Dedicated to all children and to the young at heart.
A Wonderful Way With Words
Professor Pettifog collected words. He didn't talk very much because he was afraid that if he used any of his words, he would lose them.
As a matter of fact, he also collected phrases, an occasional sentence, and he had been known to collect a whole paragraph when he came upon an especially clever one.
First he put them in a box,
and then a desk,
and a closet,
and a room,
until, finally, it took his whole house to hold his word collection.
Words like 'warm', 'lovely', 'beautiful', and 'kind' were his favorites because they were 'gentle', 'soft', 'fuzzy', and 'happy' kinds of words.
He also enjoyed words like 'hopping', 'jumping', 'exciting' and 'active', but he had to be careful with them because they tended to get in trouble around the house, sometimes even breaking things as they 'bounced' around!
Professor Pettifog's phrases were silly little things. They didn't take up much room and they often didn't make much sense.
What exactly is a 'pigeon hole'? Pigeons don't make holes. . .or live in them, either. Has anyone ever heard a 'wedding band' play or a 'wedding ring' ring? Or seen a 'chest of drawers'? And a 'head of lettuce or cabbage' is downright silly.
But Professor Pettifog kept them all because occasionally, very occasionally, they made him smile.
Now, he was always very careful to keep words like 'scary', 'horrible', 'frightening', 'fearful', 'terrible', and 'nasty' locked into one small closet. Actually, he didn't want to collect them at all, but they sneaked into his collection when he wasn't looking.
One rainy day, he had to go into that closet for his raincoat, and forgot to lock the door. One by one, the words slipped out just the way they had slipped in in the first place.
They lumped themselves together in one humungously big 'thing', and lurched and lurked around the house, bumping and thumping, and snuffling and snorting.
When Professor Pettifog got home that afternoon and saw what had happened, he was very upset, indeed!
" Get back in the closet!" he shouted, using up five words from his collection, but the humongous 'thing' just giggled and sniggled, and driveled and drooled.
" Begone, I say!" Professor Pettifog yelled, using up three more words. The 'thing' only scowled and growled, and prowled and howled.
" This is terrible!" the Professor cried, wringing his hands helplessly. Then, he noticed that the 'terrible' part of the 'thing' had disappeared.
" This is horrible and frightening!" he exclaimed, and the 'horrible' and 'frightening' part disappeared, making the 'thing' much smaller.
" It is fearful, scary, and nasty!" he said gleefully, and the entire 'thing' disappeared.
From then on, whenever Professor Pettifog happened across some awful word, he simply said it out loud once and it was gone, all used up, just like that!
And then he discovered that the nice, pleasant, happy words can be used over and over again, because, like rabbits, they tend to multiply . . .
Which is another story, entirely!
The End
Nursery Chant
Blue bells, Cockle shells, Eevie Ivy Over. Mama's sad, Daddy's mad, And baby just bit Rover. But I'll be good, The way I should, singing Blue bells, Cockle shells, Eevie Ivy Over.
I Remember
I was about three When my Daddy took me Down to the beach on the strand. No matter where I go I will always know The smell of the sea, My Daddy and me, And the feel of the sand In my hand.
My Secret
I've got a secret That only Mom knows. Do you want to hear it? Okay, here it goes: Just between you And my Mom and me, I really DO like to eat broccoli!
Being in the Middle
Do you know what? It's hard being the "middle" child.
"This is our oldest son, David," my parents say proudly. "And this is our youngest child, Anna," they say fondly.
"And this is old what's-his-name, the one in the middle," they say, looking around for me, even though I'm standing right there in front of them ...in the middle, of course.
My older brother has a cat. My younger sister has a puppy.
And me? I'm supposed to share half a cat and half a puppy. Well, believe me, I got the wrong ends of both of them!
I have to do all the cleaning up after a whole cat and a whole puppy, too! No matter what I do, I can't seem to get out of the middle.
Soldiers take the "high ground" or the "low ground".
Never heard of them taking the "middle ground" did you?
And football fields. Those guys fight each other to get out of the middle, don't they? All the fun happens at the ends of the field, see?
Like skiers going up and skiers going down.
They never stop in the middle, do they? Well, maybe, if they fall. Middles are just something half-way, something you pass by.
Everything is half-way for me.
Think about going only half-way up the stairs, or half-way up a ladder, or drinking half a glass of milk. Why, if I got in an elevator, I'd be stuck between up and down, right in the middle forever!
Or maybe I come up to bat in a big game, and I only got half a bat. Or maybe only half a uniform! Probably no one would notice because I'd be in the middle of the batting order.
But, I have to admit, that being in the middle can have its good side, too. Well, sometimes, anyway.
I give all my cauliflower to my younger sister, because, being younger and smaller than me, she needs more vitamins.
And I let my older brother take out the trash, because, being bigger and older than me, he's stronger.
The middles of Oreos and Twinkies are the best part, too.
And once, when we were playing train and really messed up the house, the engine and the caboose got in the most trouble. I was just the car in the middle of the train, and they don't really do much, do they?
Just sit there in the middle looking innocent, pulled by the engine and pushed by the caboose, right?
Come to think of it, being in the middle ain't so bad after all, is it?
The End
Pinto Joe
I got a rocking horse named Joe When I was very small, I don't know just how old I was, But I wasn't very tall.
We traveled many places, Old Pinto Joe and me, I'd close my eyes and rock and wish, And that's where we would be.
I loved old Pinto Joe, you know, He was my dearest friend, We shared all the adventures That waited 'round the bend.
His spots are dim and faded now, His ears are quite askew, But his eyes have that same spirit That they did when he was new.
I know I'm much too big now, But no matter how I try, I simply cannot give Joe up, I cannot say "Goodbye."
I'm going to keep my rocking horse, And someday when I'm grown, I'll give him to my children So they'll never be alone.
And I will tell my children That no mattter where they roam, At the end of their adventure, Joe will always bring them home.
Jack the carpenter thought he was making a joke, the first time he called his son a "little magician". Max - who was three and a bit at the time - didn't understand the word, but gravely agreed. "I little Jissan," he said, nodding importantly.
