeatedly came to class tardy.
The lesson of punctuality lost its retention.
She tried, but still showed up late for the party.
She served time for her crime at the Behavioral Adjustment Center,
Where she sat with a cluster of greasers, and druggies, in a daze.
While she worked on her paper about shutting down the BAC,
For which her teacher who sent her rewarded her with an "A."
Years later, her husband thought he would break her,
When they were invited to an early morning affair.
He set all the clocks back an hour, before he would wake her,
In the hope they would arrive at the designated time there.
She grew suspicious and found the forgotten thermostat clock.
He confessed that his trick was to help her become punctual,
She smiled to herself as she paused to take stock,
Oh how he would've enjoyed the meal, had his jaw been functional.
P.S. In keeping with the theme, I want to extend a very belated thank you to Rosalind Adam for passing this adorable award on to me. Rosalind is a gifted writer who is always entertaining, extremely generous, and hopefully very forgiving.
One of the rules for this award is to list a recent book that I would recommend. I'm really enjoying Talli Roland's The Hating Game which is a fun, fast paced read filled with surprises.
I would like to share this award with these delightful bloggers who are witty, talented and supportive. If I've forgotten anyone, let me know and I'll be happy to add you to the list. Please forgive me for changing the rules, and encouraging everyone to do whatever works for them. Be sure to check out all of these wonderful blogs listed in no particular order:
Julie @ What Else Is Possible
Rhonda @ Laugh-quotes
Delores @ The Feathered Nest
Susan @ I Think; Therefore I Yam
Elaine @ My Next 20 Years of Living
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Reservations On The Line
Julie Kemp Pick
My younger son is turning 20 soon, so I asked him where he would like to celebrate his birthday. As usual he wanted to finalize his plans with his friends first, before he could think about our small family dinner. He thought carefully about selecting a continental restaurant that everyone would enjoy, and left me to make the reservations.
The woman who answered the phone placed me on hold to see if she had any openings for that evening. She apologized profusely for the wait, before asking how many guests were in our party. I told her 6 people for 7:00. When she asked for my name, it showed up on her computer, as we've been there before, and she asked if we were going for a special occasion. When I told her that it was for my son's birthday, she was very appreciative and asked if there was anything special she could do to accommodate us. Soon she would be very sorry that she asked.
The restaurant is divided into three rooms, so I requested one of the smaller quieter rooms. I also asked for a round table, as it is more conducive to conversation. After taking copious notes, the cheerful manager asked if there was anything else she could do for me. Then I remembered to mention that my mom uses a walker and to make sure that the aisle is wide enough for her to get through en route to our table. By this time, my son had already taken a shower and left the house.
Now the manager's only concern was how to condense the instructions. She pleasantly asked, "Would it be okay if I left out the part about the walker, as it might bring up other issues? Oh and if your mom enters near the restrooms, there will be three steps up to the dining area. Will she be able to go up the steps, or should I make a note of it?"
I pointed out that if she entered from the vestibule, she could avoid the stairs altogether. She concurred; silently wondering how I knew the layout better than she did, when she was stationed at the hostess stand in the middle of the restaurant. Then she inquired if I would mind if she didn't mention the part about the stairs either. I said that I would leave it up to her; silently wondering who exactly would be reading this report and if it would be part of my permanent record.
As we were getting ready to say our goodbyes, she confirmed that our reservation was for 7 people at 6:00. I gently reminded her that it was for 6 people at 7:00. She apologized and thanked me for the 100th time. To be on the safe side, my mom will be sporting her track shoes as we will be stopping in the night before for a test run. I never realized that's why they have rehearsal dinners.
My younger son is turning 20 soon, so I asked him where he would like to celebrate his birthday. As usual he wanted to finalize his plans with his friends first, before he could think about our small family dinner. He thought carefully about selecting a continental restaurant that everyone would enjoy, and left me to make the reservations.
