Fourth grade poems, some more

It's been awhile since the last selection from my fourth grade book of Poems for Everything. Fear not, the wait is over! Here we have:

A Special Birthday

Wonderful state
Is 142 years old
State no. 30
Called the Badger State
On Wisconsin is our song
Nicolet was the first Frenchman
Super land
Inland lakes
Nothing can compare

I'm not really sure what was so special about the 142nd birthday of Wisconsin. But hey. Inland lakes! Can you feel the excitement? "Super land" was a total copout, though. I couldn't think of anything more state-specific that started with S? What about, for example, "sweet-ass crancheddar"? I should write another one of these.

Goin' to the chapel

Not me. Well, I mean, I did, for my friend's wedding on Saturday. It was a lovely ceremony and reception. (With a trolley ride in the middle!) Allison and I have known each other since first grade, and I brought our friend Heidi as my "date" - we were all in the same first grade class. We were also in the same fifth grade class, and our fifth grade teacher came to the wedding, too. It was like an elementary school reunion.

Highlights included Allison's radiant beauty, individual wedding cakes (our table got the best one, I think), the Austrian figure skating champ cutting a rug on the dance floor, and Allison's little white-haired grandma getting down to songs by Justin Timberlake, Gwen Stefani, and Usher. When all of the girls our age were on the floor dancing to our request of "You Got It (The Right Stuff)" by New Kids on the Block - including Allison performing vintage moves from the video in her lovely wedding dress - it seemed that we had truly come full circle.

I also picked up two gorgeous old wooden accent tables at an estate sale on Friday. It was a home where a sisterhood of nuns used to live, and there were rooms and rooms of fantastic furniture. My tables aren't in perfect condition or anything, but I don't care. They are old and pretty.

pow-pow-power wheels

pow-pow-power wheels
pow-pow-power wheels
pow-pow-power wheels



POWER WHEELS!

***

Who here is the right age to remember actually riding on Power Wheels? They were slightly after my time, but I was still young enough to use the ones that belonged to younger brothers and sisters of friends. Just not really in the target range. My neighborhood friend Jeff had one - Jeff was three years younger than me - and my friend Sarah and I used to get in trouble for driving Jeff's Power Wheel because his mom thought we were too old and would break it. We didn't, though.

POWER WHEELS!



I still have a scar on my right arm that Jeff gave to me. It was not Power Wheels related.

Scruised

I scruised my arm today. That's a combination of scratched and bruised. I almost went for "bratched", but I appreciate the auditory similarity of "scruised" to "screwed". Anyway, I was in the middle of a "shut the freezer door and whirl around at the same time" motion, and caught my upper arm on the top of the refrigerator door handle. If you're wondering how I injured my upper arm on a refrigerator door handle, the answer is: I'm short.

Here is the second poem from 1990's Poems for Everything, the stunning poetry debut by yours truly.

I Am The Sun

I am the sun sun sun
I stay in the sky sky sky
I give light light light
To the earth earth earth
That's how I like it like it like it

Yikes. It's even better with the visual representation though (I don't have a scanner, but do have a digital camera in my laptop - so you get the added bonus of me holding up the poem and staring creepily from behind it):



Someday I want to visit that curly continent below Africa. After I visit the land bridge from Africa to Canada, of course.

Mid-June

How did it get to be the middle of June already? I think I say that every year. But damn.

Anyway, awesome weekend. Great weather, fun, etc. I've come to the conclusion that staying in the same place all the time would slowly drive me nuts. Going somewhere for the weekend, or just a couple of days here and there ... whether it's Chicago, Ktown, somewhere more scenic ... it's something I love to do. I almost feel like it's something I need to do. This week I'll be in the Twin Cities on business, and that makes me happy, too. Changes of scenery, different people. If all of my friends and family lived in one city, I wonder what I would do. Well, that'll never happen.

