Tomorrow’s a really big day,
My Dad’s coming back home to stay,
And now comes my fun,
Because when it’s all done,
It’s Nurse Meps who’s the one he’ll obey.
~~~
(Don’t tell Dad, but she’s a pushover!)

Mechanics in town all say Stowe,
Is the very best place you can go,
For a quick valve job, cheap,
But he won’t fix your Jeep,
For he just works on hearts, don’t you know.
—
Indian River Medical Center is my Dad’s hospital, just a few miles from his home. We’ve just learned that Consumer Reports has ranked it the best hospital in Florida for open-heart surgery. What an excellent confidence-booster in the face of tomorrow’s heart valve replacement!

This word once described her: Poquito.
But this bug, with her massive libido,
Must have slept with a cow,
For her offspring are now
Too huge to be called mere “mosquito.”

What I wanted was just to relate,
To the mother of my chosen mate,
So we stared at the screen,
Of an Apple machine,
And we chatted of things like baud rate.

Though that’s twenty-three years in the past,
And our new Mac computers are fast,
We still sit back-to-back,
In the family shack,
And we surf and play games — what a blast!

They held extra rain in the sky,
Until I arrived in July,
A serious bummer,
Because in the summer
Seattle should be warm and dry.

Did you guys save this rain just for me? You shouldn’t have!

–

Nick sails Valkyrie, peaceful, serene,
With the engine turned off, no machine,
Breaks the stillness, the quiet,
Til he creates a riot,
With his blender, which burns gasoline.

With a sound like a loud chainsaw roar,
Our Lake Union’s not peaceful, no more,
“Margaritas,” I say,
“Over two miles away,”
It’s Saint Nick, giving alms to the pour.

We went out on Flagrante Delicto to watch Duck Dodge (for you non-Seattlites, it’s a very silly sailing race) last night, and were greeted in limerick form by Blender Boy Nick. Here’s a picture of Valkyrie’s crew (don’t ask me how Nick can steer with this many people in the cockpit!).

The theme for last night’s race was “Bastille Day Night,” which inspired these clever sailors to install a guillotine. Now I know where to put one if I ever need one.

Our captain for the evening, buttoned up against the weather in his MG-B. He says that at 30 mph, the rain just goes over his pith helmet, and he cleverly pulls out an umbrella at stoplights.

As the day breaks, a beautiful hush
Hangs o’er breathtaking fields, oh so lush,
But this deceptive green,
Is the most ever seen,
For the rain’s turned the whole place to mush.

Sometimes it’s the colors that tell the real story, and it’s a tragedy. Driving along, enjoying the lovely green fields in North Dakota and Montana, we suddenly realized: It’s not supposed to be green here! And those blue waters? The ones over the road? They’re not supposed to be here, either.

A rancher in Montana yesterday told us about digging a post hole on top of a rocky hill and coming back, two days later, to find it half-full of water. “It hasn’t rained, has it?” he asked his Dad, incredulous. “Nope.” In all their lives, folks have never seen the ground this saturated. Many folks couldn’t plant their crops. The ones who did say their hay’s not forming heads and ripening.

Our pictures show blue skies, puffy clouds, and vast green fields. The news organizations’ photos show tragic flooding and families fleeing their homes. Both capture the truth of 2011.

Here’s where we crossed the Mississippi.

And here’s some of the flooding along I-94.

The following super-green photos were taken at Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota.

Over 50 years, no one else knew,
That the preacher who married these two,
Did not tie a mere “knot,”
As the poor couple thought,
But instead joined the Stellrechts with glue.

Though he poured it on gooey and thick,
He still wasn’t sure that did the trick,
So what keeps them together,
In both good and bad weather?
It’s the DUCT TAPE, that’s what makes them stick!

I’ve never been to a golden anniversary party, and so I wasn’t sure what my official duties should be when celebrating my in-laws’ 50th. I decided to make myself useful by writing this limerick and reading it at the party last weekend.

I also took a few photos at the event; a few of them follow. There’s a photo of Sharon and Dave with their original 50-year-old champagne glasses, one with Barry’s sister (who put the party together), one of the happy couple cutting the cake (with the original 50-year-old cake topper!), and one of Barry’s parents with us, his sister’s family, and most importantly, Grandma. How many people get to celebrate their children’s golden wedding anniversary?

Though we stayed from December til May,
It was time to get back under way,
We had put our hook down,
In a posh Florida town,
And they just kicked us out yesterday.

Just kidding! The truth is complex –
No one in this fine town objects,
To our presence, in fact,
They speak to us with tact,
For my Dad’s the Crown Prince: “Vero Rex.”

He must be: He treats us like royalty!

On my birthday, I’d like to believe,
That my brother, the one known as Steve,
Will call from Above,
And say, “Hey, I love
you, and I’m coming back there, on leave!”

I am sorry to hear, Smiling Jill,
That your birthday’s no longer a thrill,
All your friends think you’re great,
And should still celebrate –
You’re not old, you’re just over the hill.

Happy Birthday, Jill! These two friends are looking forward to celebrating with you!

If your five hundred friends each could count,
As one-tenth of your life, the amount,
Is your age: FIFTY years!
Dump some friends now, poor dears,
Do the math — it’s an old-age “discount.”

In other words, if you only had 490 friends, you’d be 49 again.
(I know, I know, I’d be the first one off the list!)

Dad’s garage is our workshop, therein
Is the stuff that we’ll need to begin,
We will lay plywood flat,
And we’ll draw lines on that,
While his car is out, to his chagrin.

But what’s this? While her spouse was obsessed,
Margaret boarded a plane for the West,
She’s gone off to give care,
To a friend they both share,
Leaving Barry to sew all the rest.

So he lofted the panels and cut,
Out the sail fabric, cheerfully, but,
Figuratively, a wall,
Stopped the man. Then a call,
To his wife, got him out of that rut.

I’ll be helping with the sewing when I return later this week. And I’ve provided emotional support by phone every day. But please, feel free to leave your encouraging comments for Barry on the blog!

Oops… I just figured out that comments are disabled for the limericks section. That’s goofy! We’ll have to fix it one of these days, when we’re not making sails in Dad’s garage. Well, send him an encouraging email instead. But don’t tell him I said so.

There once was a fellow named Jason,
Who learned that it’s bad luck to hasten,
Just a trip and a splash,
Can relieve you of cash,
When your eyeglasses now need replacin’.

Jason’s really a quite graceful lad,
Just a chip off the block, like his Dad,
Who has pitched a few phones,
Down to old Davy Jones,
But poor Jason’s Blackberry — so sad!

All joking aside, send your kind thoughts to Jason, who banged up his knee in the incident. Given the dunking his Blackberry got, I wonder if texting had something to do with his distraction?

There once was a lady named Jacqui,
And her taste in small boats was not wacky.
She knows quick as a jig,
With her fine Freedom rig,
She can rotate the wheel and yell “Tackie!”

It’s her birthday today, and I wish,
That the day brings some cake in a dish,
And a stroll down the dock,
Where she hears, to her shock:
“Happy Birthday To You!” sung by fish.

There is a fish I call Harvey who hangs out under our boat and makes funny “groink” noises. We suspect he is a “croaker” or a “grunt,” as his ability to hold a tune is limited.

In other news, we heard some strange noises in our dinghy this morning, and I thought it was just the wave pattern. A few hours later, as we went to row ashore, Barry discovered a beautiful 12-inch fish in the bottom of the dinghy! If we’d realized that was the source of the earlier noise, we could have had fresh fish for breakfast.

There once was a lady named Ann,
She’s an awesome friend with a big van,
For our carless existence
Required help and assistance,
To begin on our junk sail-rig plan.

Said our friend, as to Lowe’s we propel.
“Please beware of the dog-mothball smell,”
With that big engine purring,
We hauled plywood and furring,
Don’t apologize, Ann: Your van’s SWELL!

The term “elderly” isn’t the word,
For Da’oud, no, that’s much too absurd.
Though his birthday’s today,
If you asked, he would say,
The word “youngster” is greatly preferred.

This one is for my jeweler-artist friend, currently hanging his shingle at the Arizona Renaissance Festival. The twinkle in his eyes makes him look like a little kid with prematurely gray hair.

His name was so much fun to play with, I wrote a second limerick the next day:

A fellow I knew named Da’oud
Refused to eat all birthday food
He said, “I’ve been told,
…Eating cake makes you old.
