CLINT & CLAUDE’S POLITICAL THINKTANK

Clint said to Claude
(The orangutang)
I’m gonna go talk
To that Republican gang,
Give’em what for,
Set’em straight on some stuff,
They think they’re right,
But they ain’t right enough!
Give old Mitt a hand,
He can’t do it hisself,
But Claude rolled his eyes,
Because even he realized,
Clint would just make a monkey of himself.

Not Yet September


Today I saw
some maple saplings
already turning red and gold.

You are too eager, baby trees.
For it’s not yet September.
Not yet.

Perhaps being so young,
they did not know
it’s still summer,
even though
it is getting colder.

The grown up trees know.
They’re still as green and leafy
as they were a month ago.

Now the autumn chill
seeps through the crack
of the open window,
and penetrates the thin fabric
of my sleeves.

My arms are cold.
Time to take out
the heavier things.

I won’t close the window.
For it’s not yet September.
Not yet.

While we’re on the subject of pens…

Ohhh…I’m a lumberjack and I’m okay. I write with a girly pen all day…

Perhaps, dear readers, you have already heard about Bic’s new “for her” line of ball point pens. They are nice and soft so as not to damage a woman’s delicate hands, and come in appropriately girly colors. Oh bless.

Okay, stop laughing. Take a deep breath and calm down. While this is definitely a “what were they thinking” kind of product, one may perhaps understand where they were coming from by examining some of Bic’s other products. They do produce pink disposable razors “for women” which are purchased most enthusiastically by the fairer sex. So why not market a special pink pen just for women?

Makes sense, right? Well…no. We’re not buying it, both literally and figuratively. However, while these women’s pens are totally stupid and utterly sexist, they have produced a number of hilariously ironic reviews on Amazon. This one is my favorite:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a pen.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a stationers, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their salespeople. However, this has not always been the case for young ladies.

“My dear Mr. Hodgson,” said my lady to me one day, “have you heard that Bic are making writing tools for ladies at last?”

I replied that I had not.

“But they are,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

I made no answer. Surely this could not be true, why would a woman have need of such a thing?

“Do not you want to know who will buy them?” cried my wife impatiently.

“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it,” I said.

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, a well known online retail establishment have been selling these, and it has encouraged young Lizzy to attempt to write down her fanciful ideas . Apparently a young lady from a nearby town has even done so and attempted to write a book!”

“What is her name?” I asked her.

“Austen.”

“Is she married or single?”

“Oh! single, my dear, to be sure! A man could never want to marry a young woman who thinks anything she has to say is so interesting it could need to be written down,” said my wife, most accurately.

And so it was that I assured her that there would be nothing to worry about, that women do not need special pens, no matter what Mr. Bic may think, and that nothing would ever come of this young ‘Jane Austen’ girl and her flights of fancy.

The End.

P.S. Lizzy says she is a bit fed up of pink and purple, when do we get some in a nice floral pattern?

Flowers or Weeds?

People pass through our lives,
In a million ways,
Some of them for a stretch,
Some of them just for days,
The affect that they have,
Be it blessing or scar,
Says some about them, but
More about who we are,
Where we are in our lives,
Our desires, our needs,
Do we see hugs or knives?
Friendship’s flowers or weeds?
Our perception is key,
And it seems time will tell,
But when looking at me,
Use your mirror as well.

Portrait of Lissie the Cat

Here’s a painting I did recently as a birthday present for a very dear friend who just lost her beloved cat. The photo was taken at night so it’s a little dark. I first lightly sketched out the image in pencil and then drew it in pen. Then I shaded and added details to the image and the background, and then I painted it. Over all, it probably took about four hours to do. Looking at it now I wish I done a better job, but my friend absolutely loved it. She almost cried when she saw it, and said it was one of the nicest gifts she’s ever received.

Lissie was the sweetest little kitty, with her beautiful harlequin face and her directional ear.

Shakespeare’s Laundry Day

(NOTE: I live in Stockholm, Sweden. “Tvättstugan” (pronounced tvett-stoogan) is the Swedish word for laundryroom, and is the traditional battleground for this otherwise calm and orderly populace.)

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Storm the tvättstugan; detergent in hand,
Take stand against the forces at the door,
Or close the wall up with crumpled notes comprised
Of veiled passive-aggression,
Take stern command, leave no impression,
That  perhaps e’en one minute
Of your allotted time shall go unused,
Your stance infused with strains
Of righteousness and piety,
Let all who come near see,
That in peace nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility,
But when the blast of laundry calls our senses
We take our ground, raise our defenses,
Brace our weight against distraction
And imitate a tiger’s action……

The Domestic Philosopher

There are many things to wonder about,
Whilst taking all the garbage out.
Like why we throw out so much stuff.
Are we recycling enough?
And what if a truck came everyday,
To take all our past mistakes away?

There are many things to contemplate,
Whilst watching laundry agitate.
Like how detergent really works,
When washing away all that dirt.
And if it’s good at cleaning clothes,
Can it also remove stains on souls?

There are many things that make one think,
Whilst scrubbing out the bathroom sink.
Like whether to get a plumber there,
When the drain is all clogged up with hair.
And can we really ignore our worries away,
If we don’t think about them everyday?

These are the things I think about.
The things I try to figure out.

How come it’s harder to clean up my life,
Than it is to clean my house?

August in Scandinavia

Mid-August here in Scandinavia,
Summer clothes if you’re so bravie yeah!
Milk every last bit of northern sunshine,
Knowing winter might come at any time,
All bets are hedged; you just don’t know do you?
Sweaters on the strand, brollys ready too,
You might start in sun, then run for cover,
Or start in cloud, and then soon discover,
The day has turned, one way or the other,
It’s just so bloody hard to be prepared,
It gets to the point where each day you’re scared,
You could start it out, all sunny glowing,
But not be surprised if it starts snowing,
You might think that an exaggeration,
But that would be a complete negation,
Of all the times you were caught unawares,
Thought you were prepared for the weather’s dares,
But no matter how you tried to prepare,
You were soaked clear through, near frost in your hair,
They say here; no weather’s bad, just your clothes,
Well I’m here to say, I’m not one of those,
I can’t carry my wardrobe on my back,
I need a small clue each day when I pack,
Each day on TV weather people say,
Well, we’re not sure; it could go either way,
Leaving me to wonder, where I can find,
A job where I’m not right half of the time!