Christmas in Beautyland

I could just make out the bottom of the blue jeans and boots
from deep inside the tree.
"Um, Carol, how many lights do you put on?"
It looked like she already had 20,000 stuffed in that
Christmas tree and she was only half way up!
"Oh, this one will only have three thousand,
the one in the living room will have more."
I had to stop and think.
How many lights did I toss on our tree at
home every year? I'm so lazy,
that when they invented the tree net in a
four by size foot size, I was thrilled.
Toss that on and you have 150 lights in
less than five minutes. I remember the box said
150 and I thought THAT was a lot.
My birthday was a week away so she was
getting this tree up November 4th or so...
"Do you need any help Carol?"
A voice deep inside the tree responded,
"Oh no Girly-Girl, I have a method.
When you come home next week,
all three trees will be done."
I stopped chewing my salad at that
and pondered if I knew ANYONE that put up
more than one tree. I have some pals
in Kookmore that are fairly Christmas crazy.
"That's nice Carol!" I yelled towards
the boots with the hope she could hear
me from deep inside the tree.

How many trees do you put up?

I Wished For Cake

A second grader asked me Wednesday if
I had a nice birthday Monday.
I asked her how she knew
and she said it was in the morning announcements.
I said, "Yes, I had a few hot fudge sundaes at restaurants
but I was craving a bite of cake."
I went to my teaching station and
as I was in the front of the room
teaching the lesson at the screen,
the cook, Angie, walked through the library
with a little red and white paper school dish thingy.
She waved it in the air and all I could think
was that it was odd she'd bring me French fries
since that is the only thing I've seen served in those.
I saw George, the custodian, making fresh coffee in my office
and when the kids left I made a beeline
for a cup of fresh, hot coffee and
looked over, and there was pumpkin cake.

Where Do I Live Again?!

I walked briskly to the corner of the the road,
looked around, and felt lost.
"Where do I live again?!" I thought to myself.
No blue trees, asteroid rock or Starbucks across the street.
When I had driven to Beautyland
that morning at seven AM to my crashpad,
it was pitch black out and I could barely find it.
When my new roommate let me in all I could think was,
"Martha Stewart DOES live here!"
I tried not to gape at the cathedral ceilings
and wall to wall antiques.
She was leaving for work and waved her hands around
in the air and said, "The kitchen's there
and dining room and I'll show you your room."
I kicked off my shoes and sank into the rug
and followed her up the quarter mile long staircase
thinking, "Oh yeah, I could get used to this..."
My room was on the front of the house
and she handed me a key and said,
"Make yourself at home girly-girl,
I'll see you at work."
So I did and couldn't help but compare
Beauty house to other crashpads I'd had.
The funky crashpad my buddybidder
Theresa and I had had in Greeley in 1989
or the pretty pantyhose jungle crashpad
I had in Diamond Head in 1988
with seven other flight attendants.
Carol left and I opened my wall-long closet
French doors and stared at the built in shelves
and thought, "What? No closet pole?"