And I’m an extremely young dude!”

We bought bottom paint, gooey and thick,
And we hoped that it would do the trick,
It was sold as “deluxe” –
It cost TWO hundred bucks,
‘Cause we didn’t want sea life to stick.

And that should be the end of the story,
But the grasses adhered in all glory,
Yes, it’s worse than I feared,
For her fuzzy green beard,
Means she now needs a depilatory.

There once was a lady named Donna
Who said to her friends, “I’m not gonna
Eat your candy and cake,
I refuse to partake.
Blow those candles yourself — I don’t wanna!”

Happy Birthday, Donna! If they put one candle on your cake for each year, you could heat the whole house!

Dis’ order’s called O.C.R.D.:
The patient can never be free
From rhymes in her noggin.
Her best bet’s to login,
And share them for all folks to see.

I can’t stop writing limericks…and this hilarious article explains why: OCRD.

My poor brain’s going nuts, it’s frenetic
As I run though the words, alphabetic.
But this thing that I do,
Well, my Dad does it, too,
So my gift — or my curse — is genetic.

Sometimes limericks run around in my head until I write them down. This email from my Dad, which I received first thing this morning, reminds me that I am not alone in my affliction:

Marg’s homonyms are soulfully smooth,
Of this I fully approve;
But her limericks are sweet,
Filled with Her Dancing Feet,
They’re keeping us all in the groove!”

As dear Flutterby hung on her rode,
We both got in our dinghy and rowed,
To our bikes, which we rode,
Down a nice, level road,
Meanwhile, Margaret composed this, Our Ode.

The problem with limericks is that sometimes they chase me down and refuse to leave me alone. This was one of those. “Go ‘way,” I said, but it didn’t. It followed me on my bike for 5 miles. It’s not even a proper rhyme, just a bunch of homonyms.
-30-

I’m wondering what are the odds
That people who call themselves “CLODs”
Would hang out with SLOBs
Who do not have jobs,
And party with one of their PLODs?

“It would be nice to find out about the weekly cruisers’ breakfast,” Barry said to me. We’d heard about it years ago through the Seven Seas Cruising Association.
“What do you mean, find out? Can’t we just go?” I asked.
He looked puzzled. “We’d have to find out when and where it is.”
“There’s a sign in the … uh … women’s bathroom…” Evidently, there was not a corresponding sign in the men’s room.

The sign advertised a weekly breakfast for cruisers and CLODs: Cruisers Living on Dirt. In other words, people who have “swallowed the anchor” here in Vero.
I told my Dad about the cute acronym. “I guess that makes you a PLOD: Parent Living on Dirt.” I suggested that he should join us for the boaters’ Happy Hour, and we would introduce him that way.
The next day, an email came from Dad, asking if he could “observe the SLOBs and PLODs thursday at the happily happy hour?”

SLOBs: I guess I asked for that.

The clock said two-thirty today,
When the boat ceased to be underway.
We have busted our buns,
For these two little ones,
OK, kids, it is now time to PLAY!

We are moored at Cocoa, Florida, having been on the move (except for three groundings) from sunup to sundown for 8 days. We’re exhausted, but there are cookies to bake and a boat to clean.

Why the rush? We wanted to rendezvous with Barry’s nephews and their parents before they fly back to Ohio. So tomorrow, we get a special treat — a visit from Emanuel and Gabriel. That’s like an early present from Santa! We must have been very good this year.

We’ve encountered some sand and some rocks,
And we’ve tied up at places with docks,
But the further we roam,
From that boatyard called home,
Then the more I get homesick for Bock’s.

I called the boatyard today to catch up on the news and find out whose boats have splashed. I miss our friends there a lot — both human and feline!

Thus spoke Kris: “Folks, you’re doin’ it wrong,
Three years on the hard is too long.
Yes, the boatyard is great
And the folks are first-rate,
But the WATER is where you belong.”

You are probably saying, “I told you the same thing.” But where are you? Kris put his money where his mouth is, and came halfway ’round the world to help us splash! So he gets the reward … TODAY …
(=<

“If you say this is work, I’ll not stay,”
Said our friend Kris, who’d come all the way
Here from Capetown, to get
Flutterby’s bottom wet,
“So let’s not call it ‘work’ — call it PLAY!”

In two days, Kris and Barry and I have played with … sanders and grinders and saws and drills and dremels and screwdrivers … epoxy and polysulfide goop and solvents … impellers and zincs and hoses and clamps and backing plates … the list goes on and on. We’re all enjoying the work and we’ll be floating very, very, VERY soon!

For those of you wondering how we managed to get the world’s absolute best crew member from South Africa, I wrote about some of our earlier adventures with Kris in 2007 and in 2004.

We were driving from Durham to ocean,
When we happened upon a commotion.
All the folks in a huddle,
Had been stopped by the puddle,
But it did not impede our car’s motion.

I’d been worried, unable to sleep,
For I feared that my friend’s trusty Jeep,
Might get stranded and drown,
In that flood, murky brown,
But the water was 2 inches deep!

At an ice cream shop in Vanceboro, North Carolina, the woman behind the counter told us she had to be rescued from her house that morning by boat. When we asked about any flooding on US 17 to the south, she said, dramatically, “The water is over the road up that way — and it’s rising.” Concerned, we hurried through our ice cream and got back on the road. We found the flooding, one block away. It was just a big puddle.
-30-

“Well, they say that the piggie went ‘whee,’
“When they chopped it off, decisively,
“I look down and count nine,
“But I’m feeling just fine,”
Said my Dad, the new toe-amputee.

It was just a small infection that got out of control and landed him in the hospital. He’ll be out in a couple of days, and then he can figure out how to dance using nine toes instead of ten.

“Wow, your guest room is really bizarre,”
Said our friends, who had come from afar.
Just a tarp on the grass,
For this lad and this lass,
But they saw every bright falling star.

In the Pacific Northwest in summer, you can throw a sleeping bag on the grass and sleep outside. It’s heavenly during the Perseid meteor shower, when the stars are falling in streaks of yellow and white and blue across the sky … that’s what we did for two nights with our friends, Will and Tina.

We went into that boating store, “West,”
For a brand new flag halyard, the best.
We replaced it — OK!
But the very same day
‘Twas the main halyard broke: Who’d have guessed?

“I’m so glad it’s your problem, not mine,”
Said our Freedom friends, sipping their wine.
But those friends don’t know Lee,
Who, with Simplicity,
Kindly fixed it — we sailed back, just fine.

He went up using spitwads and tape,
But no halyard! We watched, mouths agape.
It’s a bird! It’s a plane!
Superman’s on our main!
No, it’s Spiderman! See? There’s no cape.

A little note of explanation for our non-boating friends…the flag halyard is a loooong piece of string that you use to hang pennants from the mast. On our way to the Freedom Rendezvous with our friend Jacqui’s Freedom 30, we replaced it ($20), because it looked old and rotten. Twenty minutes later, the main halyard, which is the big beefy one used to hoist the mainsail ($200), broke instead. Since there was no backup or safety line, we had to deliver the news to Jacqui that a crane would be needed to re-reeve her halyard ($150/hour). Then Lee and Kathleen magically appeared in the harbor aboard their C&C, Simplicity. Not only did Lee free-climb the 44-foot mast at anchor, he also cooked omelettes for us for breakfast.

Images below: Meps, motoring north, has plenty of spare cycles to clown for the camera. Lee sets up his climbing gear for the ascent. Barry watches Lee from below (hope he doesn’t drop anything!). The masts of Piper and Simplicity at anchor in Port Ludlow, with Lee at the top. Success! Barry shows the bicycle chain weight that Lee fed down from the top of the mast. Out sailing again, with Barry grinding the winch. Crewmember Will takes the helm of the 30-foot sailboat.

Here in sunny Nebraska, this morn
There’s a steer who is feeling forlorn,
He looks up and says, “Moo!”
Which means, “Hi, how are you?
I like grass, pleeeeeease don’t make me eat corn.”

Driving through CAFO country is enough to turn anyone vegetarian…

When the skies opened forth with such power,
I was drowned like a rat. So I glower
At my husband, who’s dry,
And who says, smug and sly,
“I towel off when I go take a shower.”

It rained so hard the other day, I nearly drowned getting back to Flutterby — even with a fortuitous ride across the boatyard from Ted. I should have just gotten into my birthday suit and stood on the foredeck with a bottle of shampoo.

