Grandpa Pumpkin

When Andrew decorates his pumpkin,
Sometime in the Fall,
I have my own opinions, but don’t say a thing at all.

I asked him for his theme –
I knew he’d have some scheme –
And really, I don’t mind at all
Lest he choose something obscene.

“I’ve used those foamy stickers,
and once I made a clown.
But, this year I think I’ll choose instead,
To make my pumpkin Grandpa’s head.”

This was not what I’d expect,
And knew he meant no disrespect.
I knew without inquiring
This is a child’s mere admiring.
And really, I don’t mind at all,
Though I think you’ll owe my Dad a call.

He started with the eyes – all blue and brown and green.
“You know that Grampa’s eyes,” he said, “are the coolest ever seen.”
He put in a button nose and a big red, wide smile,
The kind that stretches ear to ear - nearly a full mile.
If he asked, I would have said, “That smile’s way too tall,”
Anyway, he’s just a kid, it won’t be Grandpa’s head at all.

So quick and sudden I heard him shout.
“The ears must surely stick straight out!”
I’ll need some tape and scissors quick,
I need to make them really stick.”
He was having such a ball.
Grandpa wouldn’t mind at all.

He left the pumpkin nearly bare,
Except a crown of straight black hair.
Grandpa’s likeness made with such care,
I found it hard to stop my stare.
But when Andrew ran off into the hall,
What came next, I couldn’t guess at all.

“Andrew, where are you? I think its done.
Why did you go off in a run?”

“Mom, we can’t leave Grandpa just like that!
He can borrow my favorite hat.”

Its Grandpa for sure – no other guy.
But when I look him in the eye.
This pumpkin will last, and I know why.
I can’t make Dad into pumpkin pie.

The Engineers and their Red Coats

This poem was written on behalf of the Northeast Ohio MIT Club. Since you may not be an MIT alumnus reading this poem, please be aware that "Red Coats" are the folks who have celebrated the 50th anniversary of their graduation from MIT. Of course, MIT degrees are always spoken of by course number, thus the Civil Engineering being "one", and Mech E being "two".

And, finally, I extend due apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I'm taking it for granted that Paul Revere was a Massachusetts native and wouldn't mind loaning his namesake poem out for the intended purposes.


Listen my friends and you shall hear,
Of the tireless drive of The Engineers.
William Barton Rodgers in 1861.
Would ne’er believe today what he had begun.
An Institute of Technology now 150 years.

Industrial revolution to nanotechnology,
MIT graduates lead the way.
Through challenges of greater complexity,
Solutions of simplicity rule the day.
We take pride in our casual, confident, grace,
And may collaborate with those who dissent –
A straight path is rare to that hallowed place,
Where open minds create and invent.

The numerical language we all understand,
Helps us communicate as we spread ‘cross the land.
Much like lights in a belfry or a secret shake of the hand.
One if a Civil, two if Mech E,
And the tireless engineers, relentless will be,
Ready to motivate and spread the intent,
The mission we’ve carried wherever we went,
To help the community – and our kids – to invent,
New thinking and learning – ethical fun,
The kind you can’t stop, once it’s begun.

We thank the ‘Red Coats’, in a poem, if we must,
You have all led the way in your sphere.
The Club needs your talents, we ask for your trust,
As we move forward in our MIT Club year.
You have nurtured the Club through decades past,
And built a solid foundation designed to last.
We must leverage our strengths before the die is cast,
Leaving our nation behind the times.
We will grow and attract the very best minds.

If the “Red Coats are Coming!” you happen to hear,
You needn’t shoulder your muskets and stand,
Ready to fight and defend once again this beloved American land.
Instead slow down, take a moment to pause, lend a careful and listening ear.
If we climb our foundation, re-inventing no wheels,
And learn to open our minds without fear,
Without hesitation, our next generation, on the shoulders of giants will stand.

“The Red Coats are Coming!” I laugh with a smile,
Knowing together we’ll go that one extra mile.
Please stay in touch – that’s what we’re here for,
That, and to pursue just one idea more,
Because those tireless engineers are not old-fashioned lore.