I'd like to share with you a lovely poem from a fourth grade poetry collection of mine unearthed recently. The volume is entitled "Poems for Everything" and even has a table of contents. It's also illustrated, which means that really, I should have scanned the pages. But here is the first poem:

WHAT IS PURPLE?

Purple is the color of grapes on a vine
Purple is kings and queens looking divine

Purple is shirts, pants, socks and shoes
Purple is violets in morning dews.

Purple is the color of leaves on a hike
Purple is glue that teachers don't like

Purple's the color I like most of all
Purple's the color that never will fall.

I think rhyming "vine" with "divine" is kind of cheating. And where the hell was I hiking?

1-900 New Kids on the Block

Oh my God. How did they sleep at night?

It Has Finnaly Happened

Oh lord. This is so embarrassing, but Anya and I just spent too long laughing helplessly at it for me not to post. From ye olde diary, age 11:

Wednesday, May 1, 1991
It has finnaly happened. What, you ask? I don't like New Kids On The Block anymore. And it's their fault. It has been way too long since they've come out with anything new! Oh, they put out No More Games, sure. Big Deal. So they re-mixed a bunch of old songs. The "Magic" of thinking about them just isn't there anymore. Now my infatuation has turned to Gerardo. He is a babe. I have his first album, and I tape or stay up for every Friday Night Videos in hope that he will be on. Guess what time it is? 10:00 a.m.! I have a cold, and Mom let me stay home alone! I'm waiting for The Price is Right to come on. We won our first battle for battle of the books. That means two things - One: I will be busy two Saturdays in a row. The coming one is Young Authors conferance, and next one is the meet. Two: I'm gonna be on T.V.! The final meet is televised. And if we win ... Mrs. Johnson will take us out to lunch!!

Bye!

I can't really convey the glory of that "bye" online ... it was written in bubble letters, and each bubble letter (and the exclamation point) contained a different pattern. Besides the stellar musical taste, I apparently had an innovative system of capitalization.

Let's go back ... in time ... 1991

On Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, I'm invited to a rather unusual get-together. Allison (who got back from China about a month ago, if I never mentioned that) and I are spending the evening at Carla's house. Carla ... as in, our old 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Johnson. The two of us always had a kind of unique relationship with her - I think we all had similar senses of humor, for one thing. Allison and I were a unique tag team of intelligent [geeks] kids who were eager to learn and do homework, but were also highly sarcastic and liked to bend the rules. Carla's class was awesome for us. I remember kidnapping the counselor's teddy bear and holding him for ransom (that was a class project), Allison and I rearranging the school's Battle of the Books schedule so we could attend the meetings, sitting inside with Carla and discussing an espionage class she was taking, writing "sideways stories" about our principal [loved to tango] and librarian [played accordion at the Polka Pub] that Carla insisted we share with them and then gigglingly admitted afterward that she hadn't been sure if they'd be offended, writing our series The Penpals during class while everyone looked at a map of the world and helped us decide where they should go on their Central American cruise ... anyway. Great class.

Allison and I had lunch with Carla a few years ago in D.C. when both Carla and I happened to be in town, but Friday's shindig will also include Allison's visiting boyfriend from Germany, two of Carla's children and their families, Carla's boyfriend, plus our old elementary school counselor - owner of the bear we kidnapped. I'm sure it will be fun, but it will also be strange, at least at first. I think maybe I'll bring along a few volumes of The Penpals so Carla can for the first time truly appreciate the saga she helped facilitate.

The great Glinski story

Okay, it's time to share my Mr. Glinski story. As I mentioned a few days ago, Mr. Glinski was the student teacher for my sixth grade class. I would have to say that, if you're a young student teacher, sixth grade is probably not the most enjoyable place to student teach. We didn't exactly see him as an equal ... but we also didn't see him as a teacher. I remember my group of girlfriends doing things like "getting mad" at Mr. Glinski and refusing to speak to him for a couple of days and ignoring him at recess. Seriously. Or deciding he wasn't being fair, and keeping a spreadsheet of who he called on during class. I can't remember the other things we might have done, but his first teaching job after college was in kindergarten. Ha.