“Sham Poo? No way! Give me the real thing, or nothing.”

When I painted the name on the side,
Philip’s comments were terribly snide.
“All your curves are a fright!”
“Get a stick, do it right!”
Now I’m feeling all shame and no pride.

We could have had the name applied professionally in vinyl for a few hundred bucks. The only reason I painted it freehand was to fulfill a sense of “artistic pride.”

We found in our mailbox a letter–
Inside, a surprise! Even better!
A tiny flat boy,
To bring us much joy.
‘Twas Stanley, the Airmail Jet-Setter.

Stay tuned for more photos and stories of Stanley’s visit to Beaufort and environs. He was an excellent boat guest.

Americans are not very common in Havana. And we’ve certainly never been there. So what are the chances of two guys running into each other at Hemingway Marina and figuring out that they both know Meps ‘n’ Barry?

These two strangers, on Hemingway’s dock,
Had a chat, and it caused them a shock.
“Where ya from?” “From K.C.”
“You?” “Seattle, for me.”
But they both know some nuts here at Bock.

Here in Beaufort-by-the-Sea, life is not all about seafood. Pictures and stories from the “first annual” Backstreet Pub “Meatloaf-Off” will be coming soon, along with tips from the winners on how to make great meatloaf.

The best meatloaves arrived on a mission,
Hoping some folks might fail by attrition,
For their fine chefs, you see,
Were all hoping to be
Named the “First” in the first competition.

The chances of finding a favorite Seattle friend living in Morehead City were so miniscule, we thought that Hell would freeze over first. We caught up with Kevin in December — he’d been living here for 3 years, and Flutterby’s been here for 2 years. On February 13th, when he came out to see the boat for the first time, Hell froze over, as evidenced by the photo below.

From Seattle, friend Kevin is witty,
But we’d got out of touch, what a pity.
But then Hell did freeze over,
For this fine Irish Rover,
Has been living in wee Morehead City.

Left: Meps and Kevin, Right: There was no snow when Kevin arrived at the boat. After dinner, here he is (on the far side) cleaning off his truck.

Betcha can’t tell from the photos below. Happy Birthday to my favorite young woman in the whole world — you look awesome in that sweater!

I’ve a beautiful sis, Julie S.
And she’s older than me, I confess.
But my friends, they all say,
“She’s not fifty, NO WAY!”
It’s her wonderful life — free of stress.

Here are a couple of oldie-but-goodie photos of Julie from 1960. One is with Mom and one’s with her big sister, Daisy.

The boat was so cold that we shut
The door to the forward end. But
We still had a bed,
And a galley and head,
In our maritime eight-by-twelve hut.

Below is a photo of me in our dinette bed during the cold, when the boat interior was about 45 degrees for a week. I’m wearing a wool top under my jammies, a fleece hood, and have two teddy bears to help keep me warm. Although we couldn’t drag ourselves out from under the blankets before noon, we were able to make coffee without getting out of bed!

My two pirate friends, Goofy and Funny,
Have sailed off to the south, where it’s sunny.
They have left this fine village,
To seek plunder and pillage,
They’re not dumb — but they’re plumb outa money.

Maybe you can look at the photos below and tell me, which one is Goofy and which one is Funny? (that’s Dick on the top and Larry and me on the bottom)

Our friend Alex was feeling quite blue,
For a flock of demonic birds flew,
Over each perfect mast,
And he watched them, aghast,
As the paint job was ruined by doo.

So he came out to paint them anew
And the finish was ruined by dew,
Now he frets at the weather,
And fears every feather,
And says, “Will I ever be through?”

Barry and I hired Alex Baker to give our carbon fiber masts a beautiful professional paint job. Unfortunately, Alex has been unable to control the outdoor conditions where he’s working! After the doo and dew, Alex was thwarted by heavy wind, rain, and cold. We all hope the third time’s the charm.

The photos below show the working conditions out in the “sand pit” before the masts were painted. Alex, Barry, Kenny, and Dick had walked out to look at our innovative mast-suspension system. A portion of Dick’s broken mast (right side, top photo) was used as a derrick to suspend both masts.

Three eateries here went away,
As I crossed the entire U.S.A.
If I’d bought just one meal,
From Ralwiggie’s, I feel,
They might still be in business today.

In that great spot across from the park,
I found Taylor’s all shuttered and stark.
So I walked down to Cru,
Just to purchase some brew,
So that they will not also go dark.

But I found, on that sad recent drive,
Though the good food in town can’t survive,
If the service is cursed,
And the food is the worst –
All the baaaaad Chinese places still thrive.

So this flock of wild turkeys went out,
For a party along Amtrak’s route.
“We will derail this train!”
Thought one bird’s tiny brain,
But they failed — just delayed it, no doubt.

In an unconfirmed rumor, I heard that an Amtrak train in Florida was delayed for hours yesterday when it ran — literally — into a flock of wild turkeys. Given Amtrak’s reputation, it’s hardly a surprise that a bunch of bird brains could cause a major delay on the day before Thanksgiving.

While I was away, the boatyard had a potluck so memorable, people were still talking about it 5 weeks later:

Now, Miss Manners would never say, “Eww,”
So Miss Audrey knew just what to do.
With a smile so polite,
She spoke out with no spite,
“Oh, how nice! Ken brought turkey that’s blue.”

Someone tried to give the turkey to the cats, but they wouldn’t touch it. Barry says it’s probably still on the bottom of Core Creek. Eww.

Up ahead was a big yellow truck
That had come to a stop for a duck,
So I stopped my car, too,
And then out of the blue
Came a WHACK! Duck hit me, just my luck.

The web-footed goof flew right into my front towbar. There was a loud thud, and the car shook with the impact. But when I backed up a few feet, expecting to see a duck carcass, he picked himself up and wobbled away. He was quacking, and I was quaking.

It’s been eighteen whole years since that day,
When we stepped to the bar just to say,
“Yep, I do,” “I do, too,”
“Here’s a ring just for you,”
And our friends raised their drinks and said, “Yay!”

The day before our 18th wedding anniversary, we stopped to investigate a place on Highway 20 called the Beer Shrine and Wedding Chapel. It reminded me of the fact that when we were married aboard the Flying Cloud, the wedding was actually performed under a palm frond arch in front of the bar.

Barry and I learned many things during our visit to the Beer Shrine and Wedding Chapel. We found out that lots of people like the pizza there. We heard from the owner that she is licensed to perform marriages and does about 30 per year, right there in the bar. We confirmed that Barry likes homemade root beer. We confirmed that Margaret does not like beer. Most importantly, we discovered that Barry does not like beer-flavored kisses — so root beer is the only way to go!

There once was a lady named Clam,
And she said, “To the public, I am
Such a nice quiet pet,
One who likes to just set.
Omigosh! I just laid an egg, Ma’am!”

If this makes no sense to you, go to the Adventures page and read “Cock-a-doodle Who?” You’ll find a photo of Clam there.

On receiving a call from Iceland in the midst of record-breaking heat:

It’s one hundred and five here, you know,
So your calling and saying “Hello,”
From the Land of the Ice,
Felt quite pleasant and nice,
Although next time, could you please send snow?

Our friend Leilani has been in the hospital so long, with such a cheerful attitude, she inspired the doctors on the staff to write her a haiku:

Germy Pacemaker
Last few days of ABX*
Feels okay today

*Their abbreviation for antibiotics

After seeing the attention lavished on her, I was inspired to write a limerick:

All the nurses and docs in the ward
Had ennui — they were terribly bored.
But then much to their joy,
Came Leilani McCoy,
Leaving all other patients ignored.

When we first walked in, I thought we’d mistaken her room number for the gift shop. There were that many cards, plants, flowers, and gifts!

Now there once was a pirate of yore,
Who I met as I strolled on the shore.
“You’re a rake, sir!” I cried,
I was held at his side,
And he tickled me ’til I was sore.

I don’t make this stuff up! At the Seafair Pirate Landing on Saturday, I met a good-looking pirate (at least he had no blood on his teeth) who was smooching passing wenches. When I queued up for my fair share, I was captured and tickled, as you can see from the following photos.

Two kittens have lived worry-free,
In our boat at the edge of the sea,
But they snoozed and they dozed,
With their four eyes all closed,
So they never knew Grandma was me.

