Sellabrashin Day Post

(Something seems wrong with that title but I can't seem to figure it.)

Here are a couple of turkeys with Thanksgiving haiku written on their bellies.  Don't see that every day now, do ya?

Anyone who has taken a look around these parts know that Nick's spelling is a great source of both amusement and frustration for me.  That being said...

Sellabrashin day

Grandparents are coming hear

the stuffing is good

(Nick)

Falls the best season

Frost is coming very shortly

Happy thanksgiving

(Zack)

If you tried to misspell 'celebration' a don't think you do any better.  And, for the record, in Zack's mind "very" is only one syllable - he was, well, pretty adamant about that.

Nick, no stranger to writing poems, also wrote this on Thanksgiving morning and read it - too quickly and inaudibly, I'm sad to say - at dinner, later that day:

Rhyming

By Nick Peebles

Rhyming is timing, chicken pot frying.

Snowing in July, a nice rhyme would be growing.

Chicken pot frying, hot when crying.

Boiling

Bubbling, nice hot stew.

Yummy in my tummy.

Nice hot stew.

I am no stranger to poetry, I've done my papers and had my discussions.  I've read more than many and, well, if someone told me this was a poem by William Carlos Williams or Robert Frost, well, I just gotta say, I'd believe them.

Honestly, I've been laughing at my sophomoric-past-self analyzing this poem.  That first line, well, rhyming is not timing, but timing is rhythm and the meter in that line is delicious.  Is the second line a well crafted simile, comparing the beauty of snow to the wonder of growing?  Third line?  Chicken pot frying, echoes back that first line and reminds us of the necessities of life, its daily measure and beat.

Boiling, alone, menacing, nice hot stew.  Relax, it is all good.  And then, a break and the silly childhood aphorism, the one no one forgets, the one we still smile at - yummy in my tummy, so well placed and needed.  Nice hot stew, what an ending.  It's quite a little ride this poem, pastoral somehow, important.  It really goes at one's senses, doesn't it, that comforting aroma of chicken floating behind thoughts of domesticity and scenes from home.   Sort of his ode to Williams' "Red Wheelbarrow" don't you think?

Of course, I'm joking, but - it's not a long leap of imagination to think that this is how carefully and fully Nick chooses his words.  It's a lovely poem and, I will cherish it always, with just the same heart and hope as I do the great poets of my memory.  Oh, and I am pretty sure, most of the great American poets made little pictograms with construction paper and tape and stuff, but, unfortunately, they are all lost to the ravages of time.  But, we all understand it is a great literary tradition, right?


Well, thanks for coming around again and thanks for your support.  During the last month I had given a great deal of thought to what direction I wanted to go around here.  I guess, I've decided to just see what happens.  For now, since I took a month off from posting and explaining the essential, childhood nonsense I so adore from these boys, I find myself with a backlog of silly, joyous, touching, serious, stupid stuff, so, I'll get back to that for a while.

Oh, and this guy says "hi."  I literally found him in the bottom of the basement trash can, under the liner, sticking his tongue out at me and winking... sort of.

(Oh... the plural of haiku is... haiku.  Who knew?)


From Marci's ... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ...

Nick: "We get to do Christmas at Nana and Papa's, at our house, AND at Grandma's ... it's EPIC ... we get lots of presents that way."
Mom (jokingly): "Cause it's all about the presents, right?"
Nick: "No! I mean, I like God too!"
*back-pedaling, back-pedaling*
LOL

I adore the word epic, and the boys use it so well, cracks me up every time...