Make Fun Of Life!

Cookie Jar

2/15/2019

Cookie Jar

A house should have a cookie jar,
     For when it’s half past three
And children hurry home from school
     As hungry as can be,
There’s nothing quite so splendid
     In filling children up
As spicy, fluffy ginger cakes
     And sweet milk in a cup.

A house should have a mother
     Waiting with a hug
No matter what a boy brings home,
     A puppy or a bug.
For children only loiter
     When the bell rings to dismiss
If no one’s home to greet them
     With a cookie and a kiss.

by Author Unknown

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Brother, You Are the Best

2/11/2019

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Brother, You Are the Best

There are years lost behind us,
full of words we never spoke,
and now we have our separate lives
and less time to share together.
But in my heart I have always felt
the love we have,
and neither distance nor time
can take away the bond
we forged as children.

Growing up, we played and fought,
talked and laughed.
Beyond the fun and games,
beyond the battles we waged,
we found in each other
unending support
and a lifelong friend.

Through thick and thin,
and difficult times,
we emerged together as one,
protecting each other
from the world.
I know that if either of us
ever need anything,
we can count on the other
to give our all
and help in every way possible.

Perhaps words are not always
necessary in our relationship,
because we both know what’s there.
But today I want to take the time
to remind you how much I really care
and thank you for all
that you have been to me.
I could never ask for, want,
or need a better brother,
because I have the best in you.
I love you!

by Erin N. Himelrick

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No Place Like Home

1/12/2019

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No Place Like Home

There’s no place like home
My safety harbor from the storm.
My cozy haven safe and warm.
No matter where I choose to roam . . .
There’s just no other place like home.

by Author Unknown

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Little

12/4/2018

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Little

I am the sister of him
     And he is my brother.
He is too little for us
     To talk to each other.

So every morning I show him
     My doll and my book;
But every morning he still is
     Too little to look.

by Dorothy Aldis

Dorothy Aldis was born as Dorothy Keeley on 13 March 1896 in Chicago, Illinois, United States of America. She became a children’s author and a poet. Her books include “Hiding” (1920) and “Nothing Is Impossible: The Story of Beatrix Potter” (1969). Dorothy Aldis passed on at 70 years of age on 4 July 1966 in Lake Forest, Illinois, United States of America.

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Love Between Brothers and Sisters

9/22/2018

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Love Between Brothers and Sisters

Whatever brawls disturb the street,
     There should be peace at home;
Where sisters dwell and brothers meet,
     Quarrels should never come.

Birds in their little nests agree;
     And ’tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family
     Fall out and chide and fight.

by Isaac Watts.

Mr. Watts’ poem instructs siblings to love one another and not fight.

Isaac Watts was born on 17 July 1674 in Southampton, England. He was a Christian hymn writer, a theologian, and a logician. He is known for his more than 750 hymns, some of which are still sung in religious services. Isaac Watts passed on at 74 years of age on 25 November 1748 in Stoke Newington, England.

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Family

9/19/2018

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Family

It’s knowing where your roots are
     That sometimes gives you wings.
It’s knowing there’s a place to go
     To escape the awful things.

It’s knowing there will always be
     At least one person on your side.
Who’ll listen to your problems
     And go along with you for the ride.

It’s comfort and it’s heartache
     It’s pride and disappointment too.
It’s holding on and letting go
     Cherishing old and accepting new.

It’s waiting for the next little one
     To come and steal your heart.
And wondering how being called ‘Grandma’
     Is such a warm and fuzzy start.

It’s watching time go racing by
     Days, then weeks, then years.
It’s missing those who go too soon
     To mix your laughter with your tears.

It’s remembering and forgetting
     Loving and arguing too.
It was God’s plan from the start
     And it’s still holding true.

So hold each day like precious crystal
     That might break if you let go.
For roots and wings are compatible things
     Make sure your children know.

By Faye Cook

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My Cousin

9/17/2018

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My Cousin

Sometimes I wish we could go
     Back to our childhood days.
Yet here we are, both of us grown,
     With busy lives and out on our own.
Things change, but you’ll always be
     My cousin, my friend, and loved by me.

by Author Unknown

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Daddy

9/3/2018

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Daddy

“Daddy, how much do you make an hour?” With a timid voice and idolizing eyes, the little boy greeted his father as he returned from work. Greatly surprised, but giving his boy a glaring look, the father said, “Look, not even your mother knows that. Don’t bother me now, I’m tired.”

“But, Daddy, just tell me please! How much do you make an hour?” the boy insisted. The father, finally giving up, replied, “Twenty dollars an hour.”

“Okay, Daddy. Could you loan me ten dollars?” the boy asked. Showing his restlessness and positively disturbed, the father yelled, “So that was the reason you asked how much I earn, right? Go to sleep and don’t bother me anymore!”

It was already dark and the father was thinking about what the boy had said and was feeling guilty. Maybe, he thought, his son really needed something. Finally, trying to ease his mind, the father went to his son’s room.

“Are you asleep?” asked the father.

