I have to explain today’s silly verse. It was actually written by my grandma – Margaret Thomasine Sneddon – who went by Tomie [sic] (1924-1966). Isn’t that a cool nickname? I love it. My grandma died 7 years before I was born. So all I have to get to know her are pictures and a few poems my mom gathered. I am sharing my favorite poem of hers. I think her and I would have shared many laughs together if given the chance. And now I know, I come by my dorkiness honestly.
Goat Got Your Laugh?
I have a friend who sent me this link on my Facebook wall. This particular friend and I only share things to get a laugh out of each other. I don’t know about her but I find it a pleasant game. After all, it’s never our goal to make each other cry. So, I knew going in that it was going to be silly. That, and the title. The words Taylor Swift and goat in one sentence hinted at jovial amusement.
Oh shucks! Sometime between me preparing this post and it posting the video has been removed. Let me sum up – it had a goat hollering in a panicked, human tone. So creepy it makes you laugh type of thing – trust me.
But then I started thinking. Is this really what a goat sounds like? Now, I know I’m a Wyoming girl so most of you might think I should be an expert on this. I’m not. My ancestors had the good sense to move away from the goats and into town. At least, the important ancestors.
I may live in a small town but I live in a town – without for the most part farm animals. Including goats. In the spirit of full disclosure, my mom’s cousins lived on a ranch. So yes, I have been to a ranch. And yes, I’ve even seen a lamb being born. May I just say, gross! That is a memory I wish I could forget.
The point of all this rambling is, I don’t know much about goats. From what I hear, they are a bit wily a la Three Billy Goats Gruff. But I admit that may not be an accurate portrayal.
So I ask my question again, is this video for real? Is this how goats really sound? First, take away the song. Next suppose one is just wandering in a happy meadow having a Hills Are Alive With Music moment. Then a goat sneaks up behind said person – because as we just discussed goats are a wily bunch. And suddenly, that unearthly, freaky, devilish sound comes out.
Let’s just say, it would scare the patootsies out of me. And as I’ve said before, I prefer my patootsies inside – not out.
I couldn’t wait for an answer. I googled it myself and found this.
What have we learned here class? I don’t know about you but I learned that if I live my entire life without an association of a goat – I’d be okay with that. Oh, and also the hidden little talent that goats make decent back-up singers.
Behind Nicole’s Eyes
In a world that can hold so much fright,
I feel all I can do is hold on tight.
I never knew what hope could do,
Till I looked Behind Nicole’s Eyes.
When my soul was a little gray,
I looked outside and saw a dark day.
I felt no hope till I looked down,
And the answer I found,
Behind Nicole’s Eyes,
Beats the rhythm of her song.
Behind Nicole’s Eyes,
Is the hope of a new dawn.
And when I try to dream,
What the world can be
The answer screams
And I realize,
Our hope lies,
Behind Nicole’s Eyes.
They have been known to hold fire and heart,
Sometimes a world apart.
Usually filled with hope and fun
And as always the magic’s done,
Behind Nicole’s Eyes.
When I’m feeling I can’t go on,
I look for the rhythm of Nicole’s song,
Behind Nicole’s Eyes.
This and other fine poems available on Amazon
There’s Probably a Better Way
Hi, my name is Corina and I’m addicted to Facebook. And I hate the fact that I’m addicted to something so trivial and silly. But here I am. I blame my iPhone because the problem lies in the fact it is too accessible.
Standing in line at the grocery store? I don’t have to read the covers on the tabloids anymore. I don’t have to but I still glance at them. What? How else am I going to keep tabs on what my would-be-good-buddy Jennifer Aniston if I don’t look at the covers of the tabloids? But that takes a total of 30 seconds. One push of a button later and I’m looking at status updates. Usually, the same updates I’ve already looked at all afternoon.
Sitting in the waiting room? Check the updates of people I haven’t seen in twenty years. Oh, look! So and so is also sitting in a waiting room. I like the status. Maybe add an LOL for effect.
I hate that I automatically check during a down time. It’s become more like a nervous tic than anything. I try to be discreet and turned off chat. But when I like every status within 14 seconds – it kinda gives me away that I’m on it every 14 seconds.
In an effort to stem this embarrassing compulsion I tried finding something to divert my attention. I downloaded a (free) game on my phone called BubbleXplode. It has 7 different versions of, well, basically popping bubbles. There is one I like to play called “Chill Out.” The description says it is an endless game. I wondered what that meant and started playing it. After fifteen minutes I discovered it means it never, ever ends. Basically, it’s the equivalent to having a roll of bubble wrap and popping all the bubbles. But you can’t pop all the bubbles because it never ends. I like trying to get all one color in a big mass for a “Stellar Pop.” It just feels so good. It’s amazing how much time can be wasted just popping bubbles.
