A New Year's Wish for 2005
In the style of Henry Livingston's Carrier Addresses
It won't be long, two-thousand four,
Till you're escorted through the door.
Two thousand five leans on the bell
Ready to bid you the fondest farewell.

And looking back, you were a doozy,
Filled with dreams of a working jacuzzi.
Unfortunately the pool's still bare,
But with some luck we WILL get there.

How did I spend you, you timidly ask?
Mostly in melody, a harmonious task.
With Paul's support (need we say that?)
I can finally tell a sharp from a flat.

From dawn to dusk, and back again,
I lived in songs of sweet refrain -
Henry Livingston's manuscript book
Became a living, rippling brook.

And while immersed neck deep in song
Another passion came along.
Paul decided he wanted to roam.
Me? I'd rather just stay at home.

But marriage requires compromise,
So plans for a deal began to rise.
He could travel, I'd agree.
All it took was to get an RV.

The theory was good. The plan took form.
And then we were parents of a motor home!
She hasn't a name, and she's clean as a whistle.
And we're betting she's fast as a guided missile.

But for now she's at rest by the side of the house,
Waiting for spring to inspire my spouse.
The plan that he's made, so he mentions to me,
Is to leave for Nevada to attend NAB.

We're loaded for bear in our brand new toy
With DVDs, computers and limitless joy.
The pups seem pleased with the idea of travel.
Even before we hit tire to gravel.

Henry's chosen to sleep on the dashboard.
To watch out for dogs and other natural disaster.
Ilya's much smarter, his bed's on the floor,
Next to the heater, and he's starting to snore.

Waverly's not really thinking 'bout sleep.
He's sniffing the pantry and in the trash deep.
As for me, I'm ensconced in the big easy chair
With my feet on a hassock and drink in the air.

Paul's under the RV, well, he was 'fore it snowed,
Connecting the wires and checking the road.
He's packed and he's stuffed and everything fits
For a moment I thought all he'd lost were his wits.

So when the snow melts we'll be off to the races,
Or at least to the land of the gambling graces.
I'm betting we'll make it, and if we should not,
Look for us living in some vacant lot.

Not to worry, dear friends, we'll have plenty of food
And emails galore, though our slippers be chewed.
We'll find a way back, never doubt for a minute.
Our hearts in our house, not in the wheeled frigate.

So know that we love you,
We miss you, we two.
May this year bring you cheer
And our wishes sincere.

    Mary and Paul
    Ilya, Waverly, Henry
    My Kitty, Scaredy Kitty


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Copyright © 2005, Mary S. Van Deusen