Grams Recycle Farm

Now listen to my story I want y'all to know My Gram invented recycling A long, long time ago She had some recycle bins At one end of the barn With stuff to make most anything She needed on the farm Sticks and handles in the corner And boxes of rags galore For making all her dish towels And rag mops for the floor Now Grandpa drank the coffee And Gram saved all the cans She painted them so pretty And planted flowers in them Old tires she would cycle too One hanging in every tree From a rope of chain she saved We swung on them with glee Inner tubes,  remember them? They kept us all afloat At the old swimming hole When we didn't have a boat Feed sack dresses she would make Then the scraps she'd cycle more Making quilts for the bed Or braid rugs for the floor She bleached out all the flour sacks Embroidered and then she'd hem And stuff them up with feathers Made pillows out of them Denim coats and jacket She invented them, stone washed y'all She saved every inch of fabric From Grampa's well worn overalls She never parted with a shoe Though the bottoms were full of holes She used the upper part from them To make some good half soles Ashes she would save them too And then she'd sift them To get that real fine bit of dust For polishing all her tins She'd say, 'never toss out a button Nor a buckle or a pin As soon as you do, pity you You'll be needing one of them' Yards and yards of ribbon From grave sites where she'd been Washed and dried and pressed She'd use them all again Sacks and sacks of feathers Hanging in the loft above my head She washed and hung them up to dry Then made some feather beds You'd better eat what's on the plate Now let me give you the scoop She saved leftovers, recycled them In tomorrow's pot of soup Don't throw away sour milk, she'd say That's what it's supposed to do I'll put it in the churn you know And make some butter for you Bits and pieces of cornbread Don't ever throw away The croutons or stuffing she made Comes from bread baked yesterday She took the grease and fat She saved from rendered hogs And mixed and cooked and stirred all day With ashes from a burned up log Now I've got you guessing Trying to figure this one folks That's the recipe, dear friends For Gram's home made laundry soap! I 'm sure you must know by now Where the recycling thing came from Like I said, it was Gram's idea Cycling stuff down on the farm © 2007 Yolanda Cohen

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Gramma's Shoes - Humor

When I was very little, All the Grandmas that I knew, Were wearing the same kind, Of ugly grandma shoes. You know the kind I mean.. Clunky heeled, black, lace-up kind, They just looked so very awful That it weighed upon my mind, For I knew, when I grew old, I'd have to wear those shoes, I'd think of that, from time to time It seemed like such bad news. I never was a rebel, I wore saddle shoes to school, And next came ballerinas, Then the sandals--pretty cool. And then came spikes with pointed toes Then platforms, very tall, As each new fashion came along I wore them, one and all. But always, in the distance, Looming in my future, there, Was that awful pair of ugly shoes, The kind that Grandmas wear, I eventually got married And then I became a Mom Our kids grew up and left, And when their children came along, I knew I was a Grandma And the time was drawing near When those clunky, black, old lace up shoes Was what I'd have to wear. How would I do my gardening? Or take my morning hike? I couldn't even think about How I would ride my bike! But fashions kept evolving, And one day I realized That the shape of things to come Was changing, right before my eyes. And now, when I go shopping What I see - fills me with glee For, in my jeans and Reeboks I'm as comfy as can be. And I look at all these little girls And there, upon their feet Are clunky, black, old Grandma shoes, And I really think that's neat. © Betty Cessna

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