It’s that time again, folks. The respite mid-week, wherein I don’t have to struggle between cobbling together a new post or dusting off an old one and pretending that I’ve actually accomplished something by putting it out there again. Instead, I get to sit back and watch as you, dear readers, whip up whimsical literary concoctions based on a random photo. Your mission, should you accept: Compose something in the comments that would help the world understand what is happening in this snap.
For some reason, a limerick format comes to mind. Or perhaps an allegory concerning the disappointments one experiences upon receiving their paycheck. Maybe a pensive reflection on the lies that men tell? I’m just rambling, and I don’t want to inhibit your personal muse. Fly free, wordsmithing wrens. Follow your sun and let’s see where you land. (But a limerick? You’ll get bonus points for that.)
A few inspirational details:
We are at the Hidden Valley Ranch. (Actual name, I have photos to prove it.)
The ranch is on the outskirts of Pecos, New Mexico. (Santa Fe, for a geographical reference, is just down the road a piece. If you don’t know where Santa Fe, or even New Mexico, might be, well, this detail is useless for you. Sorry.)
The ranch was built by an “old money” family, if that term is still used and hasn’t been classified as politically-incorrect in some way.
We were invited to said ranch by a member of said family, for a week of relaxation and a disconnect from the world. (Smart phones don’t work unless you are huddled around the wi-fi hub in the main lodge. Each morning, as we all arrived for breakfast in said lodge, the phones would go off like it was the Fourth of July. The first morning, I screamed in fear and dove under a dining table the size of Houston, until I figured out what was happening. I tried to play it off, but I was busted for the drama queen that I am. As if we needed any verification.)
Said ranch is gorgeous. And huge. And filled with framed photos and memorabilia, making it very clear that life is different when you come from an old-money family. I tried to get adopted by said family, but this did not work out as planned.
Oh, and the guy in the photo is Partner, for those wondering. He was, as he always is, agreeing to participate in my blogging madness despite the sordid ramifications. I think I’ll keep him. Mmm hmm.
Okay, I think that gives you plenty to work with in this matter. (Although I should probably add that “limerick” is on the verge of being replaced with “amusing high-society anecdote involving a misunderstanding about the caviar” as a prize-winning road to follow but, again, find your own path.)
Wait, one more. Lawyer has just advised me that I should make it very clear that drinking was involved, 97% of the time. Of course it was, why should I have to make a point of that? We were on vacation and our phones didn’t work. Duh. I bet he doesn’t get adopted by the family either.
Now, go forth and amaze me.
Cheers.
Categories: Humor
Bonnywood Manor 
Oh, hey Brian, have a seat. Great party last night. Last thing I remember, some Alice chick said she wanted to show me her bunny hole. She handed me a bottle with a tag that said “Drink Me”. Next thing I know, I’m 12-feet-tall and I can’t get a cell signal up here. I hope this stuff wears off by Monday because I don’t think I’ll fit into my desk at the cube farm. But until then…Want to go the White Rabbit for a beer? Luckily, I bought my truck in Texas, so it’s big enough to have its own zip code. Should fit just fine.
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Lovely response, although I must admit that I lost it a bit with “show me her bunny hole”, and I only half-processed the remainder, giggling as I was. Sparkling contribution! (And yes, the trucks are bigger than Rhode Island.)
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Sorry about the “bunny hole” bit. Too OTT? Somehow it seemed just right here…
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Yeah – I got nothing.
I can’t get past the fact that he looks like my friend, Bob. Bob is at least 6’4″ and constantly pointing out things that just don’t fit a guy like him … only he’s never smiling about it.
And after what you just said about cellphone reception, why is he carrying a phone? Bob doesn’t carry a phone. He claims to have one but I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him actually use one.
Yeah, I was right the first time. I’ve got nothing.
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I know a Bob as well. Except his name isn’t Bob. Same situation, though. And I try very hard not to remind him that most of the world is not a Tyrannosaurus Rex like he is so he needs to modulate his expectations.
As for the cellphone, well, that bit of visual evidence DOES contradict my story, but Partner may have had the phone out because, A, we were very near the main lodge where he can get a signal and, B, we were taking photos with our phones. But the most likely answer is C, because he never puts that damn phone down. Unlike Bob.
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Of course! Phones have cameras. Duh, speaking of dinosaurs …
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I’m with Joanne—I got nothing.
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This saddens me greatly. Oh look, I just got over it… 😉
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Meanwhile, Gulliver, having found the Lilliputian bench and pointed it out to them, tried to smile winningly as he backed away slowly in hopes of this time, securing his escape.
There once was a man from Yew
Who had an incredible pew
Not comfy and clean
As you can probably glean:
It was dirty, had short planks
And looked mean.