Spontaneous Tradition

We have this “spontaneous tradition,”
(To speak of it smacks of sedition)
We take some unplanned day,
Throw most rules away,
And out comes this year’s rendition.

The first year we biked 15 miles,
That’s one lap around Kelley’s Isle.
We were relaxed this time,
A mile per granddad’s chime,
But we didn’t cut corners on smiles.


Kids love climbing on those big rocks,
Down by those rough hewn old docks,
They found a very big snake
That wrangled back to the lake.
I prefer animals with legs that can walk!

We stopped by for some great ice cream and –
Some time in the surf and the sand.
I had better not gloat,
But we always make that last boat,
Back home to Ohio’s main land.

And, of course, it is a good thing that I didn't have to drive across that water because those three ounces of gasoline would not have been enough to make it.

Phew.

Bouncing Back

Gladys had not been feeling too keen,
after bouncing on her small trampoline.
But now we all give a sigh, she bounces 30 feet high.
Just please Lord take care of that spleen.

Don't you wish that you knew what you know.
Back then - those "short" years ago.
Kids don't miss one beat, they jump back on both feet,
like watching Larry, Curly, and Moe!

I seem to have gotten off track,
you'd think I had some stroke or attack.
When I can't help but be terse,
I find relief in some verse.
Perhaps it will help me bounce back.

Deferred Pain (Now THATS a bellyache)

“It only takes a second.”

“No home is ever completely safe.”

Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. We all worry about it a little, but you can’t hover over your children. And, the truth is, it wouldn’t really matter. Some things are just going to happen anyway.

“Mom, I jumped too high on the trampoline and now I have a belly ache.”

Gladys came upstairs on Monday morning around 9am. She had been in the basement with a friend.

“Okay, Sweetie. You okay now?”

“My belly still aches.”

“Let’s take a look. Yeah, I see a little reddish mark actually. Did you bump into the bar?”

“Yeah. I jumped tooooo high.”

“It looks okay, Honey,” I replied, kissing it, “Just lay down for a few minutes if its bothering you.”

She went to rest on the couch, and I went to check on the other kids. They were fine. Gladys continued to hang out on the couch. A little while later, she was in the bathroom throwing up.

“You okay, Honey? Let me get you some water. You really do have a belly ache, huh?”

“Yeah, my belly still hurts a bit.”

I called the mom of the other kids. Gladys must have a stomach bug, I thought. We were all sick – even my husband was upstairs in bed. I expected Andrew’s elementary school to call any moment, surely he would be sick as well. We turned on a video and spent the better part of the day on the couch, watching and reading. After noon, Gladys complained of intense pain in her shoulders and neck. I called the Cleveland Clinic, and mentioned the throwing up, the bellyache, and the strange pain in her neck. I may have said that she was on the trampoline earlier, I can’t remember now. Anyway, her belly didn’t hurt so much anymore. She had barely a fever and intense pain in her neck and shoulders. Gladys asked for juice, so I ran to the store (my husband was home) to buy her very favorite.

Around 5:30pm, Gladys became very hungry. She wanted the spaghetti and meatballs I had planned. I assumed she was through the worst, considering the good appetite, and began cooking. As the meatballs simmered in the pan, Gladys screamed.

She screamed. She thrashed. She gyrated herself off the couch.

My husband and I ran to her like the house was on fire. I had scooped her off the floor, but handed her off when he came running into the room. She wanted more ice for her shoulders – RIGHT NOW. I scrambled for ice as I dialed the Cleveland Clinic.

“Is that her in the background?”

“Yes. She has intense pain in her shoulders and neck. She isn’t a dramatic child. She is clearly in a lot of pain.”

“I see. Does she have a fever? Vomiting?”

They asked all the questions and I answered them. Gladys had calmed down, but she needed me to carry her to the bathroom. I carried her out to the van and we drove to the ER.

