a word to my commenters...

and they are legion  :)

Our prospective buyer just got too tired tonight
to seal the deal.

So again we wait - until tomorrow  :(

~~~

Please check back because although I may be
out of town until Wednesday, I should still
have access to a computer.

~~~

Thanks.

the waiting game

And still we wait.

Somewhere in a radius of 40 miles there is an 82 year old woman who has flown in from Arkansas who we know has money and she has chosen to torture us just short of waterboarding while she makes up her mind about buying our house.

We know she wants the house and she knows that we know it.

She is of course shrewd - because that's how she got her money in the first place - by being careful and not making hasty decisions.

But she has known from the beginning of the summer that she was going to buy our house.

I know she is waiting until the very last moment  - she flies back to Arkansas tomorrow.

I just know she is waiting until 4:30 this afternoon at which time her realtor will call our realtor and we will get her take-it-or leave-it offer.  Our only chance to sell this house without actually giving it away since the economy is so bad.


And so we wait...

i get by with a little help from my friends - the beatles

What would you think if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me.
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,
And I'll try not to sing out of key.
Mmm, I get high with a little help from my friends,
Mmm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends.

Do you need anybody?
I need sombody to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mmm, gonna try with a little help from my friends
Ooh, I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends,

with a little help from my friends

here's one by Robert Louis Stevenson...

and then I'm going to call it quits for tonight with some Beatle lyrics...


that's poetry too, isn't it?

~~~

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and tress and cattle and all
Over the countryside-

Till I look down on the garden green
Down on the roof so brown-
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

~~~

i love this one

Jabberwocky  by Lewis Carroll


Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
 And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two!  And through and through
The vorpal blade wnet snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day!  Callooh!  Callay!
He chortled in his joy.

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

how about an anonymous poem...

from my big red book The Family Album of Favorite Poems
edited by P. Edward Ernest


~~~


A  Man  Of  Words\


A man of words and not of deeds,
Is like a garden full of weeds;
And when the weeds begin to grow,
It's like a garden full of snow;
And when the snow begins to fall,
It's like a bird upon the wall;
And when the bird away does fly,
It's like an eagle in the sky;
And when the sky begins to roar,
It's like a lion at the door;
And when the door begins to crack,
It's like a stick across your back;
And when your back begins to smart,
It's like a penknife in your heart;
And when your heart begins to bleed,
Your're dead, and dead, and dead indeed.

who can speak of poetry and not mention this one...

Trees  by Joyce Kilmer


I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast.

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain,
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.