Tom and Gerry

Happy Birthday to two of the worlds most beloved characters of all time, Tom and Gerry. Funny, loveable, furry, mischevious, timeless, ageless. And you thought I was talking about the cartoon characters.

Meet my brother in law, Tom.

And my brother, Gerry.

Two great guys, who just happened to have their birthdays 1 day apart.

I've known Tom as long as I've known my husband, and that's a long time. Tom and my sister we're friends in high school and hung out together, although I don't think they ever dated until they got engaged. Weird, I know, but it's a great story, which I won't go into just now.

When Tom was young, him and his cousin decided they wanted to live in the hills like mountain men. They thought it sounded fun to live off the land and answer to no one. Tom loved his Mom and didn't want her to worry about him, so he wrote a beautiful note, assuring her he would be just fine, not to worry, and that he would be home in a few weeks. He packed his bag, grabbed some oranges, and set off for the woods behind his home. It didn't take long for Tom and cousin to realize mountain life wasn't all that it was cracked up to be, especially when your hungry and there's no one to cook for you, so after a few hours they gave up their dreams and headed back for home. Tom was worried of his Mother's reaction, but all she said to him when he returned back home, was what a lovely letter he had written for her, she would always cherish it.

Now I know where Tom got his nice-ness from. I have never heard Tom say anything mean about anybody, ever. He is quick to laugh, slow to anger, and easy to love. He'll always be a hero for saving my sister from marrying Dean the String, and I'm so honored to call him my brother.

My brother Gerry is 2 years younger than I am. I have fond memories growing up with him as my buddy, whether it was jumping between the beds, not being able to touch our feet to the floor for fear of the alligators in the watery carpet below. Or playing toss the bean bag with books. Sounds weird, I know, but it was really fun. We were pretty creative in finding ways to entertain ourselves back then, before Nintendo and Facebook came along. We used to take the dining table leaves and prop them up against the stairs for a fun little slippery slide, or take the slippery ugly green sleeping bags and slide down the length of the stairs.

When we were little, my mom used to sew most of our clothes. On those rare occasions that she found an exceptional good deal, we would find ourselves on the receiving end of matching outfits. I'm not sure how Gerry felt about it, but he was young enough that I don't think he even cared. Mom used to line us up on these special occasions, usually Easter and Christmas outfits, and have Dad take our pictures. I remember standing still in a line while the movie camera was recording history in the making, when Gerry suddenly, would step out of line and start stomping at the ground! I don't know if he was dilusional or just highly imaginative, but he always thought he was seeing spiders, hence the stomping and killing them. He was constantly killing those imaginary pests, our own little personal exterminator. I'm not sure when it was that he outgrew the spider stomping phase, but I'm glad for his sake that he doesn't continue to see things that aren't really there, especially spiders. eeek.

When we were probably 10 and 12, we decided we wanted to take up skiing. That is not a cheap sport, so our wise mother suggested we earn the money for lessons. We had a neighbor down the street who owned his own food storage business, so my mom talked him into letting us sell his product door to door and get a small percentage. My mom made up samples of his delicious "Peach Delight" and "Apple" drink mix, blueberry and maple syrup, and we hit the streets, trying to muster enough courage to knock on strangers doors and sweet talk our way into a sell. I'm not sure how much money we actually made, but our efforts paid off and we were able to help buy our ski equipment and take a few lessons.

I'm not sure how old he was when he Gerry had the brilliant idea to put caulking material on a water balloon and throw it at the neighborhood bully. For a kid without any formal baseball throwing training, he did us all proud. Smack! It was a direct hit...right in the face! Not only did Gerry run for his life, but every neighbor kid in our yard took flight. The closest shelter? Our house. Problem? Mom and Dad were out on a date, we were alone, defenseless, and scared! We quickly ran through the house, locking every door and window we could find. But that wasn't enough to stop the balloon eating Steve, oh no! We could hear him outside our door, ranting and raving about swallowing the poisonous goo and how he was going to die and he was going to take us with him! Obviously the walls inside our home were not protection enough from the threats and obsenities we could hear, so we ran to the safest place we knew, our "Fruit Room". Don't let the name fool you, it was like our own personal bomb shelter. It was a long, narrow, cold dungeon built underneath our front porch. We called it our fruit room cuz that's where mom stored all her bottled fruit and food storage since it stayed nice and cold. ( It also doubled as a haunted hall for my 2 sister's october birthdays. ) We all huddled together, too afraid to venture upstairs to call one of the others kid's mom and tell her we were being held hostage by a foaming at the mouth lunatic. It was the longest night of our lives. We didn't know if he was still out there, waiting for us to come out, and none of us we're willing to risk our lives to find out.
Finally, when we heard the familiar voices of Mom and Dad, we felt safe enough to come out. We were saved! Steve had apparently given up, went home, called poison control, drank some milk, and was just fine. Gerry, on the other hand, was afraid to walk past Steve's house for the longest time. Ok, I can't really speak for Gerry, but I was afraid to walk past Steve's house.