We found a foster home for our rescue cat and kittens through PAWS, two days before we left for Seattle. The kittens took so long to open their eyes, though, I thought they never would! We finally saw their eyes on July 4th, two and a half weeks after they were born.

Charlie’s sleeping alone in his bed,
When a cat climbs up onto his head,
Charlie says, “That’s not neat,”
“Please move down to my feet,”
And so that’s where she gave birth, instead.

You can see pictures of Charlie, the cat, and the newborn kittens over at “A Buckeye with a cat on his head.”

The portlights are in, this is true,
Installed with some goop and a screw.
But now Barry’s addiction,
Is causing some friction.
He cannot stop thinking of “Goo.”

Barry rewarded himself for getting the last two portlights installed by buying a new computer game, World of Goo. Myself, I think he should focus on World of Boat, or at least, World of Goop.

Here’s a big, buzzy carpenter bee,
And a husband with sting-allergy.
Now each trip on the ladder,
To relieve his bladder,
Is a peril, so it’s up to me.

Right here is a new, bee-free ladder,
90 pounds, though, and that is the matter,
For the lift goes awry,
It just falls from the sky,
And it makes Larry’s barbecue flatter.

Now I wish that my friend, Mrs. Bee,
Had drilled out her nest in a tree,
Then she’d still be alive,
And her children would thrive,
And my ladder would be bee-hole free.

In a funny coincidence, we bought a CD on Friday called “A Buzz, A Buzz.” We had discovered a great new alternative band out of Durham called Bombadil. Seattle friends, go see Bombadil at the Tractor Tavern on July 26th!

I had an amazing birthday this year, and two very special homemade presents. One was a birthday card hand-painted by my Dad (I had thought Dad was the writer and Mom was the artist!), and the other was this limerick by my sister, Julie.

Meps travels both hinder and yon
Now that beautiful hair’s almost GONE!*
Still, she’s awesome and nifty,
Though half way to fifty
Her new moniker? Captain Ron!

Julie also provided the perfect ending to my birthday. She was doing a radio show on KLCC, in Eugene, Oregon, and I managed to pull it in over the Internet. Then I called the request line and asked for a song from 1964. She asked, “Which song?” “Any song will do!” I sang out, and only then did she recognize her little sister’s voice, all the way from North Carolina.

She played Sam Cooke’s “That’s Where It’s At” for me. Beaufort, North Carolina: That’s where it’s at!

*Explanatory photos to come…

We went sailing with our good friend, Dick,
Though his boat isn’t nimble or quick,
She is classy as heck,
Lovely lines, great big deck,
And a schooner! (Yep, more than one stick.)

What a perfect day! A shame we forgot the camera, though.

The story behind this limerick is explained in the essay, “Schooner or Later.”

He could navigate, stand watch, and steer,
And he learned to drink warm rum and beer,
He’s a proper sea cat,
Never seasick! But that
Wasn’t true on the highways, I hear.

Ernie the Cat returned to the boatyard yesterday, after a 2-month cruise to Florida. He did great on the boat, but not so well in the car.

I’m complaining: “This weather is dumb!
“It is March, and now springtime should come!”
When a knock and a shout,
Makes me stick my head out,
“Well, hooray! Here comes Dick! Where’s the rum?”

After a teaser week of spring, we are now freezing! Outdoor temperatures were in the 20’s (Fahrenheit) when Dick arrived today, giving us a welcome respite from work. We enjoyed a warm and toasty gab-fest with tea and bakery-fresh bread, followed by pizza and rum.

There once was a fellow named Ted,
Who had lost all the boats in his shed,
With the Sharpies all gone,
It was time to move on,
Now he’s living in Freedom, instead.

A little context for this one is in order. We were working away on deck last week when I noticed a couple wandering around the boatyard. Then I realized they weren’t ambling aimlessly, they were heading right for us.

That’s how we met Ted and Malla. After a fire destroyed his boat shed in Vermont, Ted bought a Freedom 33 and named her Ocean Gypsy (after one of my favorite songs by Renaissance). He’s been moored in Beaufort for the winter. When he came down the ICW, he noticed us on shore and made a mental note to check out our boat.

We hit it off with these great folks, and a few days later, they invited us aboard Ocean Gypsy for an evening of pizza and stories. I feel better about my boat project now. I don’t just have a boat in the middle of a refit. I have a ticket to the fun, freedom-loving crowd.

My broken toe limerick got some funny responses. One friend, who will remain nameless, said he once dropped his underwear, tried to kick them to the laundry hamper, hit the wall, and broke a toe. He had a hard time explaining why he was wearing steel-toed boots to his office job.

Here’s another funny response, in verse, from Elinor Narcross:

I was going to lunch
And was driving a bunch.
My foot went kerplunk
Caught myself on the trunk.
Got a break in my foot
Requiring a boot.
In the arm, bicep tear
All in all, worse for wear.

In November it occurred
Pre-holidays; my word!
Healing has taken place
And snow has covered space.
Been inside looking out
Sunshine now makes me shout.
If Spring does really arrive,
I’ll want to drive and drive and drive.

(given the line about the trunk, maybe she should switch to a hatchback?)

Hubby needs something, quick, from below.
So I dash down the ladder, not slow,
Then I trip on a door
That he left on the floor,
“Here’s your tool, but I’ve broken my toe!”

This is weird, but it’s happened twice! Out of the blue, someone sends me a limerick about a Julie when I need one for my sister of the same name. This one comes from reader IronMan Mike Curtis, and although it’s not a perfect fit (my sister is NOT middle-aged), it is perfectly timed for my sister’s birthday.

Thanks, Mike! But next time, maybe we could call her “a lovely young woman,” instead? Then, as you can see from the photo, it would fit my Julie, too.

Julie, Schmulie

A middle aged woman named Julie
Feared her next birthday unduly
As the clock struck midnight,
She blanched with sheer fright
As if she’d been possessed by a ghoulie

(Limerick (c) 2009 M. Curtis)

If you think that equality’s great,
And you wish for a world free from hate,
And you have curly hair,
And your first name is Claire,
Here’s your present! It’s just one day late.

Claire’s birthday was the day before the inauguration of Barack Obama. The photo above is Obama’s official presidential portrait, which we’ll be seeing in federal buildings while he is in office. It’s the first presidential portrait taken with a digital camera.

(photos are at the bottom…)

There once was a doggie named Missy,
She wears glasses, which make her look prissy.
She has more clothes than me,
Over seventy-three
Different outfits! A clothes-horse — or is she?

At a street fair in Fort Pierce, Florida, I photographed a man in a motorized wheelchair with a frilly little dog wearing a dress and sunglasses. Two months later, I ran into them again. “Hi!” I said. “I took your picture last month.” The man in the wheelchair smiled, then, trying to recall the event, asked me, “What was she wearing?”

Missy is a therapy dog, trained by Frank. She has almost 80 different outfits with matching glasses, and she spends her time visiting nursing homes and hospitals. A friend tells me the two are local celebrities. “They’re in all the parades,” she said.

It was crowded, and parking was tight,
When we drove into Beaufort last night,
There were Santas and sleighs,
And a lighthouse with rays,
And the Gilligan crew was a sight.

But our friends from Quebec on the pier,
Say they’re lacking in holiday cheer.
“The parade is quite nice,
“But we’ve seen it now, thrice,
“And we’d like to be elsewhere, not here.”

When I wrote this, I thought it was cute, the fact that our friends from Giva will be out cruising this time next year. However, Val didn’t think the joke was funny, and he asked me to include his comments:

I don’t think it’s funny
Val

Hey, the deck is done, let’s celebrate!
So we went and ate plate after plate,
At the Golden Corral,
But it sapped my morale,
‘Cause this stomachache will not abate.

Friday seemed like a good time to try the G.C., which our boatyard friends are always talking about. We celebrated with Clark, of Undaunted, who had launched his boat that afternoon. But the acres of food were overwhelming. It reminded me of Two Scoops Moore, who sang: “I can’t stop goin’ back to the big buffet…probably have a heart attack, down at the big buffet.”

Cogito, ergonomic sum: I sit up, therefore I am…not going to a back doctor. (Before and after photos for this one can be found below, on the website.)

My Dad had a terrible slouch,
As he sat at his desk or the couch,
But we found a new chair,
And he sits upright there,
So he no longer whines and says, “Ouch.”

I was down by the water last week,
When I heard a marine mammal speak,
Yes, a dolphin came near,
And he spoke really clear,
But I just cannot translate his squeak.