Despite those happenings, we really were pretty fond of Mr. Glinski. He was a nice guy. He liked to make jokes (maybe that was part of the problem) and he always signed papers and things with his signature smiley face.

On the last day of sixth grade, Allison, Melissa, Kim and I decided we'd leave for school early, stop at Burger King (I think it was Burger King) and bring breakfast to school for our regular teacher, Mrs. Thompson, as well as Mr. Glinski. Both of them were surprised and pleased, and I didn't think any more about it until a couple of weeks after school let out, when I received a thank-you card in the mail from Mr. Glinski.

It was a nice little card - I can't remember what was on the front, but the message inside will live in infamy for years and years to come. Poor Mr. Glinski was just trying to be polite ... one can only assume ... and I think he meant to write "I just wanted to thank you for the breakfast treat on the last day of school." But that's not what he wrote. No, the message in my card said the following:

I just wanted you for the breakfast treat on the last day of school.

-Mr. Glinski

[signature smiley face]

I really wish I could have shown it to him in person and asked what, exactly, he meant to suggest. Oh man. I really need to find it and scan it - I know I saved it - because the little smiley face at the end just brings it all together.

Stay as cool as you are now!

I just unearthed my elementary school and junior high yearbooks, and they have proven to be a treasure trove of amusement. I have an autograph from Heidi in kindergarten (she is officially my oldest "active" friend) but it's not in my kindergarten yearbook - it's on a sheet of manilla paper somewhere else. The autographs really don't get interesting until second grade. That was the year everybody exchanged phone numbers. Also, for whatever reason, every single year starting in second grade we had our teacher's autograph ... and the autographs of all the lunch ladies. Mmmkay.

My third grade yearbook has a page at the back entitled "My Year." Under accomplishments I listed "Leaned to Divid Fractions." Ummm, too bad I didn't also lean to spell.

It's also fun to follow the autographs of certain people through the years. My elementary school best friend, Allison, signed only her name in the corner that year. Most of the 3rd grade autographs had a certain grammatically incorrect charm. "Your cool!" "Hope your in my class next year." "Your a great person." Nick C. went for the simple pithiness of "Whoa!!"

Fourth grade was more of the same, with subtle differences. Bryan drew me a "marshoon alien." Mandy wished me a "Funcky funcky summer." Some shades of personalization and inside jokery began to emerge - Lissy called me "Bree Bree Gun," and Allison's autograph read "Ally Cat - Hypadeemicnerdle." (I could explain that, but ... nah.) Most amusingly, in the memories section I wrote two memories: "When Rachael barfed on Bryan's spelling test" and "When we went to the Domes and had a cool bus driver who let us turn on the radio." Man, fourth grade was a great year!

By fifth grade, we had come into our own. The inside cover proclaims the yearbook my property, with proof sheet photos of Allison and myself labelled "Al Bundi" and "Bree-Bree Gun, or occasionally Hip Cat." Tragically, I have a "Your a great young artist" autograph on the second page ... from the art teacher. Candy wished me a "nice fun wacky summer." I can't remember if it delivered. I was also wished a great summer, a cool rad & fun summer, and a wild summer. Katie wished me "the coolest summer EVER!" though, so I think she won. Nathan signed off as "Mr. Handwriting," and Allison had a longer, rather dramatic autograph:

Bree,
Friends 4-ever.
The fights, the fun,
The fear, the hope.
The tears, the laughs.
Does it get any better?
(1841-1843) (Hip Cat)
Allison

Yeah, a bit melodramatic for 11-year-olds. Still, a couple of things must be noted - that year we'd shattered the school record for longest fight between two people (we were enemies for three months, while the whole fifth grade and various teachers avidly followed our fight's progress) and also ... we're still friends, fourteen years later. The memories section of the yearbook lists: "Ally and I's fight, our reunion (courtesy of Amy), Mrs. Johnson (2cool 2be 4gotten), kidnapping B.G. (Big Gal), and great times! (And whipping Mr. Somers in kickball.)"

