Spanish

I lived in a state where over half of the population speaks Spanish.  "It would be nice to understand and speak Spanish."  I volunteered at a local university for a course: Spanish for beginners. Professor told me, "It'll help with your English."  Sixty years old woman sat between two decades old, fast thinking students, and many of them already had some Spanish basics. I didn't.  "Como se Llamas?"  "Hola! Como te Llamas?"  "Me llamo es Maria."  I knew that I would have a moderate reaction that I planned to replace with a hard work. I immediately bought a textbook and CD, and the first evening was listening to the CD and was studying the first lesson.  The next day my colleague showed me an article. The article was in Slovak, and I volunteered to translate it over the weekend to the English language. The article was about the lab report, where they were teaching a ram to live on urea. The report read like a detective story. I did not know how to translate all ruminants stomachs into English so I translated them as the first stomach, second stomach, etc. I was sorry when the ram at the end of the other wise successful experiment died. I had fun to translate the article, but what I was to do was to learn Spanish, so that I could answer questions without thinking. I should also prepare myself for the second lesson. I went to Spanish class, but I was ashamed of myself. That was my last hour of Spanish.  Miserable ram - and to make matters worse it passed away.  Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Stephenville, 2007

Stage fright

Standing in the lime light? I have a stage fright! I was taught to pick one friendly face and talk to her. Yes, I could do that, but I prefer to sit on the back, listen and watch. In the small circle sometimes I get an urge to talk. Sometimes I even make a sense, other times I make a fool of myself. No, thank you, I'd rather listen today. To be famous? What for? For an idea to wish to be famous. Patting on the back, shaking hands, to be on TV screen and nervously pulling too short skirt over my knees … I have a strong accent in English. If you will excuse me … Lets get over it and then to go to a restaurant and have a quiet talk over meal. Pizza? Pizza will be fine. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann January 2015

Ask.com

Where did my files go? Ask Ask.com. It has it all. What happened to Norton protection? Ask Ask.com. It knows it all. Where is Google and Google Chrome? Ask Ask.com. It will mock you all. How to get rid of Ask.com? Well, computer will have to go. 1/14/15

Water

Water bubbling clear water running over the reeds and rocks. Little brook hurrying to the river. Cold water in the Spring flooding meadows changing them into spongy squelchy surface creates a lake. I am looking from the forest. I know I can not cross in this time of the year. Water owns paths and once dusty roads dominates water clear powerful water. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann 12/8/2011 Pottsville, 12/8/2011

Wet dog

Wet dog walked in the rain to the village of Wet Dogs. "My wealthy aunt lives there. She owns her own dog house. She might have some leftovers to eat she will share with me." The aunt sleeps on a straw bed and has her own blanket. The blanket is full of fleas, like the aunt. It doesn't matter she is on the chain. She gets to eat for barking. "I know how to bark. I hope it will stop rain soon. I would like to get to Wet Dogs dry. She might find me a job," the dog was dreaming about. Doggie, were are you going? You are not a pure bread dog, you are just common mongrel who crawled to the pub's cellar for the night. "Just to get dry, so I could keep walking to my aunt in Wet Dogs." During the night a robber got in to the basement. The dog barked, he was loud, and hold the robbers' behind. The pub owner came down and turned on the light. "You are some kind of the dog," he praised a canine. "You cannot stay in the cellar. I have a dog house after old Stella you may stay." So the dog didn't arrive to his aunt in Wet Dogs, he stayed in Good Deals town. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann 2013?

Baseball

Berks Bards and Fightin' Phils start a game; a pitcher whacks baseball bat, wham, The ball flies. One, two, three base. Who is going to win this game? Upper bleachers are breathing on my neck and my hot dog falls on the row in my front. Coke follows. Nobody noticed. This is called the game! Copyright © Marie Neumann Baseball Poetry contest 2013

Christmas spirit

I wish to dress Christmas tree, listen to caroling, and to see Betlehems, in Trebechovice would be number one, and I don't wish to do any Christmas shopping. I didn't bake any Christmas cookies this year, because I have got discouraged with my failures of previous years, and I miss that (I mean baking and not failures). I didn't scrub whole house clean and shiny (and the house misses that) and I feel its, somehow, still dirty. We listened to some carols we decorated the house, we cooked Christmas dinners, exchanged little presents and the Christmas is gone. Copyright © Marie Neumann 2012 – finished 4/1/2015