This really happened to me! I think he was saying something about “Launch that boat and come play with us.” Or maybe, “Where’s the dog food?”

Now there once was a feller, McCain,
And he took matching funds to campaign.
Now Barack has the dough
For his own TV show,
Which makes baseball fans loudly complain.

Speaking of complaining, Barry rolled his eyes and said no more political entries in our Adventures blog. But he just can’t stop me from limerickin’!

Such a smooth car to drive into town,
But I shriek when I blithely glance down.
“Oh my God, did I drive
“At one hundred and five?”
“That’s kilometres,” he says, with a frown.

We’re borrowing our friends’ Camry for a couple of weeks. I had a heart-stopping moment when I was driving down the highway and I looked down to check my speed, forgetting that it’s a Canadian car. Barry, who had already noticed the Canadian Tire money in the ashtray, had to remind me.

One may purchase three items, no more,
After nine at the Food Lion store.
So our cart, piled with food,
Made the checker quite rude
And she scowled ’til we rolled out the door.

We decided to shop for a basket full of groceries after dinner in town, but what a mistake! We were the only people buying more than three items, and the checkout clerk treated us like pariahs. I guess she wants us to start shopping at Piggly Wiggly?

We just passed a small town: Osino
On 80, which goes straight through Reno.
Does it seem strange to you
That Nevada has two
Of these places, that rhyme with casino?

So Parker says he wants a boat,
A place in the sunshine, afloat.
But Roxana’s not sure,
Whether sailing’s for her,
And hers is the critical vote.

I was on the way to the shower when I met a couple from Atlanta who were looking at boats on their 25th wedding anniversary. We hit it off and ended up chatting for quite a while, despite the fact that I was really, really, really grubby. I tried to stay downwind of them as we talked. I was that grubby.

Instead of singing in the shower, I write limericks. These five lines popped into my head during the shower that followed.

2011 Update:
I’ve really enjoyed exchanging emails with Roxana since that chance meeting. Finally, in January of 2011, almost 2-1/2 years after this limerick, she wrote that they had bought a boat:

“…Well, Parker (we, I guess) did it. A 2001 Island Packet 420 in Tortola. Yep. You read that right. I finally gave in.”

Roxana gave me the details of the great deal they got on the boat, but it was this paragraph that really made me smile:

“Seriously, it wasn’t the boat that changed my mind. When we went down for the sea trial we met one person after another, and every one of them was just wonderful. All were so warm and friendly, and very eager to help with anything. It was while I was sitting in a little outdoor restaurant waiting for Parker that I suddenly realized that, for me, it wasn’t really about the sailing or the boat. It was about the people! And so far, they have all exceeded my expectations!”

I was thinking today, “Gee, we’re hosed,”
“It is Saturday, Bock’s shop is closed.”
When up came a roar,
From o’er near the store,
And out the ol’ Travelift nosed.

There were Randy and Kenny and Dale,
But the best part to tell of this tale,
Is how Nancy, Ms. Bock,
Had a tube of Life-Caulk,
That we found on the store shelf, for sale.

An advantage to having internet on the boat is that I can now pen limericks about events right when they happen. A disadvantage is that I can now pen these limericks about events that are critically exciting to us and distressingly boring to you, my gentle reader.

(Barry points out another disadvantage — that I can be wasting time writing these limericks instead of installing the hatch.)

The lady, at age something-nine,
Is feeling quite youthful and fine,
But next year, the blow
Will come. Big uh-oh!
And then she’ll have reason to whine.

Happy Birthday to Julie and Sharon…39 and holding, both of you!

There once was a fellow named Dan,
Who lived on a boat on jackstands.
“She leaks like a sieve,
But it’s no way to live,
I would much rather float, if I can.”

Our neighbor, Dan, has been launched twice and subsequently pulled out. Somehow, he keeps a cheerful attitude, despite the delays. His blog is at www.danzplan.com.

“Like a sieve” is my poetic license; his boat is really nice. But if it worked perfectly, we wouldn’t have met him in the boatyard!

There once was a fellow named Larry,
Who, when asked if he’s happy, says, “Very!”
After many a year,
His old high school dear,
Has accepted his offer to marry.

==
Larry is one of my favorite guys here at Bock Marine, and he’s just returned from his honeymoon. Congratulations to the new couple!

We’re stuck in the library here,
The problem is liquid, I fear.
It’s raining like cats
And dogs. We’ve no hats,
So we’ll just have to read ’til it’s clear.

I am wishing this heat wave would end,
But my far-flung friends don’t comprehend.
Candy says, “Chile’s chilly!”
Nita says, “Fifties, really!”
So I’ll just attach heat and click SEND.

We had to flee the melting heat, so we ducked into an air-conditioned library. While there, two emails came in, one from South America and one from Seattle. Both were complaining about how cold it is, and despite glares from the librarians, we couldn’t stop laughing.

While buying some liquor and ice,
They check his ID once — no, twice.
It says forty-one
Years under the sun,
But he looks ten years younger: How nice!

Oh, there once was a fellow named Bill,
And he thought being Prez was a thrill.
So he saved every note,
That his staff ever wrote,
Which now poses a problem for Hill.

At a shop that is on Sixty-Six,
They once sold guitar strings and picks,
Now they entertain gaily,
The crowds that come daily,
To hear them and get some good “kicks!”

You can get your kicks, too, at the Sandhills Curiosity Shop on old Route 66 in Erick, Oklahoma. Or, if you can’t get there, take a look at some of the videos.

Says Bonnie, “My Iggie won’t bite.”
But I’m still afraid that he might–
She says he’s in heat.
(Will he nip my feet,
Because my red toenails excite?)

Iggie is a 4-1/2 foot long iguana. He’s currently in heat and attracted to women of any species.

The room filled with much merry sound,
Three sisters who mooned as they clowned,
The game was revamped,
We laughed and we stamped,
As ping-pong was played in the round.

We discovered a fun way to play ping-pong at Highlands pub in Eugene. Four people play round-robin, each one hitting the ball once and then rushing around the table to the other side. The results were a few collisions and some hilarious video footage. Do not try this in a pub with dartboards!

Squid are creatures that live in the deep,
Not a sound as they swim and they creep.
I was shocked to the core,
When I heard my squid roar,
‘Twas a miracle, wrought by my Peep.

Barry, who I sometimes call “Peep,” wrote about this event in his usual understated fashion in his recent blog entry.

Here’s a fabulous response from our friend Pat, who lives in NC:

A wagon that roars and squirts ink
(Not oil, of that let’s not think)
will ferry you back to your boat
and shlep all the stuff it will will float.
Please stop by so we can see you and wink!

When the big female candidate cried,
People said, “The ex-president’s bride
Is not really tough,
And campaigning is rough.”
But it brought voters o’er to her side.

If only we’d gone out of town,
And cut a fresh Christmas tree down.
This grocery store tree,
Once looked fine to me.
But now, tell me, why is it brown?

Strange names around here are in vogue,
Calibogue is not “Calibog,”
And “Falcon” I get,
But “Rougue” makes me fret,
Should it be “rouge” as red, or just “rogue?”

We had our test sail aboard the Falcon Rougue yesterday, and we’re still in the dark about how the name is pronounced. Is “rougue” a clever play on the red hull, or just a misspelling? Either way, it doesn’t quite rhyme with the place we sailed — Calibogue Sound is sometimes (by golf freaks) pronounced Cal-i-BOGEY.

While driving around, by and by,
We spotted some doors 8 feet high.
Not sure what’s the reason –
Are stairs out of season?
Or maybe these Newfies can fly!

This limerick illustrates one of my favorite travel mysteries. Why do people in Newfoundland have front doors many feet in the air? I asked a number of local residents, and they just scratched their heads. Then one fellow, who was particularly fast on his feet, said with a grin, “We call those ‘Mother-in-law doors’.”

I have known Dave for twenty-five years,
Though we’ve never shared whiskey or beers.
He’s a fine upright friend,
And this poem I send,
As I raise up my Coke and say, “Cheers!”

“I missed it!” I cried out, aghast.
The birthday of Craig has just passed.
Though he’s now six-zero,
The man is my hero,
‘Cause parties with him are a blast.

This one’s for Captain Craig, Scourge of Lake Union and Environs. The notorious Craig was celebrated in an earlier Mepsnbarry Adventure, That’s Me in the Monkey Mask.