Those were the good ol' days. Now Gerry is the father of 5. I'm sure his rocket building, balloon throwing, spider killing days has served him well in raising 4 boys and 1 girl of his own. He is a quiet, gentle and giving soul that is filled with knowledge and talent and humility like no other. I am so blessed to have grown up with such a wonderful brother. I don't remember ever, EVER, getting mad or having a fight with Gerry. He always has been, and still is, the best brother a sister could ever ask for.

Both Tom and Gerry have seen their share of loss and adversity, especially this past year. Both have met their challenges with strength, courage, and faith. You are wonderful examples to your families, and to me. I'm so proud to have you as brothers and love you both!

25 down, eternity to go

Yesterday was my 25th wedding anniversary. I hate to say "silver" because that implies old, and gray, which I am, but will forever be in denial. If your thinking I didn't post this yesterday cuz I was out celebrating my big day with my man, out having a good time with the little surprise I planned for him, well...you would be wrong.

I spent the night with the other 'Biggest Losers', and no, I wasn't too 'Glee' about it. I would have gladly given up my tuesday night shows to be out on the town, but it wasn't meant to be. The stars were not aligned in our universe and things just didn't work out the way they were supposed to. So instead, we let Chef Boyardee prepare us a nice little romantic italian dinner (mini-ravioli), then Tary and Trey went to scouts, while I sat home alone, just me and my thoughts, thinking how much I love my husband and reflecting on all the wonderful years we've had thus far.

Yeah right. I was flipping back and forth between my two favorite shows, enjoying the uninterrupted "Me" time. I must admit I was a little disappointed things didn't turn out the way I expected them too, but then again, if there's one thing I've learned in the 25 years of marriage, it's this: If you don't expect anything, you'll never be disappointed when that's all you get.

Here are 25 more little words of marriage wisdom I've learned over the years:

1. Always check the direction of the toilet seat in the middle of the night before you sit down.
2. When you ask him what he wants for dinner and he says he doesn't care, be prepared after you've made him something. That's when he'll tell you what he really wanted.
3. When you ask him what he wants for dinner and he says "anything you want to make", make a phone call and order out.
4. Don't try to spend as much money on your hobbies as he will on his; I know it's not fair.
   
5. Life isn't fair, get over it.
6. Dancing in the kitchen is much more fun with a partner.
7. Painting your bedroom pink while the husband is away on an expensive out of state hunt WILL deter him from ever doing it again.
   
8. Don't expect oohs and aahs from your man after showing him your latest craft project. That's what friends and sisters are for.
9. "That's nice dear" is man talk for "That is awesome! You are so talented! You always amaze me!"
10. Never be too tired to stay up all night talking and giggling.
11. Men will deny that they giggle.
    
12. Success in marriage does not come merely through finding the right mate, but through being the right mate. ~Barnett R. Brickner
13. Choose your love, then love your choice.
    
14. All marriages are happy. It's the living together afterward that causes all the trouble. ~Raymond Hull
15. Never feel remorse for what you have thought about your wife; she has thought much worse things about you. ~Jean Rostand, Le Mariage, 1927
16. Marriage means commitment. Of course, so does insanity.
17. Don't smother each other. No one can grow in shade. ~Leo Buscaglia
18. The husband who doesn't tell his wife everything probably reasons that what she doesn't know won't hurt him. ~Leo J. Burke
19. Married life teaches one invaluable lesson: to think of things far enough ahead not to say them. ~Jefferson Machamer
20. A happy marriage is the union of two good forgivers. ~Ruth Bell Graham
21. I have learned that only two things are necessary to keep one's wife happy. First, let her think she's having her own way. And second, let her have it. ~Lyndon B. Johnson
22. Before marriage, a man declares that he would lay down his life to serve you; after marriage, he won't even lay down his newspaper to talk to you. ~Helen Rowland
23. Why does a woman work ten years to change a man's habits and then complain that he's not the man she married? ~Barbra Streisand
    
24. The best way to remember your wife's birthday is to forget it once. ~H.V. Prochnow
25. If you want to be loved, you have to be lovable. ~ Ruth Mills (my mom, best advice I ever got)

In all fairness, my husband did surprise me with this beautiful necklace!