That’s it. That’s all I got. 😉
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Well, I haven’t read the rest of the comments yet, but at this point you win the prize for tackling TWO different angles with your contribution. This is a glorious thing, and I yearn to know more about what happened to that pew to make it dirty and mean… 😉
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Once upon a time, there lived a bench too small
It was lonely, bereft because it wasn’t tall
The family it lived with was super rich
He knew they could afford to fix the glitch
Plus his cellphone didn’t work, and there was no one he could call
All he wanted was some added height
He tried to grow with all his might
It didn’t work, so he moved inside
The hot New Mexico weather, he couldn’t abide
There he sat in air conditioning night after night
Inside the ranch people said, what a cute little chair
But to sit on him, no one would dare
He got lots of attention, comments and likes
He even met a little poodle named Sykes
And a tabby kitty whose name was Bear
After awhile, Little Bench stopped wanting to grow
At holiday time he sported a big red bow
Bear and Sykes debated which one of them Bench liked more
And being inside Happy Valley Ranch house was never a bore
He decided he liked being squat and low…
Bench liked to watch the vacationers get drunk
There was one in particular who was quite a punk
He was Brian, who always drank too much champagne
He really could be an enormous pain
Bench knew if Brian sat on him, he’d be sunk
All in all Bench has a great life now, and is no longer sad
And he can watch all the residents be rambunctious and bad
To people watch is his favorite hobby
He sits unobtrusive in the inn’s big lobby
For a decorative bench, no better life can be had…
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This is terrific, especially considering my weakly-thin source material. (And the insight on me drinking too much whilst on vacation is uncanny in its precision. Said with tongue firmly in cheek, assuming I can still feel it.) I am greatly moved by your dedication to the craft of crafty rhyming… 😉
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Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it. And i apologize for its unnecessarily long length. When i rhyme, i tend to go on and on and…
You post such great photos around which to build stories. So much fun. I really have to catch up on all of your posts that i’ve missed. I’ve seriously cut back on the amount of time i spend online. If i get caught up in all the bad news, and it’s hard not to these days, i brings on my anxiety.
And PS, my husband knows i like to write in rhyme sometimes, but he’s grateful i don’t speak in it, though i probably could sometimes. 🙂
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Curses Lynette D’Arty Cross for grabbing up Gulliver and running with him. He was MY IDEA! 😛
There once was a fella named Gulliver
Who traveled the ocean in search of palaver
His ship came a cropper
Gulliver who was quite a whopper
Ended up on a beach, almost squashing some tiny named Tolliver
The gigantic fellow stepped carefully
And utter words most prayerfully
That homicide he would avoid
And that his phone, an Android,
Would find bars in manner most purposefully.
Gulliver stumbled and fell to the sand
He clutched a wee man in his hand
Which was more startled
The wee man or the giant, disgruntled
Remains unknown as the fall was unplanned.
The citizens of that vast place
Having money, beauty and grace
Offered a parting gift
To heal the implied rift
In the form of a little wee bench in showcase.
Gulliver, whose Ma raised herself no fools
And taught of the great worth of jewels
Accepted the gift
Through avarice and thrift
And a prudent wish not to appear cruel.
The wee folk of the land of Lilliputia (?)
Were fond of trivia and minutia
They had a slick plan
Which they honed to a man
Trussed and bound inside a petunia.
The seed sent so far afield
Was meant no malice to yield
Still the virus was borne
Far from the shores of its home
And sooner than later revealed.
The petunia, whose color was orange
Carried something born from a syringe
It was known as feckless
and those “Puties” , while not reckless
Enjoyed more than their fair share of porridge.
The virus was named ‘common senseless”
and what does it have to do with being defenseless
Remains to be seen
The whirlwind we’ll glean
When it reaches maturity, although we’re offenseless.
The one percenters own benches of less stature
It’s just in the beast’s inherent nature
To own the odd and exotic
And to drink lots of pro-biotic
While making sure to write wills with lots of nomenclature.
Brian and his good man
Of adventure a fan
Brought us something to ponder
and in wide eyed wonder
Digest and remark, without undue sark, – this epic isn’t a great deal longer.
MBC (c) 8-8-19
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Please tell me you have this safely stored in your archives and backed up at least twice on other devices. This is a stunning piece of whimsical (and rhyming!) flash poetry. And you even worked in some delicious social and political references. I am giddy with delight. Or maybe that’s just the result of being in the thinner air of the mountains of New Mexico. These things happen… 😉
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Meh, all i got is:
You know how they say don’t put certain things in the dryer because they will shrink – well, someone didn’t listen!
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Thank you, for both the clever contribution and the reminder that I must, at some point, tell the story of my wretched sister stealing my sweaters during our high school years and purposely throwing them in the dryer so they would now fit her and not me. It was a dark time in our sibling rivalry…. 😉
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That is a bit below the belt (or in your case, probably a bit above the belt if you tried to wear the sweater).
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Park It.
If it’s rest you seek
Mosey down to the creek,
There’s a bench, a little petite
Where you can rest your seat-
Well, perhaps half a cheek.
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I am dewy-eyed with appreciation for all of the folks who took the rhyming route and did so with precision, such as this piece. I need a moment to myself to process this generosity… 😉
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There once was a fledgling Magician,
Who beamed with a burning ambition,
He toiled day and night,
To get the trick right,
Shrunk a bench for his maiden audition.
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Actually, this entry makes perfect sense and fits quite nicely with the panorama, although Partner, by no means, is a maiden… 😉
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There once was a giant named Terry,
Who lived in a land called cork a’ derry,
He offered his guests a well-made seat,
And filled them with food and scotch, served neat,
Alas, if only the poor fools were more wary.
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Oh, I like this. Just between you and me, Partner has a bit of wickedness about him, and this limerick captures such with precision. More importantly? The “land called cork a’derry” phrase had me in stitches. Not sure why… 😉
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