Happy Thanksgiving!

Dear Crabwise Readers, 

Thanksgiving is almost here and I’m thinking of all the things in my life that I am grateful for. One of them is having this blog, Crabwise. It’s been fun to work on each post and have a place to tell stories – I hope you have had some fun along the way, too!

So far, I’ve only posted things I’ve written but I’ve been wanting to add a “guest spot” to Crabwise to have a place for someone else to tell a story or share what they are working on. I figure I’m not the only one who’s living life, gathering random stories, and then writing them down in their spare time.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I’m thankful there is someone who agreed to be in the first guest spot! Jeff Crosby, the dad of a friend of mine, recently retired and when he’s not out dancing with his wife, writes a poem a day about anything that is on his mind. It’s a habit he’s getting back into after a career spent working on the night shift which significantly cut into his sleep schedule and time for creativity. But now, as long as it’s not game time for his beloved Huskers, or nap time, Jeff is thinking in rhymes, writing them down, and trying to make people laugh.  

The subjects Jeff writes about in the following three poems – falling leaves, pumpkins, and spending time with people (and pets) you love – remind me of Thanksgiving and this time of year. Please enjoy!

In retirement, husband and father of three, Jeff Crosby, has more time to rhyme.
There’s sugar in the leaves on trees
At least that’s what I hear
Which makes me often wonder if
They could be used for beer.
The leaves have started changing
To yellow, red, and brown
And that can only mean that soon 
They’ll cover up the ground.
We planted trees for all our kids
When they were very small
And very grateful now we quit
With just the three, that’s all. 
We have a bunch of other trees
They help to clean the air
But this time every year in Fall
They go out with a flair.
They all start changing color
Putting on a great big show
Until they start to falling
To the ground like so much snow. 
It is to be expected 
This game of give and take
That I always feel I’m losing
As I stand here with my rake.
I guess the job’s not all that bad
But believe me it’s no lark
Raking leaves into my neighbor’s yard
Under cover, after dark. 
The pumpkin before it becomes a pie.
Here’s to the lowly pumpkin
Yes, it’s that time of the year.
They put that crap in everything
Not yet though in my beer.
Oh, I guess that they do make it
But it won’t go in my mouth.
I prefer a fine lite pilsner
Way down deep here in the South.
I know that God made pumpkins
And we should not ask why
But I know that he intended us 
To put them in a pie.
Pumpkin pie and whipped cream
Is alright to end a meal
But to find it in my coffee 
Has for me no real appeal.
Pumpkins go quite well with witches,
Ghosts, and Halloween,
But a word to rhyme the color orange
Is one I haven’t seen.
Baxter usually finds a squirrel, but this time he found his way into a poem.
My daughter and her husband
Come home ‘bout twice a year.
David always works real hard
And doesn’t drink my beer.
The garage was cleaned their last trip
For awhile it was nip and tuck,
But with determination
They made room for my new truck.
I prolly had you worried
For a bit there that last line
To see what word I conjured up
To help complete my rhyme.
We appreciate their coming
And all the miles they log,
But most of all we’re happy
That they bring home our grand dog.
Baxter is a massive Lab
Well trained, and fit, and lean.
His bark is large and loud and long
But his only trait that’s mean.
Kat says he’s not our grand dog
Just a dog and she is smart
But when he’s here we spoil him
And give him both our hearts.