The woman who answered the phone placed me on hold to see if she had any openings for that evening. She apologized profusely for the wait, before asking how many guests were in our party. I told her 6 people for 7:00. When she asked for my name, it showed up on her computer, as we've been there before, and she asked if we were going for a special occasion. When I told her that it was for my son's birthday, she was very appreciative and asked if there was anything special she could do to accommodate us. Soon she would be very sorry that she asked.
The restaurant is divided into three rooms, so I requested one of the smaller quieter rooms. I also asked for a round table, as it is more conducive to conversation. After taking copious notes, the cheerful manager asked if there was anything else she could do for me. Then I remembered to mention that my mom uses a walker and to make sure that the aisle is wide enough for her to get through en route to our table. By this time, my son had already taken a shower and left the house.
Now the manager's only concern was how to condense the instructions. She pleasantly asked, "Would it be okay if I left out the part about the walker, as it might bring up other issues? Oh and if your mom enters near the restrooms, there will be three steps up to the dining area. Will she be able to go up the steps, or should I make a note of it?"
I pointed out that if she entered from the vestibule, she could avoid the stairs altogether. She concurred; silently wondering how I knew the layout better than she did, when she was stationed at the hostess stand in the middle of the restaurant. Then she inquired if I would mind if she didn't mention the part about the stairs either. I said that I would leave it up to her; silently wondering who exactly would be reading this report and if it would be part of my permanent record.
As we were getting ready to say our goodbyes, she confirmed that our reservation was for 7 people at 6:00. I gently reminded her that it was for 6 people at 7:00. She apologized and thanked me for the 100th time. To be on the safe side, my mom will be sporting her track shoes as we will be stopping in the night before for a test run. I never realized that's why they have rehearsal dinners.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Testing On Trial
Julie Kemp Pick
On rare occasions you meet someone who is a truly good soul, incapable of harboring an impure thought about anyone. This hard working, devoted family man, has worked for the government for over thirty years. When his family said their goodbyes at the airport, they had no idea what lie in store on a routine trip to Washington DC.
The itinerary included a battery of drug tests in keeping with governmental policy. Afterward, the other employees invited my friend to join them for a night on the town, but he declined preferring to check in with his family back home, and relax with a good book in his hotel room.
The next day, his boss informed him that he tested positive for opium. Up until this point, his idea of living dangerously was buying in bulk. Even his aunt thought he was a force to be reckoned with when he brought a carton of paper towels over to her apartment. She exclaimed, "He has a special membership to an exclusive club that lets him buy large quantities of anything he wants. He must be important!"
At first, this Costco card carrier couldn't possibly figure out why they found traces of opium in his system. After much brainstorming, the culprit was found. The day before the test he had visited his favorite bakery where he consumed half of a poppy seed cake. The "sleep- bringing poppy" plant is where morphine and codeine, as well as other opiates are derived.
Recently in the news, a Pennsylvania woman was forced to give up her baby when traces of opium were found in her system from poppy seed salad dressing. She's suing the hospital who administered the blood test shortly after she had given birth. As a result, her infant son was placed in foster care with different families until he was 75 days old.
Another incident was also reported from the same hospital when a new mother had eaten an all season bagel with poppy seeds the day before she had given birth. These poor women and their families had to endure so much pain and suffering at a time when they should have been experiencing pure joy.
As for my friend, he's still the same kind- hearted, generous soul who walks the straight and narrow. But when he turns the corner, he stops off at his favorite bakery for poppy seed cake. Though he's mindful to floss afterward, just in case.
On rare occasions you meet someone who is a truly good soul, incapable of harboring an impure thought about anyone. This hard working, devoted family man, has worked for the government for over thirty years. When his family said their goodbyes at the airport, they had no idea what lie in store on a routine trip to Washington DC.
The itinerary included a battery of drug tests in keeping with governmental policy. Afterward, the other employees invited my friend to join them for a night on the town, but he declined preferring to check in with his family back home, and relax with a good book in his hotel room.
