Poem For Michael

Did I mention that Norma was a horder? I have spent this morning going through boxes in one corner of the two car garage. There were eight boxes piled up and they looked fairly innocent. Jim may have been puzzled by Norma's cookbook addiction, but I would like a nickle for every greeting card she bought and didn't mail. If you need greeting cards, give The Hope Center in Waverly a couple weeks and they'll have a selection that's better than Wal-Mart's over on the By-Pass.

In the last box, as I could see the end of today's garage cleaning objective in sight, I began to get a little brazen. Rather than thumbing through each piece of paper (yes, I am Norma's daughter), I felt the urge to begin chucking handsful of paper into the trash (Jim's daughter began to take over). I stopped as I found a stenopad because, even though I had found scads of empty ones and others full of grocery lists, you just never know what to expect from Norma and Jim.

The first page contained kitchen measurements for a possible remodelling job. The second page had this poem. And a list of utility bills for the month. Like I said, you just never know with those two. The rest of the pages were blank.

Poem for Michael

Now, don't be upset, Michael,
At this card's lack of humor
'Cause when it comes to getting laughs
Some folks are just late bloomers

So if this card has no class
Don't let it bother you a bit
'Cause you have all the class it takes
To cover this card's lack of it.