Listen, my children, and you shall hear
How Paul Revere drank all the beer.
Thus began one of our poems from the inimitable Poem Game, a Penney family tradition wherein all the participants write the first line of a famous poem, then pass the paper one person to the left, rhyme the line and write a new one, and pass it on. There are several variations, including the four-line doggerel, the eight-line poem, or simply passing the paper around until it ends up back with the person who starts it. Terribly fun, even in circles of people who protest themselves not literary. (Actually, when it involves those without the writing bug, the results can be even sillier than ever.) My personal favourite and a Penney family classic:
The windshield factor was fifteen below;
On that frigid terrain only real men could go.
Did they venture for fortune, for love, or for fame?
Or did they attempt to rescue a dame?
Yes, the rains came down and the winds did blow
And all they could cry was, ‘Oh, oh, oh!’
They wondered why they’d ever left
(Their jaws were square and their chins were cleft.)
They faced the challenge with derring-do;
Their motor-bikes in a circle they drew
Not giving the villains a single clue
As to what they were doing; I leave it to you.
So anyway, it’s now been 230 years since the midnight ride of Paul Revere, although according to Paul Harvey, it was really Israel Bissel who deserves the credit for spreading the alarm. We were trying to remember at breakfast if the alarm was the night of the 18th and therefore it the morning of the 19th when the battle of Concord happened. And we just finished reading Johnny Tremain, so we should know! Alas, we’re still stranded halfway through The Great Impersonation; need to get cracking if we’re to finish that before Baby arrives.
It was such a nice weekend, though not nearly so restful as it should have been. I had the girls I’ve been mentoring over for a slumber party on Friday night, and after a lesson, pizza and Pepsi, a movie, and a rousing game of spoons, I was falling asleep by 11:00. The girls, not being old and boring yet, stayed up until who knows when, and still got up early the next morning for bacon and eggs. Saturday was lovely; Michael mowed the lawn and assembled the stroller while I organised the nursery a tiny bit more and ran hundreds of loads of laundry. We took a chicken out of the freezer and determined to go to church the next morning with the explicit intention of inviting someone over for dinner (the fun thing about hospitality is that Michael really enjoys it too, and half the time it’s his idea – ‘We don’t have anything planned for Sunday, do we? We should really have someone over’). Benjamin and Amanda came over, and we showed them The Court Jester, which they had never seen before. Plot we’ve got – quite a lot.
And now we’re trying to keep the schedule gloriously unfree because we know not what the morrow may bring!
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2 comments:
We must try that poetry game one time. It reminds me of the one my family traditionally plays on New Year's Eve--I got it out of What Katy Did at School. Each person writes a word on a sheet of paper, then passes it around to the next person, then everyone writes a question, passes it on, then everyone takes the question and must write a poem answering the question and using the word. Loads of fun.
That does sound like a fun game! You'd need the right crowd, though. Apart from my family, I've had such a difficult time convincing people to play the Poem Game. You and I must plan a grand Game Night sometime.
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