How'd you get to be so charming?

It's those Hucklebug eyes!

Just Egg Cups

Just Eggs in Egg Cups

What was it I went to the storefor?
Oh yeah, and I eggs-citedly found
eggs-actly the perfect ones!

Friday I went to eggs-plore the mall
and I got quite the eggs-ercise as I
intended to eggs-pedite my
eggs-ceptional search.
With great eggs-pectation, I knew it
would be wise to eggs-pand and
eggs-hale as I tuned into my eggs-trasensory talents to find
these eggs-traordinary items.

I had no intention to eggs-aspirate
myself or to eggs-clude a single
possibility as I eggs-plored
and searched for these eggs-tremely
eggs-cellent items.

Eggs-ually, they turned out less
eggs-travagant than I eggs-pected!

So Happy Easter. Enjoy these cups.
They should fit size 12-C to 12-DD.
The eggs-piration date is 4-10-08.
(no eggs-aggeration!)
Refrigerate after eggs-posing.

Love,
MerriLee 3-08

Tommy & Mary Stories:The Stirring Hour

The Stirring Hour

Something is a-stir outside.

The screen door flaps and bangs insisting that some

“thing” is about to arrive.

The children sense it!

They can smell it!

They are enlivened by it!

The clouds would like to scream back— yes, yes

we are rushing, racing, hurrying as fast as we can.

The anxious clusters of maple leaves tremble in the warm updraft;

their pale Veined Underskirts quivering.

Some free ones dance—frenzied little dervishes swirling about the lawn.

Magically the maple exchanges her moss-colored old cloak

for a new-green one.

The air has turned an eerie hazy hue.

It is coming!

The sky blotches into an inky blue-black broiling mass

dismissing that eerie greenish air with contempt.

And the tempo mounts to a feverish pitch as the wind

howls crabby and mean.

The screen door smacks and keeps time.

They are coming!

Thunder claps!

Miss Maple takes her bow, stretching her arms

throwing kisses to her audience.

Inside the house lights blink on one by one;

such a cheery contrast against the moaning sky.

The street lamps think about it too.

Stage lights flash and silhouette the shrubs.

Soon raindrops clackety, clack in big splotches on the sidewalk;

drops slapping and plopping on leafy fronds.

The Children run gleefully from window to window

squealing with delight at each stormy outburst.

They say the angels are bowling up in Heaven now.

It is here!

The Stirring Hour is here.

They are coming!

The children are coming.

The Dad throws over his shoulders the old plaid cotton blanket.

Out to the porch he strides, posting sentry there on the steps.

They come flying. The children: Mary and Tommy.

They snuggle. Each child close under the Dad’s awning wing;

bright eyes peaking out of their cozy tent--

ready for the stories on the stormy stage.

Stories of olden times, of Uncle Philo, of Auntie Lane and all the others.

The story hour has arrived.

It is here!

20 Dec 2007 by Merrilee