“No, Daddy. Why?” Replied the boy, asleep.

“Here’s the money you asked for earlier,” the father said.

“Thanks, Daddy!” rejoiced the son, while putting his hand under his pillow and removing some money. “Now I have enough! Now I have twenty dollars!” the boy said to his father, who was gazing at his son, confused at what his son had just said.

Then the little boy said, “Here’s my $20.00. Daddy, could you please sell me one hour of your time?”

by Author Unknown

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Don’t Wake the Baby

8/16/2018

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Don’t Wake the Baby

Baby sleeps, so we must tread
     Softly round her little bed,
And be careful that our toys
     Do not fall and make a noise.

We must not talk, but whisper low,
     Mother wants to work, we know,
That, when father comes to tea,
     All may neat and cheerful be.

by Author Unknown

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My Brother

7/24/2018

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My Brother

We shared many secrets,
     the same Mom and Dad.
We shared lots of good times -
     don’t think of the bad.
Our memories we’ll treasure
     with love without end.
I’m glad you’re my brother . . .
     I’m glad you’re my friend.

by Author Unknown

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Manners

7/19/2018

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Manners

I have an uncle I don’t like,
     An aunt I cannot bear:
She chucks me underneath the chin,
     He ruffles up my hair.

Another uncle I adore,
     Another aunty, too:
She shakes me kindly by the hand,
     He says, “How do you do?”

by Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer

Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer, also known as Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer and M. G. Van Rensselaer, was born as Mariana Alley Griswold on 21 February 1851 in New York City, New York, United States of America. She became a writer, focusing on architectural, art, and landscape criticism, as well as fiction and children’s literature. Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer passed on at 82 years of age on 20 January 1934 in New York City, New York, United States of America.

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Your Name

6/30/2018

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Your Name

You got it from your father
     ’Twas the best he had to give.
And right gladly he bestowed it
     It’s yours, the while you live.

You may lose the watch he gave you
     and another you may claim,
But remember, when you’re tempted,
     to be careful of this name.

It was fair the day you got it,
     and a worthy name to bear,
When he took it from his father,
     there was no dishonor there.

Through the years he proudly wore it,
     to his father he was true,
And that name was clean and spotless
     when he passed it on to you.

Oh, there’s much that he has given
     that he values not at all.
He has watched you break your playthings
     in the days when you were small.

You have lost the knife he gave you,
     and you’ve scattered many a game,
But you’ll never hurt your father
     if you’re careful with his name.

It is yours to wear forever,
     yours to wear the while you live.
Yours, perhaps some distant morning,
     another boy to give.

And you’ll smile as did your father -
     with a smile that all can share,
If a clean name and a good name
     you are giving him to wear.

by Edgar Guest

Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.

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Family Heirloom

5/20/2018

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Family Heirloom

For every picture you take a moment in time is remembered
A family’s heritage is its personal journey through history
Memories will fade making the written word priceless
In every family someone must take time to preserve its past
Looking at the past can strengthen who you are today
Yesterday is gone, but the memories are cherished through photos and journals.
Hours of enjoyment are held within the pages of the family scrapbook,
Everyone has pictures . . . everyone has a story to tell . . .
It’s not the jewels or china we would risk our lives for in a fire
Rich is the family who knows who they are . . . and where they came from
Learning to properly preserve photographs is not difficult
Old photographs lack the joy they could have when not preserved and labeled
Ordinary moments become special when captured on film
May we not put off any longer the task of preserving our heritage.

by Jeannine Richardson

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Dad Held the Rope

5/16/2018

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Dad Held the Rope

A party of English botanists spent their vacation in the Swiss Alps collecting specimens of rare flowers. They started out one morning from a small village and after a several hours’ climb came to a precipice overlooking a green valley dotted with a peculiar flower, which, examined through field glasses, proved to be of unusual value. From the cliff on which the party was standing, to the valley was a sheer drop of several hundred feet. To descend would be impossible, and to reach the valley from another approach would mean a waste of several hours.

During the latter part of their climb, a small boy had attached himself to the party and had watched with interest the maneuvers of the botanists. After discussing the situation for several minutes, one of the party turned to the boy and said, “Young fellow, if you will let us tie a rope around your waist and lower you over this cliff so that you can dig up one of those plants for us, and let us pull you back up, without harming the plant, we will give you five pounds.”

The boy looked dazed for an instant, then ran off, apparently frightened at the prospect of being lowered over the cliff by a rope. But within a short time he returned, bringing with him an old man, bent and gray, with hands gnarled and calloused by hard labor. Upon reaching the party of botanists, the boy turned to the man who had made the offer and said:

“Sir, this is my dad. I’ll go down in the valley if you’ll let my dad hold the rope.”

by David O. McKay

David Oman McKay was born on 8 September 1873 in Huntsville, Utah Territory (now Utah state), United States of America. He was an educator and a Christian religious leader. He served as the ninth president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, from 1951 until his passing. David Oman McKay passed on at 96 years of age on 18 January 1970 in Salt Lake City, Utah, United States of America.

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