The next day, his boss informed him that he tested positive for opium. Up until this point, his idea of living dangerously was buying in bulk. Even his aunt thought he was a force to be reckoned with when he brought a carton of paper towels over to her apartment. She exclaimed, "He has a special membership to an exclusive club that lets him buy large quantities of anything he wants. He must be important!"
At first, this Costco card carrier couldn't possibly figure out why they found traces of opium in his system. After much brainstorming, the culprit was found. The day before the test he had visited his favorite bakery where he consumed half of a poppy seed cake. The "sleep- bringing poppy" plant is where morphine and codeine, as well as other opiates are derived.
Recently in the news, a Pennsylvania woman was forced to give up her baby when traces of opium were found in her system from poppy seed salad dressing. She's suing the hospital who administered the blood test shortly after she had given birth. As a result, her infant son was placed in foster care with different families until he was 75 days old.
Another incident was also reported from the same hospital when a new mother had eaten an all season bagel with poppy seeds the day before she had given birth. These poor women and their families had to endure so much pain and suffering at a time when they should have been experiencing pure joy.
As for my friend, he's still the same kind- hearted, generous soul who walks the straight and narrow. But when he turns the corner, he stops off at his favorite bakery for poppy seed cake. Though he's mindful to floss afterward, just in case.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Fueling A Grueling Day
Thanks to Shelly Brown for giving me the opportunity to participate in the
Poetry Schmoetry Blogfest
Fueling A Grueling Day
Spreading out the feedbag,
Driving in the cattle.
Grazing at the trough side,
Mouths too full to battle.
Slurping, gurgling, tails a wagging,
A freak show of hoofing, clawing, scraping bottom.
As vultures swoop in for morsels long forgotten.
The critters are hosed down,
The sun is slowly setting.
Until the commotion stirs up again,
The moment we've been fretting.
Meal time at the old corral,
Open 24/7 all year 'round.
Thank goodness we don't have pets,
That would really bring us down.
pyC
CopyCc
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Friction At The Fireworks
Julie Kemp Pick
Wishing on a star,
Gazing into each other's eyes.
Feeling the lakeside breeze,
Under the evening skies.
Cuddling close on a picnic blanket,
Delicious delicacies prepared by he.
Tucked away in a remote corner,
Oblivious to the surrounding activity.
Patriotic music playing,
Confessing all their future plans.
Reminiscing about childhood pasts,
Trying not to slip out of entwined clammy hands.
Music grows louder as the sky turns foreboding,
Lights start to flicker as fireworks are exploding.
Thunder and lightening take over the sky,
He's still optimistic while he finishes his pie.
He wants to wait it out as their feast floats away,
She's getting drenched while he's itching to stay.
Her mascara is running; her hair's in a frizz,
For fireworks he's still gunning, too stubborn to give.
She almost falls as she races in her swamp filled flats,
Just in time to catch a ride home with umbrella clad brats.
He calls to apologize hoping to reschedule for another fireworks show,
She politely declines while suggesting another place he should go.
Wishing on a star,
Gazing into each other's eyes.
Feeling the lakeside breeze,
Under the evening skies.
Cuddling close on a picnic blanket,
Delicious delicacies prepared by he.
Tucked away in a remote corner,
Oblivious to the surrounding activity.
Patriotic music playing,
Confessing all their future plans.
Reminiscing about childhood pasts,
Trying not to slip out of entwined clammy hands.
Music grows louder as the sky turns foreboding,
Lights start to flicker as fireworks are exploding.
Thunder and lightening take over the sky,
He's still optimistic while he finishes his pie.
He wants to wait it out as their feast floats away,
She's getting drenched while he's itching to stay.
Her mascara is running; her hair's in a frizz,
For fireworks he's still gunning, too stubborn to give.
She almost falls as she races in her swamp filled flats,
Just in time to catch a ride home with umbrella clad brats.
He calls to apologize hoping to reschedule for another fireworks show,
She politely declines while suggesting another place he should go.
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