And Skip and Faun surprised my husband with his elk head that Skip so beautifully taxidermied. Thanks to them, Tary went to bed a happy man.

And I started working on my new list:

26. Never tell your husband he can decorate the basement anyway he wants, just so long as he gets it finished.

Spring = Motivation

I love Spring! As I was driving Trey to school this morning, I caught a whiff of the fresh cut grass as the landscapers at the park were making their first cut of the season, and I knew spring had finally arrived! And that can only mean two things...my allergies will also be in full bloom soon, and time to shave my legs and pull out the shorts.

The one downside to being married (luv ya hon) is having to share a closet. Our closet isn't very big to begin with, so every spring and fall I find myself doing the ol' wardrobe switch-a-roo. And every year I pull out my stack of shorts and sort them into piles of "still fit" and "don't-fit-anymore-but-someday-they-will". One pair in particular, has been my motivation for the past 3 years now. My sister gave me a pair of capris from Sundance that are adorable! The problem is, they ride low on the hip, and without that upper support to hold my junk in, everything just seems to come spilling out. And every fall as I pack them away, I vow to be able to fit into them by next spring. But the inevitable always happens...halloween candy, Thanksgiving pies, and Christmas. Of course, that's why New Years was invented by the healthclub industry, and I, like the millions of others who fall into their little trap, get on the band-wagon for about a month, and try to lose it all by spring. The way things were looking, I didn't think spring was ever going to get here, so I didn't feel the urgency to jump on that health-kick wagon until this week.

I don't know how I've been able to go through late night TV and never see the informercial for P90X. Heaven knows i've spent my fair share on knives that never dull, cleaners that smell like an orange grove, and exercise videos that promise a 'new me' in six weeks, so when Tary told me he was going to get this new exercise program, I was all for it. The treadmill was getting a little boring, and if He was going to buy it, He must be planning on using it. Finally, a work-out buddy!

Remember now, I had never heard of this program, much less seen it. I had no idea what it was about. When Tary brought it home I must admit, just looking at the cover and the 12 cd's, each guaranteed to make the next 90 days of your life a living *@?!, I was scared. It took us a month before we got up the courage to open it up and watch the first CD labeled, "How to Bring It". Then with a renewed determination, we promptly watched the first workout "Chest and Back". Wow! Just watching it made me tired, so it sat, unused, for another week.

Which brings me to motivating factor no. 2. Next week is my 25th anniversary. I've planned a little surprise get-away for me and the hubby. Enough said...you get the picture. Time to kick this flabby bootie into gear.

Normally, I'm one of those people who go into a cold lake, one inch at a time, so it doesn't hurt so bad, but I knew if I wanted fast results, I was going to have to jump in all at once. So I put in "Plyometrics", and first thing the instructor says is how this is the hardest workout. No turning back now. Ten minutes later, I thought I would pass out...and that was just the warm-up! Well, I jumped, kicked, squatted and lunged for the next 30 minutes. Don't be proud of me just yet, the workout was 52 minutes, I lasted through half of it before my face felt ready to explode. I didn't know how many shades of red my face made, but I discovered that night it can go all the way up the color palatte to crimson.

That was 3 days ago...today I've finally been able to walk up the stairs without the use of the handrail. When people at work would ask me what's wrong, all I had to say was P90X, and I would get sympathy. I really didn't know what I was getting in to...

...but now I do. And i've come to the conclusion...

...inch by inch is much more sinch. Besides, it's not warm enough yet to jump in any lake.

