Halloween Capers

The picture posted with this particular poem has a story behind it. Recently I was asked to write and share a humorous poem for a local Halloween fundraiser. I decided to have some fun with this and found some wonderful items for a silly costume at a thrift store. The orange wig complete with a black bow was hilarious, as was the bright pink visor with a built-in fan. I loved the checkerboard purse, and it wasn't too hard to round up clothing that clashed horribly.

The fake nose and glasses I've had for quite a while---treasures kept in an airtight container with similar costume assessories.

I've always enjoyed Halloween. As a child, I loved going trick-or-treating. As a teenager, I savored costume parties, and taking my younger siblings trick-or-treating. As a mom, I've had a lot of fun helping my sons with costumes, decorating the house, and handing out the treats.

Holidays, as with anything in life, are what we make them. I'll be forever grateful for a mother who exemplifies the importance of seizing the moment---and finding joy in simple things.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN out there!!!

Halloween Capers

Halloween
Is a crazy scene
Goblins runnin’ willy nilly
Costumes vary
From weird to scary
They all look kind of silly.

Kids go ‘round
All over town
Beggin’ for sweetly treats
I fill my bowl
3 times it’s full
Emptied by ghouls dressed up in sheets.

I don’t mind sharin’candy
The concept is quite dandy
Treats instead of tricks is the rule
It is considered rude
And no, I’m not a prude
But takin’ treats, then trickin’ isn’t cool.

Toilet paper serves a need
Not to be wrapped at warp speed
Around an unsuspecting house along the way
Eggs are food not missiles
Don’t make me write epistles
To the newspaper editor the very next day.

I don’t mean to complain
But this holiday leaves a stain
Upon my porch each year without fail
Fiery paper covers doggy-do
I try to stamp out with my shoe
Inspiring bad words when I share my tale.

So this year I’m a leavin’
I’ve had my fill of grievin’
Over the unfairness of it all
I’ll not hand out sweets no more
From my own front room door
This holiday’s in need of overhaul.

I might find a tree and hide
With a slingshot aimed at your backside
This is fair warnin’ for all you silly ghouls
I ain’t takin’ it no more
No more candy from the store
My mama didn’t raise up any fools.

Cheri J. Crane

October 2007

Early Snow

Yesterday we experienced a little snowstorm in our mountain valley. The temperature plummeted as a cutting breeze pushed storm clouds into our midst. We received nearly an inch of snow, enough to cause entertaining moments. Roads were slick, sidewalks became slippery, and a tree went down in a blaze of glory, taking a powerline with it, effectively cutting the power to buildings like the local high school.

To commemorate this grand occasion, I decided to share a poem from the archives. This one was written in 1993. Enjoy.

Ode to Winter '93

We were told to pray for snow, our resources were depleted,

We had to have the white fluffy stuff before winter was completed.

And so we prayed with fervor---some went the extra mile,

Fasting with reverent gusto to make the farmer smile.

Oh, how we rejoiced when the first storm came, "It's snowing!" was the cry,

Celebrations occurred across the land when it was two feet high.

"It's a miracle!" was echoed throughout our noble state,

Little did we realize what was to be our fate.

With previous mild winters, we'd forgotten how to drive

On snow-covered roads with the famed black ice; the challenge: to stay alive.

County snowplows worked overtime, trying to stay ahead of the snow,

These brave plow people used stunning words when it began to blow.

Oh, rapture in our bossoms---we've had a great success,

Everywhere we look, we've achieved a wintry mess!

There will be beaucoup water---in the mountains it is deep,

And into our basements and from our roofs, it has started now to seep!

It's not that we're ungrateful, school children express a thankful sigh,

When the sentence is uttered: "There is no school," from the local KVSI.

Snowmen have abounded, snow machines have buzzed their bliss,

Snow sculptures and skiing are now possible, these things we can't dismiss.

And we will enjoy the water, of this there is no doubt,

But lately from the local ranks, there has come a different shout.

"We've got the winter blues, please send spring upon its way,

"And tell those infernal Mormons they can stop praying any day!"

Cheri J. Crane

1993

The Journey

Is it me, or has life taken an interesting turn of late? In our mountain valley we have experienced one heart-rending trial after another. The "refining process" has been evident in a myriad of ways.

A little over ten years ago, our valley was hit extremely hard during another trying time. Six wonderful people: four teenage girls, & the younger brother, as well as the father of one of these close friends were taken in an instant. They died together one dark wintry night in a car accident--and our lives were never the same.

We found ourselves reflecting on the sacrifices and journeys made by pioneer ancestors. We were drawn to a painting by the talented Kelly Price Clark that depicted the horrendous ordeal experienced by the Willie & Martin handcart companies. Angels were shown descending to aid in their survival.

I believe there are times during our mortal journey when the mountain we're being asked to climb is so steep, we can't do it alone. It becomes our Gethsemane---a source of tremendous pain . . . and growth.

The poem I'm sharing today was written ten years ago. It came out of the heartache experienced with the loss of those I mentioned. May it inspire hope to any who may be struggling through an uphill climb.

The Journey

The way was long---the journey cold

No sign of relief was in sight

Together they toiled with their limited strength

Their hearts burdened with sorrow and fright.

"How long must we suffer---how can we endure?"

"Will we survive this dark trek into pain?"

And yet they continued---'til they gave all they had

Exhausted, they persisted to struggle and strain.

And just when they thought they had no more to give

Tears leading to hopeless despair,

When they had done all they possibly could on their own,

Angels descended there.

We all make such journeys during our lives

We all suffer and struggle and strain

And during those moments when we think all is lost,

Our Father is aware of our pain.

Oppressive loads are lightened---new strength is found

Angels hover beside the valiant soul

We're never alone through our darkest trials

God is with us and in control.

Cheri J. Crane

1997

Hitting the Limit

So I spent a few days earlier this week surviving the latest bug going around. Good times---NOT! Have you ever noticed that when this type of thing happens, life tends to hit one below the belt several times in a row. One thing after another until I did indeed feel as though I had hit my limit, literally. But today, the sun is shining, I'm moving on, and I'm actually upright and not swaying. This is good. To celebrate, I'll share a poem on the lighter side entitled, "Hitting the Limit." I wrote it recently in honor of a successful fishing adventure, as the picture posted with it will attest. Posing in said picture would be two of my sons, and my husband. For all of you fisherpersons out there, this is proof there is hope when the day's "catch" seems less than desired.

Hitting the Limit

Mostly when we go fishing
We find that we are wishing
For the days of yore when fish were actually caught
These days it is a rare thing
To come home with a full string
The fish we eat are mostly what we bought.

We drown worms feeling sorry
That their lives were meant for quarry
I apologize to each one that I skewer
Power bait is added next
Deciding which color\smell is best
It would be easier if the choices were much fewer.

Casting in the right spot
Line tangling in a tight knot
Moss is not our friend when hooks are dangling
Much time is spent in fixing
Lines forever mixing
Cross-overs happen when the wind contributes angling.

One day fate did smile
For just a little while
The reservoir was lowered by the drought
One could now catch fishes
For numerous gourmet dishes
A blessing from a trial had come about.

Our limit we did catch
A fish trip without match
We’d barely cast before reeling in a fish
Worms died a noble death
Fish were caught on their last breath
Truly a fisherman’s paradisal wish.

Pictures prove the story
Of our fishing glory
The menfolk smiled brightly and were preening
There was a bit of pride
And only one downside
Who would be stuck with all the cleaning?

Cheri J. Crane
September 2007