Did it help with the Facebook addiction? No, not really. Now I just switch back and forth between the two. Here’s the lesson of this story: you can’t overcome one addiction by developing another. It just doesn’t work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check some updates and then pop some bubbles.
Light and Darkness Wisdom
The Thought Process of a Two-Year Old
She was brave as brave could be
even though not quite three.
It took an hour or so
for her to think, “Where did she go?
Hello Muesday
Yesterday was what I refer to as Muesday. You know, when dreaded Monday and Tuesday combine forces to deliver a one-two punch. The bad thing about Muesday is it comes with Muesday brain. Which, as we all know, is just a fancy way of saying brain mush.
Case in point, I somehow made a mess of my shirt while eating lunch. I don’t know how I did it. It wasn’t just a stain; it was an abstract piece of art.
“Dang me,” I mumbled. “I really need to invest in a Tide pen.”
“What?” my office mate asked.
“Or a bib,” I continued to mumble.
She realized I wasn’t going to explain and wasn’t really listening anyway.
I looked up and noticed my water bottle. Maybe I could use water and Kleenex to make sure it doesn’t stain? I picked up the water bottle – and this is where the brain mush proudly manifested itself – decided to pour a little on my shirt.
Yeah, more than a little came out. Not only that but it dribbled down onto my pants. In the conspicuous-what-the-heck-did-you-just-do spot.
And it didn’t even help the stain at all
Not my finest moment.
“That wasn’t smart,” I said.
“What?” my office mate asked without turning around.
I sighed. “Nothing, just a typical Muesday.”
Hopefully, I’ll have my groove back by Tednesday.
Krista’s Prayer
Before leaving our heavenly home,
Father may have sent you with a prayer.
I can only imagine what was said for you,
Since I wasn’t there.
“My dear precious one,”
He said as you sat upon his lap,
“Dear sweet little soul,
The time has come for you to leave this home now,
But please remember your goal.
Oh, how I want you to succeed.
I want you to win this important race
In order to do that,
You must forget, for a little while, this place.
But I am sending you to a faithful,
Loving home.
A special place that waits for you,
And where you will not be alone.
I am giving you many gifts
To help your spirit grow.
Many blessings to help you,
Like a mother who will love you so.
You will also have a father
Who is there to see you through.
The two of them are there and waiting
And will help you to stay true.
You’ll get to have two sisters,
Who will become your best friends.
And soon you’ll have a brother,
To stand by you till the end.
And a host of others,
Who are waiting there with love.
Because they realize,
You are a gift from here above.
Dear child of mine, dear little one.
My dear Krista Lyn, you have done well
While you have been here,
And you have hearkened faithfully to counsel.
Though you won’t remember any of this,
Truth with have a familiar chime.
There are gifts you have now,
And others you will discover over time.
You have the choice how to use your gifts,
But do not use them for the wrong.
If you will turn your gifts to me,
I will make them right, and true, and strong.
Temptations will come.
You have no need to fear or cower.
You have the gifts you need
To become a woman of honor and power.
A will as steady and strong
As the mighty oak that grows.
Some will try to turn you,
But stay close to me, I’ll fight your foes.
An imagination to lift your thoughts
As if on eagle’s wings.
Sights only you will know unless
You help others see what you are seeing.
A smile and laugh to be treasured,
And a delightful wit.
Remember to share them often,
To brighten those you are with.
I’m sending a friend with you,
Though you won’t see or know her.
A veiled guide for you,
An angel on your shoulder.
But remember, remember my dear Krista Lyn,
When your long, fruitful life is over,
Come home to me, again.
This and other fine poems available on Amazon
How Did I Manage to Get on Dave’s Bad Side?
Occasionally, I like a good burger. By a good burger I mean some beef (hold the horsemeat please), a nice tomato, some onion, ketchup, and yes, mayonnaise. Please keep the mustard, lettuce (seriously whose idea was it to include green leafy blandness on a slab of meat?) and definitely the cheese away from my burger. When I splurge for a burger I go all the way. French fries with a generous helping of sea salt (that taste remarkably like McD’s fries used to before they got all “healthy.” Big mistake McD’s. Big mistake.) And I wash it all down with a strawberry shake or shake equivalent. What? I told you I’m completely in when I do a burger. Keep in mind I don’t do this every day.