Silence of the Moths

So, a friend of mine (which shall remain anonymous, due to the sensitive nature of her feelings, and the embarrassing lack of kitchen hygiene) had a moth infestation a couple of months ago. Not the big, creepy, silence of the lambs kind of moths, just kinda cute, baby moths. They were small enough, and still slow enough, that she could catch them in her hands, and depending on her mood at the moment, either released them to freedom outside, or would drown them in the sink. The problem was, as soon as she got rid of one, two more would show up. Killing 10 in one day, 20 the next. What the heck! It's cold, aren't moths supposed to hibernate, or fly south for the winter? Where were they coming from?
Well, they obviously were coming from the kitchen. That's where all the captures and killings were taking place. Were they drawn to the paint color in the kitchen? Or the wonderful smells? (My friend is an excellent cook) Finally, she came to the conclusion that a moth must have laid her eggs somewhere in the kitchen, and her babies were now just hatching. A pretty gross thing to think about. In due time, they were all exterminated, and the kitchen became once more, a moth free zone.
Well, a couple of weeks ago, they returned. Slowly at first, just one or two, which quickly became again, 10 or 20. One day her daughter came to visit, and noticing the unusual choice of pets, asked my friend about them. When she told them how they wouldn't go away and kept coming back, her daughter, who was either wise or paid attention in science class, said "Mom, those aren't moths, those are weevils". What? She was sure her daughter was mistaken. Weevils are creepy little worm things that live in wheat and expired mac-n-cheese. Sometimes they unexpectedly appear in hot cocoa, making the drinker think they were marshmallows that didn't melt, until they realized that marshmallows don't crunch (yeah, really happened). But they don't fly around pretending to be moths. However, the very idea that they possibly could be, prompted my friend to do a little spring kitchen cleaning, starting with the cupboards.
She started with the bottom shelf where she stores her wheat and rice, all clear. No signs of life. Same with the pasta shelf and cookie and cracker shelf. She was feeling pretty confident by the time she got to the spice shelf. But since she was in the zone, she cleaned out, threw out, lined up and organized. Maybe the weevil scare was a blessing in disguise. Five shelves down, one to go. The baking shelf. Surely there would be no weevils among the powdered and brown sugars, the cocoa and chocolate chips. Marshmallows and nuts...what the crap?! What is in the nuts? WEEVILS! Gross! Creeping...slugging...sluffing...hatching...flying weevils!

Is your skin crawling yet? Mine was.

Needless to say, her top shelf is completely clean...of everything! No more weevils, no more moths, no more food.

P.S...Don't be asking me to bake you any chocolate chips cookies any time soon. I seem to be lacking a few key ingredients.

A first for everything.

Awhile back, I wrote a post about being alone and how there are just certain things I would never do. And if there's anything I've learned in my short 39 years, it's never say never (and always lie about your age).

Yesterday, my work sent me to a Communications and Collaborations seminar in downtown Salt Lake. I spent the morning at a table with complete strangers, learning to communicate and collaborate with them. When it was time for lunch, our instructor gave us an hour to fend for ourselves. I was hoping I could convince one of my new-found friends to get a bite to eat with me, but by the time I gathered up my things, went deep-purse diving for my keys and checked my messages, everyone had gone! I was left alone...doesn't anyone else dawdle anymore? What a predicament I found myself in.

So I left the safety of the hotel conference room, and made my way into the scary streets of downtown salt lake. I pulled into the second eating establishment I saw, Wendy's. (The first being McDonalds, need I say more). The drive-thru looked busy, so I went inside and ordered my chicken cranberry salad and rootbeer to go. As I was picking up my fork and napkins, I wondered how convenient it was actually going to be to eat a salad in the car without spilling it's contents down the front of me, and where would I go to eat without being noticed? Pioneer Park was just up the street, but a homeless person upon seeing my delicious salad might try to smash through my car window to get to it. The hotel parking lot was busy with people coming and going and I didn't want anyone thinking I was weird for eating in my car, wondering why not just take it in my room and eat it. (Alot can go through your mind in a few short seconds). So, I took a look around and noticed several other people sitting at their tables, eating alone and I thought, what the heck. There's a first for everything.

I picked a table as far away as I could get, and sat with my back towards the people, so no one could see my face and know my shame. I didn't even have a book or a newspaper to pretend to read while I ate. It was just me and my salad and the window in front of me. I would like to tell you how good it tasted, but I think I inhaled it too fast to enjoy it. I couldn't wait to get out of there. But by the time I finished, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I just ate alone. I survived. I didn't die from embarrasement. A big "L" did not mysteriously appear on my forehead. I was feeling such a boost of confidence by the time I picked up my trash and disposed of it, that I even snuck a glance at a fellow alone-eater and smiled at him. Nothing big and toothy (hint: never give a toothy smile immediately after eating a salad), just a slight smile and nod, as if to say, I've just joined the "Eating Alone Annonymous Club", I see your a member too.

