I am ten feet away from my stew,
‘Cause a wasp just came out of the blue.
He climbed into my stove,
And he stayed there, by Jove!
Now I’m wondering, what should I do?
Eventually, he climbed out of my little propane stove and flew away, but it was a nervous few minutes. This was at Red Rock Canyon State Park, where the ranger says, “It’s gonna be a baaaad season for wasps…they usually don’t even show up until May.”
At a shop that is on Sixty-Six,
They once sold guitar strings and picks,
Now they entertain gaily,
The crowds that come daily,
To hear them and get some good “kicks!”
You can get your kicks, too, at the Sandhills Curiosity Shop on old Route 66 in Erick, Oklahoma. Or, if you can’t get there, take a look at some of the videos.
Says Bonnie, “My Iggie won’t bite.”
But I’m still afraid that he might–
She says he’s in heat.
(Will he nip my feet,
Because my red toenails excite?)
Iggie is a 4-1/2 foot long iguana. He’s currently in heat and attracted to women of any species.
The room filled with much merry sound,
Three sisters who mooned as they clowned,
The game was revamped,
We laughed and we stamped,
As ping-pong was played in the round.
We discovered a fun way to play ping-pong at Highlands pub in Eugene. Four people play round-robin, each one hitting the ball once and then rushing around the table to the other side. The results were a few collisions and some hilarious video footage. Do not try this in a pub with dartboards!
Squid are creatures that live in the deep,
Not a sound as they swim and they creep.
I was shocked to the core,
When I heard my squid roar,
‘Twas a miracle, wrought by my Peep.
Barry, who I sometimes call “Peep,” wrote about this event in his usual understated fashion in his recent blog entry.
Here’s a fabulous response from our friend Pat, who lives in NC:
A wagon that roars and squirts ink
(Not oil, of that let’s not think)
will ferry you back to your boat
and shlep all the stuff it will will float.
Please stop by so we can see you and wink!
When the big female candidate cried,
People said, “The ex-president’s bride
Is not really tough,
And campaigning is rough.”
But it brought voters o’er to her side.
If only we’d gone out of town,
And cut a fresh Christmas tree down.
This grocery store tree,
Once looked fine to me.
But now, tell me, why is it brown?
We slowed and we stopped: We were stuck.
But then came a bit of good luck.
With some help from me,
The tide set us free,
And now we’re in water, not muck.
What are the three kinds of sailors? Those who have gone aground, those who will go aground, and those who lie about it.
Strange names around here are in vogue,
Calibogue is not “Calibog,”
And “Falcon” I get,
But “Rougue” makes me fret,
Should it be “rouge” as red, or just “rogue?”
We had our test sail aboard the Falcon Rougue yesterday, and we’re still in the dark about how the name is pronounced. Is “rougue” a clever play on the red hull, or just a misspelling? Either way, it doesn’t quite rhyme with the place we sailed — Calibogue Sound is sometimes (by golf freaks) pronounced Cal-i-BOGEY.
While driving around, by and by,
We spotted some doors 8 feet high.
Not sure what’s the reason —
Are stairs out of season?
Or maybe these Newfies can fly!
This limerick illustrates one of my favorite travel mysteries. Why do people in Newfoundland have front doors many feet in the air? I asked a number of local residents, and they just scratched their heads. Then one fellow, who was particularly fast on his feet, said with a grin, “We call those ‘Mother-in-law doors’.”