I believe that a limerick is a delightful way to celebrate someone’s life, which is why I advocate writing birthday limericks. Last week, a dear friend passed away. He was a kind, gentle soul with a great sense of humor. I think he would have liked a memorial limerick, so I wrote him one:

I’m not one to spend much time in prayer,
But the rules of this life seem unfair.
So, does God grant forbearance?
If he does, please send Clarence
Back down — we need time to prepare!

It was only a few months ago that I wrote another limerick for Clarence, when he first went into the hospital.

Everything mentioned in the following rhymes is absolutely TRUE. Burning Man really is that weird, and that inspirational. At least, it inspires crazy Burning Man limericks!

Are these fellows really our males?
They’re wearing pink wigs and cat’s tails,
And crazy orange shirts,
With bright sequined skirts,
At Burning Man, weirdness prevails.

In fishnets and boots with high heels,
I jump on my spiffy pink wheels,
My seashell bikini,
Might score a martini,
Because of the skin it reveals.

A huge pterodactyl walked by,
He towered 12 feet in the sky,
And Dave’s disco ball,
Which held us in thrall,
On Barry’s bike, then caught his eye.

The dust storm came out of the blue,
I knew then just what I should do,
“There’s room here, to hide,”
I pulled him inside,
A handicapped toilet for two.

They blew up the derrick last night,
The mushroom cloud: What a cool sight!
And over the sound,
Of “techno” all ’round,
I heard, “Holy sh*t, that was bright!”

Here’s something that Grandma enjoys:
A house that is chock-full of noise,
Where elephants thump,
And dinosaurs jump.
Such racket from two little boys!

When two boys come for a visit, and their combined age is less than 10, there’s a lot of chaos!

There once was a lady named Kate,
Whose birthday was on this fine date,
She wanted a cake,
But her friends could not bake,
So her candles just sat on a plate.

Here’s a funny coincidence — a reader I’d never met asked me out of the blue for a birthday limerick for her friend, Kate. I dashed this off, then sent a copy to my brother-in-law, whose daughter is named Kate. He wrote back, saying Kate’s birthday was only three days away! What are the chances of that?

Of course, then I got overwhelmed and forgot to post the limerick on June 6th. Silly me…happy belated birthday, to all Kates!

Now, there once was a pirate named Barry,
Who is frozen and quite stationary,
He’s unable to fight,
What is looming in sight,
Turning forty for him is reeeeeeal scary.

I went out yesterday on a lovely little 1947 Chris Craft to celebrate the “Opening Day of Boating Season.” Given the limerick below, it’s appropriate that the boat’s name is “Flagrante Delicto.”

There’s a poem that starts out “Hooray,”
And the word that rhymes with it is “May,”
If you know what I mean,
Then I won’t be obscene,
Outdoor boating is what starts today.

My essay last year about Beltane and other early-May holidays even used “Hooray, Hooray, the first of May” as a title…but I never published the rest of the poem.

I’ve never tried to write a poem about myself. The only word that I can think of that rhymes is “adeps,” a synonym for lard.

But I discovered yesterday that when properly lubricated (see my recipe for the Goombay Smash), my friends can produce birthday limericks right off the cuff. Since Tina just had a birthday (4/27) and Will is about to have one (5/16), I’m gonna write some limericks about them, too. Luckily, I have just the reference…my own article, entitled “How to Write a Birthday Limerick.”

From Tina:
There once was a sailor named Meps
Who’d had poor luck with men, excepts
a sailor named Barry
Who asked her to marry
And so they went up the church steps.

From Will:
There once was a sailor named Meps
Who refused to take her twelve steps
With surprising alarm
She drank with both arms
By morning she cried, “Oh my biceps!!!”

For Tina:
Is it time for a concert, Ms. Tina?
Will your rub board’s sound fill this arena?
For the Zydeco Locals,
Which feature your vocals,
Make me dance like a crazed ballerina.

(If you follow the link to the Zydeco Locals’ website, Tina’s the one on the left, with the rub board.)

Will’s limerick will be coming soon…I have two weeks to work on it, and plenty of material.

Dedicated to a dedicated reader:

The good fellow Tara calls “Dad,”
Said, “Room service here is so bad,
“I asked for a steak,
“They gave me an ache!”
A good time by all was not had.

I always joke about the fact that there are only two people reading this website. This limerick is dedicated to one of them, and the postscript is here so the other one will get the joke!

Clarence is currently having a spot of bother at a hospital in Columbus, Ohio. I hope he gets well soon, so he can outrun the nurses. I bet I know who will be driving his getaway car…

Said the famous explorer, de Gama,
To his proud but befuddled old mama,
“I’ve got spices galore,
Precious jewels, silk, and more,
But I wanted to find Grand Bahama.”

Vasco de Gama was the Portuguese sailor who discovered, in 1497, a sailing route from Lisbon to India. The goodies he brought back made him famous and made Portugal’s King Manuel wealthy.

The Bahamas had actually already been discovered by then, by a much more famous sailor, Christopher Columbus.

A bike has two wheels in a line,
But this speed-demon husband of mine,
Needs a wheelchair to ride,
With its wheels side-by-side,
And a nurse and two doctors behind.

Barry was riding too fast on his new Bike Friday on Monday. The accident netted him a broken arm, a broken finger, multiple contusions, a black eye, and an extremely concerned but annoyed spouse.

I’m tired of this snuffling and sneezing,
Bronchitis and head colds with wheezing,
I don’t like to suffer,
I wish I were tougher,
But bring on some spring, ’cause I’m freezing!

In honor of Punxsutawney Phil, who did not see his shadow on February 2nd. That means spring should come early this year, and I, for one, am ready!

A Newfoundland lady once bet,
That she’d find, somewhere, out on the ‘net,
A recipe page,
For wine, moose, and sage.
She won! It’s on Foodie Gazette.

A little limerick to celebrate the spinoff of The Foodie Gazette, Meps’ new food website, with over 700 recipes and articles. Sage Moose Braised in Wine from the St. John’s, Newfoundland, newspaper, is one of the more intriguing recipes on the site.

A little Thanksgiving limerick to celebrate the annual pardon of two turkeys by the president:

I just heard that two turkeys’ demise
Was avoided, to their great surprise.
The big turkey in power,
In the eleventh hour,
Gave them pardon, along with the pies.

There once was an ornery cuss,
Who was driving a yellow school bus,
But she flipped off George Bush,
Now she sits on her tush,
‘Cause she lost her job in all the fuss.

This refers to a Seattle-area school bus driver who was fired for flipping off George Bush’s motorcade this past June. OK, a bus driver is supposed to be a role model for students, so I can see a reprimand. But firing? That’s going too far.

Writing a birthday limerick is simple and doesn’t take a lot of time. In this age of conspicuous consumption, a simple birthday limerick is a great way to celebrate someone special without bringing more styrofoam, wrapping paper, and unwanted aftershave into the world.

I have chanced on a great birthday present,
Not expensive champagne, duck, or pheasant,
But a lim’rick — some humor
To dispel the old rumor,
That a birthday is not something pleasant.

In order to make the limerick special, it needs to be about the person, not a generic 30th- or 40th-birthday limerick. For me, that requires a little brainstorming session. I do this best when insomnia strikes in the middle of the night. If the person’s birthday is imminent and you don’t have insomnia, a couple of beers can lubricate the rhyming process.

The brainstorming simply involves thinking about the person and anything related to him or her that’s easy to rhyme. Is the person’s name easy to rhyme? I have both a sister and a sister-in-law named Julie, and I haven’t been able to do much with “Bernoulli” or “patchoulli.” So I’ll have to use other techniques, as you’ll see below. However, some names are easy, such as “Kate” or “Barry.”

There once was a lady named Kate,
Whose birthday was on this fine date,
She wanted a cake,
But her friends could not bake,
So her candles just sat on a plate.

Now, there once was a pirate named Barry,
Who is frozen and quite stationary,
He’s unable to fight,
What is looming in sight,
Turning forty for him is reeeeeeal scary.

If the person’s name is not easy to rhyme, think about his or her relationship to you — what rhymes with “sister,” or “son?” When I needed to write a birthday limerick for my father, I found no good rhymes for “Henry,” but dozens for “Dad”:

There’s a guy who I proudly call Dad,
And a mighty fine birthday he had.
To make such a great man, it
Takes years on this planet.