Back at the hotel, I parked next to a car with one of the girls from my table, sitting there, all alone, eating. It's a shame we didn't think to talk about lunch arrangements before we had to eat, each in our aloneness. I guess we didn't learn much those first few hours of our communication class, like how to say "Hey, whatcha' doing for lunch? Want to go grab a bite with me?" We learned how to say that in the second half of our session. Go figure.

Needless to say, I got back to the hotel much earlier and found myself with time to waste. So I sat in my car and pretended to read a magazine, which was actually an old Kohls ad I found shoved under the seat. After a while, I remembered my new brave attitude and went inside with about 15 minutes of lunch to kill so I could sit in the room alone, and be totally OK with it. I had to visit the 'little girls room' anyway. While washing my hands in the sink, I glanced in the mirror, removing any stray pieces of lettuce and cranberries that always seem to get left behind, and noticed a slight bulge in my blouse. Now I'm not overly endowed by all means, and it wasn't until I arched my arms back did I notice that my middle button, the one strategically placed over the center of the bra, was not buttoned! What the crap! When did that happen? How long has it been that way? Have I been sitting in a classroom of people with my underwires exposed? Why didn't anyone tell me!

Oh yeah...I forgot. Communications class. Now I know why they're all there.

And as far as I'm concerned, they all flunked.

As for my unfortunate button incidence, I wish I could say there's a first for everything, (yes, it's happened before) and unfortunately, I'm sure it won't be my last.

And I thought the guy at Wendy's was smiling back at me to be nice.

One year older...and wiser too. Happy Birthday, to you!

March is a busy month for Birthdays. Monday, my sweet husband and I celebrated his 50th birthday. wow, that sounds old, and given the fact that he's been hobbling around on crutches and using a scooter to get around, I would say he's probably finally feeling his age. It's hard to party it up on a monday night when you have to get up at 5:30 the next morning, so we just went to dinner, nothing too exciting. Poor guy, I wanted to do something special for him for his big event, but life has been a little hectic lately and my party planning skills have been on the back burner for awhile. If I win the $10,000,000 from the publishers clearing house that I just entered, I promise I'll make it up to you sweetie. Just remember, "Forty is the old age of youth, Fifty the youth of old age".

Tomorrow is my sister Wendy's birthday. I won't reveal her age, not that 38 is old or anything to be ashamed about, but I know how sensitive some women are about that kind of thing. Not that she looks that old at all. Wendy is such an inspiration to me. She's up at 5 am several times a week, hitting the gym, and she looks great! Wendy has always been such a special sister, in a good type of special way. When she was little she couldn't say my name, so she would call me 'Hingy'. I'm not sure how she got that from Linda, but since I never had a nickname before, I thought it was cute.
Funny story about Wendy, not so long ago she was working at a tuxedo store. One day some groomsmen came in to be fitted for their tuxes. The brides brother was quite flamboyant and didn't hide his particular flare for fashion or taste for, um, anything. He was, let's just say, unforgettable, much to Wendy's demise. A few days later another one came in to be fitted for his tux. It was a few hours afterwards when the brides Mom and Dad came in so the Dad could be fitted for his tux. The Mom wanted to know who had already been there to be fitted, and Wendy told her about the brothers and the young man who had been there earlier that day. The brides mom told Wendy that the gentleman she helped earlier that day was actually going to be the Maid of Honor. He was the brides best friend, and a little light in the loafers, "if you know what I mean". Images of the flamboyant one came rushing into Wendy's mind, and before she could stop herself, the words "You should see the brides brother, he is SO GAY!" came tumbling out. It was like spilling milk. You can see it happening, but can't quite stop it before it's spilt and the damage is done. Even as she was saying the words she realized to whom she was saying them too. You see, the brides brother just happened to be the son of the brides Mom and Dad, who were standing there, stunned! Wendy was mortified, to say the least. If there was a hole available, she would have crawled into it and never come out. But alas, she took full responsibility of her actions, offered a silent prayer that she didn't just 'oust' the brother to his parents, and apologized profousely. They were very kind, they already knew, and in fact agreed that their son was 'so gay'.
Wendy quit that job shortly after. She now works with plumbers and construction workers...manly men, whom she can pretty much say anything too and they don't get offended. I hope they don't offend her either. And if they do, I hope she remembers her little slip of the tongue and cuts them some slack.
Ah Wendy, you make me laugh. Thanks for saying stupid things like me, and not being afraid to share them, so we can laugh at your expense.