Last but not least, 6th grade. In the back are the longest autographs thus far from friends - we actually have something to say now; imagine that. Ryan drew me a small and complex killer robot. The funniest autographs are from the student teacher, Mr. Glinski, and a girl named Shonda. Mr. Glinski subtitled his autograph "the crossing guard" and drew his signature smiley face. I can't quite remember why the "crossing guard" thing was funny ... but trust me, it was. The smiley face also reminds me of the most hilarious Glinski story ever, but I'll save that for another time. Shonda, with comical innocence, wrote the following:

Shonda
2 Lovers
2 gather
_________
4 ever

(652-****)
call me.

Ha! Shonda had older sisters, and I'm sure just she thought she was being cool, but that equation, combined with the phone number and "call me" ... oh man. I'm still giggling. Junior high autographs (in which I'm instructed to have "a lot of unsafe sex," and the science teacher sweats on my yearbook!) coming soon.

Old summer(ish) diary selections

Heidi, this first one's for you...

Tuesday, May 19th, 1987 [dictated to my mother]
Last week was my friend Nicole's birthday party. She was 7 years old. When I got there there were some other kids. Their names were: Nicole's sister Bridget and a couple of her cousins, Melissa, Megan, Shannon, Heidi, Angela, Amanda, and another Nicole. Today at school I was playing something with Heidi Ervin. We were playing a game we call Toss the Wrapper. We played it on one of the chutes that has 4 little holes. You were supposed to toss the ball and see which hole it would come out, but we took a wrinkled up Fruit Wrinkles wrapper and tossed it in. We picked 2 holes, and if it came out the other 2 we would see who gets it first and that person would get to throw it. Until the wrapper got stuck. Then we played with a rock doing the same thing until Heidi got hit on the head with the rock - then we quit.

Wednesday, August 2, 1989 [written by me]
Yesterday was the best night of my life. I think. Anyway last night I went to a Brewers game. The Brewers won! 4-2. I ate a bratwurst and malt cup. On the way to the game dad's car failed 7 times! When the game was over we walked over to a man who's tag said Hank. He gave Andrea a lineup! I was just feeling jealous when he said then you can have this. He handed me the baseball Robin Yount had hit to the dugout! What a night!

Heehee. It doesn't take an incredible amount to make a 9-year-old happy. I wonder where that baseball is now.

Kristy and the Mother's Day Surprise

That's the title of the Baby-Sitters Club book I just finished rereading. It came from my parents' Basement o' Wonders in Kenosha - I rescued a bunch of old Baby-Sitters Club books a couple of months ago, and have been reading them whenever I need a break from reading things that require more brain power. I used to love those books, and I remember waiting impatiently for the new volumes to come out around the middle of every month. I'd forgotten just how long ago that was, though, until I looked at the back of one book and saw the upcoming books listed, along with their release dates. June '89, July '89, August '89. I was freaking nine years old. It's kind of amazing that something that held my interest at the age of nine (and probably 8, judging from how far along that was in the series) can also amuse me at the age of 25. Well, amazing or sad. You make the call.

This also means that if the series had followed any sort of linear time (instead of existing in the land where everyone is perpetually in 8th grade) they would be ... let's see. They were in 8th grade by 1987, and therefore already living a lie by 1989. They should be 30. Here's what I think is going on in their lives:

Claudia: flunked out of college, living in a crappy little apartment in New York City selling her artwork on the street
Stacey: has some sort of math degree. Works at a university in a big city, lives with rich boyfriend.
Jessi: married, lives in suburbia, successful and happy
Mallory: became a single mom at a young age. Experimented with drugs in an attempt to fit in.
Dawn: living in California. Teaches yoga.
Mary Anne: married, has 7 cats, no kids
Kristy: totally a lesbian