Category: Blind John Ellsworth

The Attack on Granny’s Ranch

Everyone should be a rough ‘n’ tough cowboy once in his life.

Editor’s Note: I was at least twelve at this point, since my Grandpa was already gone, but I’m not sure when this was. I hope it wasn’t much later than that!

Once or twice almost every year,
We would visit my Grandma’s ranch.
I would always shed a joyous tear,
Visiting another family branch.

My parents left me with my Granny,
And went off to places still unknown.
She was not really much of a nanny,
So I felt almost home alone.

As I started to drift asleep,
I was quiet as a mouse.
I didn’t hear a peep.
I was the man of the house.

I woke a little bit later,
I could hear a rustling sound.
I didn’t want to wake her,
But there was someone on the ground.

My uncle had at least two tractors,
Parked under the shed.
These I assumed were factors,
For robbing our homestead.

At this point, I saw two choices.
One, Granny pulled out a gun.
The other, hearing stranger’s voices,
She told me to go get one.

I really hoped she had a pistol,
Hidden deep in her nightgown.
Otherwise, clear as crystal,
I was going to shoot a bandit down.

I waited for her to hand me a key,
Hidden behind her necklace cross.
“This is to the gun cabinet, Sweetie.”
I would then become the boss.

There was another option, of course.

I woke Granny, who was trying not to cuss.
While I began to panic, she said,
“Nobody’s gonna bother us.”
“Now, you go back to bed!”

Well, that was anti-climactic.

When I looked out at morning light,
I found we had not been alone.
Sometime in the dark of night,
The cows had come back home.

Conflict of Interest

This requires a full scientific study.

Editor’s Note: This is from a non-scientific study, but results are interesting.

Dogs sleep 19 hours a day (or so.)
They’re really not very active at all.
They will show up for all mealtimes,
Or sometimes, just to catch a ball.

So, eighty percent per day asleep,
A vast amount of total time spent,
Yet, when I take a one-hour nap,
That hour will be in the twenty percent.

Fired

How do you get fired from a rock band?
It’s better to burn out than to fade away.
Sometimes, you just have to go your own way.

After all the losses of the past few years,
It’s strange to have someone leave the band,
Yet, he’s not dead, he just got canned.

I empathize with Mr. Buckingham,
I hope he remains hale and hearty,
At IBM, he’d get a retirement party.

Security

My grandkids rode around in my car.
We set the locks so they can’t go far.

They tried to escape just one time each.
The secret lock was out of their reach.

All safe.

We went home at last, sad to say.
We’ll go back up again someday.

Later, their Dad came down to visit.
Well, to a meeting, same thing, is it?

We went to dinner, which was quite a treat.
We got home, but he’s still in the back seat.

All safe.

My Beloved, the Non-Weeble

Pain and suffering. Constantly.

Editor’s Note: Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down. So, my wife is not a Weeble. Some people are just accident-prone. I know one of them. She married me. Oy vey. This is in her voice, since that’s the only way it makes sense. You just have to imagine the cries of anguish at the end of each stanza. 

I think I’ll have a glass of tea.
Ouch! I think I sprained my knee.

I was writing out my shopping list,
I stopped because I sprained my wrist.

The list said, “Ribs. At least a rack.”
Wow. I think that I just wrenched my back.

I filed the list in my to-do folder,
But now I may have popped my shoulder.

I turned on the TV and saw Bethenny Frankel,
Then dropped the remote and broke my ankle.

It’s Spring, we should be on a ship,
It’s just I may have strained my hip.

I reached to remove a piece of fluff,
And I think I tore my rotator cuff.

I know it’s time to feed the pup,
It’s just I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.

My husband said, “Hey, let’s get frisky!”
I said, “Oh, my God! That’s much too risky!”

My husband thinks he’s such a clown,
I’d hit him, but I’ve fallen down.

Again.

Katie’s Lament

One of the dogs took over the blog today.

My Mommy has a house of bricks.
She also has a topiary of sticks.

I didn’t understand her twigs so grim,
Until she gave my lovely hair a trim.

I was a girl beautiful and faultless,
I’m now a guy with pattern baldness.

I have a home upon the range,
Mom made it look like I have mange.

Grandparents

What do you call your grandparents?

A grandmother wants control of her title.
Choosing what she is called seems vital.
Some will never be “Grams” or “Granny.”
They want to be called “MomPlus” or “Sammy.”

Grandfathers don’t really seem to care.
Since we get called random terms here and there.
I have been “Grandpa”, “Papa”, “Grampy”, so to speak.
All of those were just in the past week.

Next time, I’ll have another name.
I will probably have myself to blame.
I said my name was King Frank-Bob.
We’ll see if that’s accepted by the mob.

I answer to the term my grandkids choose,
Either good or bad, win or lose.
Call me a saint or call me a sinner.
Just don’t call Grandpa late for dinner.