I carried her into the hospital, but by the time we were taken to our little room, she seemed cheerful again. We used the restroom, twice. She kept climbing up and down off the bed, investigating all the handles and buttons and St. Patrick’s Day decorations. She enjoyed the Popsicle, Gatorade, and goldfish: no fever, no serious complaints.
But, she told them the same story.

“I jumped toooo high on my trampoline and got a bellyache.”

Her urine had a high sugar count. Her blood showed elevated sugar and high white blood cell count. They couldn’t find anything wrong. Finally, they considered appendicitis. The doctor tapped on her back: nothing. She put her chin to her knees: fine. She raised her legs: no problem. Finally the doctor asked her to get off the bed and jump as high as she could.

She claimed it didn’t hurt so badly, but the look on her face won her a CAT scan.

By 2am, we were in an ambulance on our way to Metro Health Trauma with a Level 3 ruptured spleen. That is NOT a bellyache. That is internal bleeding. Even the sack around the spleen was broken. She had been bleeding into her abdomen all day. The pain in her neck and shoulders was “deferred pain” caused by her bleeding spleen.

Holy Cow.

Our entrance into Metro Health reminded me of those scenes on T.V. The doors opened automatically and the well-rehearsed transport team wheeled her swiftly into a very brightly-lit room filled with doctors who sprang into action.

They were soooo nice. They knew her story. They asked all the expected questions. They also asked if she had siblings and how she hurt her belly. They answered her questions about the ‘rainbow colored drawers.’ I held her hand, and for the very first time she shed a few quick tears.

By 4:30am we were settled into the Pediatric Intensive Care. They monitored everything. They answered my various “and then what would happen” questions that mothers are likely to ask. I fell asleep on the pull-out couch in disbelief.

The next few days were all about recovery. You could tell she was in pain, but she didn’t complain much. The nurses told me that the typical spleen ruptures were high school football players, who usually screamed in pain every hour and a half or so. Gladys required medication about every six hours. I was impressed, yes, but tried to convince her to ask for more pain medication. I could tell by her heart rate she could not be comfortable.

And, that is exactly how I could tell when she finally turned a corner too. One afternoon, we were both asleep when her heart monitor alarm rang. I assumed she had rolled over onto a cord, as she had before, but when I looked at the monitor I could see her heart rate steadily decreasing. Where it had been in the 130s/140s, I saw it decrease from 90 . . . 89 . . . 88 . . . 87.

I sprang off the couch.

“Gladys? Gladys, Honey? You okay?” I tried to sound real calm and sweet.

She rolled over and looked at me. “Yeah, Mommy.”

87 . . . 93 . . .95 . . . 94 . . .94 . . . 94 . . . 94

“Okay, Sweetie, get some rest.”

Her ‘deferred pain’ had finally subsided.

Now the only ‘deferred pain’ is mine – every time I see her jump.

As for the trampoline, we left it on the curb. No one asked why.

There once was a girl who got older.

There once was a girl who got older,
(She certainly couldn't get bolder.)
You might think all your shine,
Fades past twenty-nine,
Not true - but you couldn't have told her.

There once was a girl with a great shoe passion,
She says “Goodwill” wouldn’t accept my foot fashion.
No, I didn’t invite my sister,
But s’pose I would’ve missed her.
She fixed that with some party crashin’.

“Are we There Yet?” led this conspir’cy,
Watch out – she’s clever, gorgeous and (ha!) shifty,
I send thanks my dear Friend,
We must do this (in Vegas?) again,
No rest ‘til we’re flirty and fifty!

There once was a girl wanting no fuss.

Traded her red sports car for a nice micro bus.

But - Oh my! What do ya know - a !

She dances fine with a pink feather boa!

Society will never forgive us.

Thanks for the boa Indy - watch out when you finally turn 40!!!

Mommy has Milestones too - a look back in time

With my birthday fast approaching, I probably ought to wax poetic. The truth is, it just isn't working. How important is a birthday anyway? Do you remember yours? Let's see . . .