But I won’t tell his age (he’d get mad).

Another good theme to get the rhyming started is the person’s age. Ages ending is “seven” are bad to rhyme, because you’re limited to “heaven” and “eleven.” But you can talk about the fact that he or she is no longer thirty-six, which rhymes with plenty of words — flicks, picks, tricks, mix.

Here’s one I wrote for a reader with two young children who wanted help with the invitation to their combined birthday party. The nice thing about this one is that it’s flexible, and you can change it to suit different children. You could replace the names, change the month, even replace “cookout” with “party,” and it would still work:

Our Seth is about to turn two,
And Rachel’s soon four, it is true,
We’ve written this rhyme,
‘Cause October’s the time,
For a big birthday cookout with you!

You can be even more creative, branching out and thinking about the subject’s home town, home state, occupation, or hobbies.

Here’s one about my brother-in-law, Ed, an ultra-marathon runner. Every year, on his birthday, he runs the same number of miles as his age:

The number of miles he would run
Last year was a mere fifty-one.
But now, fifty-two?
That much harder to do —
Old age does not make it more fun.

Current events or something funny that happened to the person can also inspire a good limerick. I once had a friend who moved from the bug-free Pacific Northwest to New Orleans. That year, he gave me plenty of subject matter:

While taking a drink in the shade,
Dear Brian enjoys Gatorade.
But taking a swig,
Found a live roach THIS BIG,
Now he’s mixing his cocktails with Raid.

Once I come up with an inspiring word or phrase for the person, I usually start going through the alphabet, looking for words that rhyme with it. There are also lots of good rhyming dictionaries on the internet, where you can type in a word, and all the rhymes come back. I use Rhymezone, which organizes the choices by syllables. If I’m having trouble coming up with good rhymes, I can also check Rhymezone for synonyms. That often breaks through the rhymer’s block.

There are a couple of tricks you can do to come up with even more rhymes for a given word. One is to contract the word:

On a trip south through old Oklahom’

And another is to add an extra syllable at the end of a word:

Two gals who were feeling quite plucky,
Drove north in their little red truckie

For your limerick, you’ll need at least two sets of rhymes — one with three words and one with two words. If you have more than that, you may be inspired to write several stanzas.

Now you’re ready to construct the birthday limerick. If you’ve written limericks before, or if you feel comfortable mimicking the ones you’ve read, go for it — but when you’re done, there is one crucial step you should not skip.

Write or print your limerick and hand it to someone else to read out loud. That will immediately identify any problems with the rhyme and meter. This is an important step for a birthday limerick, because birthday limericks are always read out loud, either at large parties or just repeated many, many times.

If you’re new to this limerick business, or you want to hone your skills further, keep reading for some tips on structure and meter.

The structure of a limerick is five lines, A-A-B-B-A. That means that the first two lines rhyme with each other and with the fifth line. The third and fourth lines rhyme with each other:

A - Now my big sister Daisy’s a dear,
A - And I wrote of her birthday last year.
B - But another year’s passed,
B - And it happened so fast,
A - That she’s now one year older, I fear.

One of the biggest challenges to limerick-writers, new and experienced, is getting the meter right. A proper limerick has anapest meter, which means lines one, two, and five are stressed like this:

da-da-DUM da-da-DUM da-da-DUM

And lines three and four are shorter, but still have the same kind of meter:

da-da-DUM da-da-DUM

You can modify this a little, starting a line with da-DUM and ending it with da-da-DUM-da. But don’t make changes other than that, or it won’t flow properly, as this example attests:

No, it’s really not that hard to rhyme,
And it just takes a whole lot of time.
But the meter’s the thing
To make every piece sing,
And limerick-writers like me consider lousy meter a terrible crime.

The trick to making a good limerick great is to make it funny. Humor is the hallmark of a great birthday limerick, and you have a chance to gently poke fun at the birthday person. It’s always nice to throw in a little surprise in the last line, as I did in this 40th birthday limerick:

So by 40, your hair’s turning gray,
And gravity holds you in sway.
You must stand on your head
When you get out of bed,
Just to keep nasty wrinkles at bay.

But the truth is, you’re not really old!
You are vibrant and youthful and bold.
You can still climb a tree,
You’re vivacious and free —
Now just eat these stewed prunes, as you’re told.

Margret “Meps” Schulte has always had a soft spot for silly rhymes, her favorite poetry book being the Norton Anthology of Light Verse. In 2002, she was inspired to publish her first limerick on the Web when she noticed that her friend Brian’s name sort-of-rhymed with the name of his new boat, Cayenne. Since then, she has written well over 100 limericks about her travels, current events, friends, and anything else that strikes her fancy. Meps has also submitted about two dozen limericks to the Omnificent English Dictionary In Limerick Form, or OEDILF, giving her the dubious title of “Contributing Editor.”

If this article made you smile, you may also enjoy reading some of the Adventures of Meps ‘n’ Barry.

Now my big sister Daisy’s a dear,
And I wrote of her birthday last year.
But another year’s passed,
And it happened so fast,
That she’s now one year older, I fear.

There’s a guy who I proudly call Dad,
And a mighty fine birthday he had.
To make such a great man, it
Takes years on this planet.
But I won’t tell his age (he’d get mad).

Thanks to Cyndie, for requesting this, and Happy Birthday to her sister! In less than a year, I can use this on Barry…

So by 40, your hair’s turning gray,
And gravity holds you in sway.
You must stand on your head
When you get out of bed,
Just to keep nasty wrinkles at bay.

But the truth is, you’re not really old!
You are vibrant and youthful and bold.
You can still climb a tree,
You’re vivacious and free –
Now just eat these stewed prunes, as you’re told.

I try to keep my limericks clean, but this one just came to me, unbidden, on June 13th. Four days later, I found myself surrounded by naked men and accompanying a parade float made up of bells (see “Wiggling and jiggling in the Fremont parade.”). All I can say is, I may be prescient. Watch this space for other clairvoyant limericks.

There once was a guy with a thing
Who just wanted to make a bell ring.
But the sound was all wrong,
The bell, it went “dong,”
And ya know, bells are s’posed to go “ding.”

There’s a fragile and tenuous link
Between chaos and order, I think.
It would be really wicked,
If the garbage men picket,
Causing chaos, disorder, and stink.

Last night, Seattle barely averted a garbage strike. The Seattle Times ran a photo of union organizers after the ratification of the contract. They were gathering up the unused picket signs and getting ready to put them — where else? — in the garbage.

On the very first Thursday in May,
The government says we should pray.
But for those with no creed,
It’s a conflict, indeed,
So instead, let’s just oompah all day.

This year, May 4th is both the National Day of Prayer and National Tuba Day.

A bikini-clad Kiwi named Nelly
Decided to wrestle in jelly
“It’s Easter, I know,
But I just have to go,
If I win, I might be on the telly!”

For more on semi-nude jelly wrestling, see Candy is dandy, under Adventures.

There once was a man named DeLay
Who found, to his shock and dismay,
His aide was indicted,
The Dems were delighted,
And Republicans said, “GO AWAY!”

In his resignation announcement today, Tom DeLay said that “after many weeks of personal prayer,” he had decided to step down from Congress. See the LA Times article, Delay Announces Plan to End Career in Congress.

After I sent this out, Tom Lambert suggested a much better title: Wedding Belles!

Two gals who were feeling quite plucky
Drove north in their lesbian truckie.
But the Mass. judge said no,
And so home they did go,
Now they’re living in sin in Kentucky.

Massachussetts Court Limits Gay Unions - The New York Times, March 31, 2006.

No, it’s really not that hard to rhyme,
And it just takes a whole lot of time.
But the meter’s the thing
To make every piece sing,
And limerick-writers like me consider lousy meter a terrible crime.

I was just categorizing a bunch of limericks, and I noticed that unless I filed one under the parent category of “General,” none of the other categories were displayed. I quickly had to write a limerick that I could file under “General,” so this was the result of 2 minutes of work. For more on anapest meter in limericks, see Confessions of a Limerick Junkie.

“So hit me!” the president cried,
To the dealer who sat by his side.
“It won’t be that hard,
For me to dis-Card,
We’ll dump him for someone untried.”

Bush announces the resignation of his Chief of Staff, Andrew Card.

We dressed head to toe in all green
And joined in the partying scene.
But I cannot abuse
That much Irish booze;
It just sends me to the latrine.