Saturday is my Dad's birthday. To be honest, I'm not sure how old he'll be, but it doesn't really matter in his case. He'll always be young at heart. He's like Dick Clark, he just never ages. Although I'm not sure if he'll start hang-gliding soon, the last time he went he had 'A Close Encounter of the Dirt Kind' (old movie reference) meaning, he ate dirt, pushed up by his shoulder, which in turn dislocated, which in turn meant surgery. Don't worry, it hasn't slowed him down, much. He's back on his bike, taking advantage of the warm weather. He's been riding from Bountiful to Kaysville to my sister's house, finishing her basement for her. Several times a week he's up before the crack of dawn to work in the temple. He's a great example to me and I hope he never slows down. That will be a sad day, because that will be the day you become old.

So to my sweet Husband, my dear Dad, and my soul Sister, keep doing what you love! Whether it's playing ball, flying like a bird, or kick-boxing someones hiney, don't ever let anyone tell you it's time to give it up! As Oliver Wendall Holmes put it, "Men do not quit playing because they grow old, they grow old because they quit playing".

Chutes and Ladders anyone?

Happy Birthday! I love you all!

Julie, Julia and Linda

I watched the cutest movie last night. Julie & Julia. It was charming and sweet, like all Nora Ephron movies are (ex. You've got Mail and Sleepless in Seattle, my 2 most favorite movies).

If you haven't seen the movie, it's about a lady name Julie, who decides to challenge herself by cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook. 547 recipes in a years time, and blog about her experiences. It also gives us a glance at Julia Child's life, her marriage and how she got started in the cooking cuisine world.
I think I enjoyed it so much because I felt a connection to both of these women. I, like Julie, also have a blog, although I don't have nearly as many readers as she does. Probably due to the fact that she blogs about cooking, where I blog about, well, nothing. But that's beside the point, I still feel a kinship between the two of us and tell myself, that if Julie were to read my blog, she would find it refreshing, insightful, and would want to be my new best friend.

I, like Julia, also wrote a book. And although it wasn't a cookbook, it wasn't over 600 pages, and it didn't take me 8 years to write, my book was also rejected by the publishers. 10 rejections, to be exact, but unlike Julia's book, it will never go on to become a best seller and change the world as we know it. But that's ok. I knew when I submitted it, that it usually takes about 100 rejections before you get that one acceptance. So I wasn't expecting anything other than a "NO". But can I tell you how excited I was to get my first rejection letter! Sent to me personally, on letter head from Holiday House Publishers. It read:

Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider your book idea, but we do not find it suited to our present needs. The editors.

They didn't tell me it was horrible. They didn't tell me to give up. They didn't tell me to never submit anything to them again. I guess they just don't need a book about a bird who lost his chirp at the present time.

I have not given up hope. It's still a dream of mine to be a childrens book author. Unfortunately, I haven't written another book since. I used up all my creative juices. I am a One-Hitless-Wonder. I got no more to give. Nada. zip. zilch.

However, since Julia never gave up, neither will I. If my book never makes it to print and distributed to bookstores and libraries all over the country, changing the lives of little people everywhere, I will put it out for the whole WORLD to see! They may have squashed my story, but they haven't killed my dream. I'm a blogger! I'm self published! So here's to all future Julie's, Julia's and Linda's out there keeping their dreams alive!

The Bird Who Lost His Chirp

To my kids, who make fun of me
for not being able to whistle,
and are grateful that I'm not a bird

There once was a nest perched high in a tree
where Momma bird sang to her baby birds three.
"Good morning" she chirped, "are you ready to try,
for today is the day you'll all learn to fly."

"It's really not hard, you just spread your wings;
then give a big jump and let your voice sing!"
So they eagerly stood at the edge of the nest,
ready to see which one would fly the best.

Bobby bird stood so brave and tall,
his chest puffed out, not scared at all.
He took a breath in, then with wings spread wide,
he gave a chirp, then jumped off the side.