For my childhood years, we always had simple at-home parties. My parents would take me out for crab, which was my favorite food. Often, we would lump my brother and my birthday together and go somewhere especially awesome for dinner (like a dinner theatre, for example).

At 15 years old, I had a bunch of my girlfriends over for my party. My brother had a few of his friends over too. (Were my parents crazy? He is three years older than I am). Anyway, being the dangerous type of high school freshman girls, we challenged them to Trivial Pursuit. Yeah, the girls won. Girls rule. Boys drool.

At 16 years old, I was completely snowed in by myself - parents made it to work, but school was out for the day. My high school BFF (who just sent me a card - smile) arranged for a clown to show up at my door. The clown was wearing a heavy overcoat on top of her costume and the helium baloons drooped down to her waist in the cold air. I spent the day writing a paper for school. (My BFF was the lynchpin for the Entertainment category in Trivial Pursuit, by the way).

At 18 years old, I recall standing on the sidewalk in Georgetown (suburb of D.C.) in the snow eating ice cream. Why was that a good idea?

At 19 years old, there was a blackout in Cambridge. Some seniors rewired their stereo through the emergency exit and we had cake and the party by flashlight. When the lights remained off, we decided to all go over to Boston together. MIT disappeared as we walked across the Harvard bridge (which was a pretty amazing gift to this not-so-brilliant freshman chickie).

At 20 years old, I was in the hospital recovering after having a very prolonged high fever. My hospital roommate had been admitted for depression. My dad and sister showed up, washed me like a car wash and asked one my friends to invite more friends to come to the hospital room. They brought in a cake and take-out Chinese food, and made the room feel as crowded as a Tokyo subway. My depressed roommate had such a good time, she was released the next day having been cured of her sadness.

At 21 years old, I was taken "bowling" in Harvard Square. Enough said.

At 22 years old, I went out to dinner in Boston and Julia Child sat a few tables away.

At 23 years old, I moved to Japan a few days before my birthday with three empty holes in my mouth where my wisdom teeth had been the day before I left the U.S. Undaunted, I walked around my new office asking strangers to go to dinner with my on my birthday. Not surprisingly, I ended up with a very rowdy group of young Australian men who revelled in the strange request - and knew the underbelly of Hiroshima far too well. I must have paid that cab driver who took me home. I probably paid him 10,000 yen, who knows?

At 25 years old, Setsumi threw a huge party for me in Hiroshima. She rented out a whole bar, arranged for food, and invited 50+ of the people who in two short years had become family. THAT was a fabulous birthday.

At 26 years old, two days before my boyfriend became my fiance, I told him I wanted to go ice skating on my birthday. We went to the ice rink in Hiroshima, where I met a woman from the Hiroshima Collectors ice hockey team who convinced me to join their league. What a blast.

At 30 years old, I was interrupted from studing for a finance exam for my MBA to attend a surprise lunch held for me by the wives and girlfriends of my husband's friends. I didn't have much time to make friends those years in Michigan.

For most of my thirties, I have made my own cake which my children decorate. I'm guessing that after awhile it will look less like a pile of frosting, M&Ms, and sprinkles and more like a cake. Or, maybe they'll make it like that even when they are in their 20's because they know I can see the love in it. I also made it a point to sneak away with girlfriends after the children were tucked in, and my hubby and I have gone out as well (all fabulous).

At 39 years old, my girlfriend gave me my birthday party.

At 40 years old, well, I'll make the most of this one too.

I am told it’s my 40th year,
And perhaps there is something to fear,
But I haven’t the time,
To waste on the sublime,
Instead join me for some birthday cheer.

For entertainment, I’ll give you this clue,
A great band will be playing for you.
We’ll dance and we’ll twist,
You get the gist,
With luck our husbands will join us too.

Please leave your gifts at the store,
I am too old to accept any more.
I drank your bottle of wine
When I turned thirty-nine,
This time please just walk through the door.

This is the big 4 – 0h,
You have no choice but to get up and go.
Without you, my dear friend,
I might not dance to the end,
And pretend that it just ain’t so.