(A description of the surprise party for Charles’ 60th birthday.)

The ape that is called the baboon
Is hairy, and sings out of tune.
He’s not very tall
His legs are quite small,
But his arms, they could reach to the moon.

This one has been submitted to the Omnificient English Dictionary in Limerick Form, the OEDILF.

There once was a guy, Frankenstein
Who insisted his software was fine.
“I’m not really a freak,
Just the neighborhood geek,
And the girls really fall for my line.”
***
Barry’s currently building himself a new computer. Because all our computers have had names beginning with “F,” he’s calling this one “Frankenstein.”

There once was a poet named Joyce,
Who had an effeminate voice.
Since he was a man,
The monniker, “Stan,”
Would have been a more suitable choice.

Joyce Kilmer, who died in 1918, was the author of the famous poem, “Trees.” Some consider his verse inspired, others call it sappy (no pun intended), and still others quote it in the context of … golf ???

The number of miles he would run
Last year was a mere fifty-one.
But now, fifty-two?
That much harder to do –
Old age does not make it more fun.

In honor of my brother-in-law Ed’s birthday. He runs the same number of miles (or is it kilometers? he’ll never tell!) as his age on the day before and then the day of his birthday. The older he gets, the more miles he has to run. Somehow, that seems backwards to me. Life oughta get easier, not harder. Ed has a great website: www.dudewheresyourwalker.com

There once was a team called the ‘hawks
Who said, “The twelfth man really rocks,
Let’s show our home town
That we can get down
And knock off the NFL’s socks.”

The twelfth man refers to Seattle Seahawks fans. They make so much noise at games, it distracts the other team and is like having a 12th man on the field for our team. The Seahawks team is 30 years old, but February 5, 2006 will be their first-ever Superbowl.

It’s raining now in our home town
It’s dreary and people feel down
For twenty-six days
We’ve seen no sun rays
A snorkel’s required, lest we drown
*****
In the winter, in Seattle, it often rains. Not every single day, though! This year is different: As of today, we’ve had 26 days of rain in a row and are closing in on the all-time record, 33 days. Even we think that’s a little excessive.

There once was a girl with a pen
Who wrote a few lines now and then
But at night in her bed
She would cower in dread
From that terrible limerick yen.
—
Refers to the fact that most of my limerick inspiration comes when I can’t sleep, and instead of counting sheep (bah, bah, bah), I count lines of anapestic meter (bah-BAH-bah-bah-BAH-bah-bah-BAH). See Confessions of Limerick Junkie for more on this.

There once was a small black-eyed pea
Who said, “I just wanna be me.”
So a southern gourmet
Cooked him up New Year’s day
And we ate him with gusto and glee.

There once was a guy with a bow
And into the woods he would go
To look far and near
For a nice chubby deer
To put in the freezer, you know!

Read more about Stellrecht adventures in bow hunting here.

A lovely old-timer named Daisy
Said, “This is no time to be lazy!
“My birthday, I think,
“Is a fine time to drink,
“But responsibility, let’s not go crazy.”

So we drove down to rainy Eugene
To check out this partying scene
But the gas left us broke,
So her gift was a joke
Just her face on an old magazine

Still, her friends, they were very impressed
By the way that the picture was dressed
They all said, “Daisy’s not
old, she is HOT!
And her dancing is among the best.”

Yet another birthday limerick, this one in honor of my big sister, Daisy. We drove down to Eugene to attend her party last weekend, and after cocktails and conversation, we danced the night away. Our gift was a copy of AARP’s “Modern Maturity” magazine with a great photo of Daisy on the cover–her face on Susan Sarandon’s body, wearing an outrageous leopard print dress. I was so busy, I forgot to take a picture of it!

I’m staring at my new abode
Which from miles away, I have towed
Because I’m a sailor
This large, boxy trailer
Does not inspire much of an ode
===
I am getting used to the sight of our used 30-foot travel trailer in the driveway, but it’s still very strange to me. Why is the ugliest boat more beautiful than the loveliest RV?

The tuner is sounding erratic
And putting out way too much static
Let’s turn off the stereo
And listen to Dario
Whose piano makes us ecstatic

In honor of my nephew, Dario LaPoma, on his 18th birthday!

There once was a fellow named Hank
Who said, “Let’s be perfectly frank
“This party’s OK
But, please, don’t say ‘birthday’”
“POO POO!” cried the guests, as they drank

In honor of my Dad, who retains a prodigious vocabulary in his later years, but has added a number of phrases like “poo poo” and “toot toot.” Friends and family members find such words charming in such an erudite individual, but wonder what the words actually mean.

Her shape is quite beamy, not narrow
Her mast is as straight as an arrow
With her Cap’n, named Jac
We are glad to be back
Aboard Nereid, now known as Sparrow!

We were glad to meet Jac, face to face
So we signed on as crew for a race
But the gods were unjust
“Around Shaw” was a bust
Of the wind, there was nary a trace

***
Of the 68 boats that started the Around Shaw race, we were among the 63 that did not finish. Still, a bad day racing beats a good day working, any time!

There once was a cruise ship in Hoonah
Whose passengers hated canned tuna
“If we wanted such fare,
“We’d go over there
“And sail with the folks on that schoona’!”

When I read this out loud to the folks on Indigo, it went over like a lead balloon. What, don’t schooner and tuna rhyme?

The truth is, we only ate tuna on Indigo once. And that time, I disguised it so well that Barry later asked me if my tuna salad actually had tuna in it!

Aboard Complexity in Juneau, Alaska:

The crew here is very well fed
We’re feasting on Barb’s homemade bread
And the bear known as Scuppers
Who joins us for suppers
Says this chow surpasses Club Med

A fellow named Scuppers, a Bear
Decided to take Barbara’s dare
So with nothing to grab
He leapt onto a crab
And rode off, looking quite debonair

Here’s a photo of Scuppers, before he disappeared over the horizon:

The crew’s fearing crab deprivation
And suffering mounting frustration
Using cat food for bait
Which the crabs seem to hate
Our skipper can’t catch a crustacean

So I came up with a different plan
Some broccoli and rice in a pan
But then Jim came back in
And was sporting a grin
With a Dungeness crab in each hand

We got the house shiny and clean
It looked just like a magazine
But since fluffing’s the rage
We are living on stage
The illusion is what makes the scene

Our house here was once owned by Rose
Who made certain that when she arose
She only saw PINK
From her fridge to her sink
To her ceiling, walls, carpet, and clothes

We’ve just gotten word that the exterior of the house used to be PINK as well…Wow! What an eyeful that would be!

Our roof was all nasty and brown
And bringing the house value down
But good old Marmot
Fixed up what we’ve got
And gave us the best roof in town

Check out the entry under “Adventures,” with photos of the process!

Nineteen eighty-six, early September
A date that I’ll always remember
A small cat with loud voice
Did not give me a choice
Announced she, “I’m your new family member!”

Although my friends think me a flake
On New Year’s, a swim I do take
And now, I have found
That dear Puget Sound
Is colder, by far, than the lake!

A snowfall out here is a treat,
And the neighbors who live on this street
Saw the man with the beard
And his wife, who is weird
Run around in it, in their bare feet.

Folks in Seattle can see snow-capped mountains year ’round. But actual snow on the ground in Seattle is rare and exciting.

Agnostic folks share a proclivity
For secular Christmas activity.
They’ll party all day,
Not bother to pray,
And prob’ly eschew the Nativity.

This was the first limerick I submitted to the OEDILF. I wasn’t trying to define a word, just write a fun limerick. Now I hang out at the OEDILF site all the time, trying to define words in limerick form.

“What’s this?” cried the daughter-in-law
“Our holiday plan has a flaw!
To cut down this thing
You’re not s’posed to bring
A big old gas-powered chain saw!”

A guy with a nice antique stove
Put it in his truck and then drove
Down to ol’ Greenlake
So that we could partake
Of cider and carols, by jove!

Way up here in Seattle we thought
We would cook Dave’s red beans in a pot
All the chickens are glad
And the cows are not mad
Now we hope our friends come eat a lot!

Read all about Dave’s New Orleans Red Beans tradition.

There once was a fellow in red
“Do you have a computer?” we said
“Let me look in my sack –
Here’s a cute Power Mac
To replace the SE that went dead!”

(With much gratitude to Bill Brown for Meps’ little writing computer. )