His wings fluttered fast, then caught a breeze,
the wind picked him up and he flew with ease.
Bonnie bird saw what her brother had done
and wanted to join him, it looked like fun.

So she hopped to the edge, put on a brave face,
then with a big swoosh she joined in the race.
She flapped her wings hard and took to the sky,
and in her best voice chirped, "Look, I can fly!"

Billy bird crept to the edge and looked down.
"The ground is so far" he thought with a frown.
"What if my wings don't work and I fall?
What if I can't learn how to fly at all?"

The other birds sang, "Come join in the fun!
It's really quite easy once you've begun"
So Billy tried hard to be more courageous,
his heart beating fast, he thought "this is outrageous!"

"I'm a bird, I can fly...it's what we do best!"
So with new found courage, he hopped from the nest.
He spread out his wings and shut his eyes tight,
then he fluttered and flapped with all of his might.

He soared in the sky like a well trained bird,
but when he opened his eyes something awful occurred!
Billy froze in mid-flight when he saw just how high
he had flown to the clouds, his heart gave a cry!

He opened his beak, tried to call to his Mom,
but no sound came out, and he dropped like a bomb.
He choked and sputtered, but nothing came out;
not a peep or a chirp, not even a shout.

He recovered his senses in just enough time,
he pulled from his nose dive and started to climb.
Once back in the nest his mother he found,
she held him close, now safe and sound.

"What happened?" she chirped, "you were doing so well,
then next thing I knew you just stopped, then you fell"
Billy tried to explain how his heart gave a fright
when he opened his eyes and saw such a sight.

But instead of the words he so wanted to say,
nothing came out, his voice frightened away.
His neck stretched, his eyes bulged, he started to shake
as he tried and he tried, but no peep could he make.

"That's all right", chirped his mom, "it'll all be OK,
your voice will turn up, just give it a day."
But his chirp didn't come back, in a day or a week,
a bird with no chirp? He felt like a freak.

The other birds laughed and made fun of him;
so he stayed far away and just sat on his limb.
He watched as the others sang all the day long,
knowing without a voice, he'd never belong.

So poor Billy bird spent his days all alone,
though his voice didn't improve, in flying he shone.
He spent the hours flying where no bird would go,
sailing higher and farther than those down below.

He thought it ironic what he once feared, now loves;
the world and its beauty he sees from above.
Then one day while Billy was high in the air,
he saw something wrong that made him despair.

Tubby the Tomcat, known by birds as 'The Beast',
was climbing a tree to find his next feast.
Billy watched from above as Tubby cat neared,
a nest with five babies and no mommy, he feared.

She left for a moment to find them some worms.
All alone in the tree...the thought made him squirm.
He was scared for their safety, so without a second thought,
he aimed for the woods, now forming a plot.

If he could rally the flock of birds from the trees,
they could gang up on Tubby in hopes that he flees.
But the minute he reached them he knew he was doomed,
with no voice to tell them, his hope turned to gloom.

He pointed and flapped, but they thought he was nuts,
he was acting a fool, and being a klutz.
They laughed and mocked and called him names,
and made him the joke of their mean little games.

But Billy could see what the others could not,
that sneaky old cat and the prize of his plot.
He was creeping up slowly, and was now very near,
Billy's anxious feelings had now turned to fear!

His neck stretched, his eyes bulged, he started to shake
as he tried with his might for his chirp to awake.
Then he turned once more to the birds and he cried,
"If you don't help me, those birdies will die!"

"Old Tubby is making his way to their nest,
their momma is gone, there's no time to rest!"
They sprang out their wings and took off in flight,
with Billy as leader, they were ready to fight.

They got to the tree just as Tubby reached top,
surrounded the nest and Billy yelled "Stop!"
Know I don't know if cats know bird talk,
but Tubby knew best just to turn and walk.

He sulked down the tree like a cat in defeat,
the birds all cheered, Billy found his tweet!
They all gathered round, waiting to hear
how Billy bird found his voice, loud and clear.

"I guess when I feared I couldn't stop the attack,
my chirp that was hiding, I scared it right back!"
No longer does Billy the Bird hide in shame;
he's now a big hero, they all praise his name.

And if he gets frightened and his chirp goes away,
the other birds know how to get it to stay,
a good game of hide and seek does the trick.
They jump out and scare him! It brings it back quick.

THE END!