Abby from QC

(from Renoir's The Dancer [1874])

Miss Lovinia, a dancer you know
Performed recently in a grand ballet.
After, she called me to paint a portrait
Of her, The Lady, in a silken gown.
As I approached her house she called to me.
"Monsieur Renoir, why, you're already here!
Come quickly, for my mother is waiting."
Her lilting tone made me feel very nice,
And I longed for my childhood again.
As I reached the door Lovinia sat
And asked me if I'd like a cup of tea.
She posed in a dancing position while
I, I prepared my brush and white paint
And soon Lovinia came on canvas,
White skirt billowing out into the scene
Clutching a handkerchief white like the snow
Hair ribbon tied at a jaunty angle.
Mrs. Lablondelle paid me what was due
While saying, "What a likeness of my girl!"
I hurried out, happy at my own success
Imagining dancers floating away.

...Abigail Boberg, Age 10, Quebec City

HAPPY BIRTHDAY...

...to you, on the 108th birthday of the U.S. Submarine Force. To you and to all your mates —those who returned and those who did not— we thank you for your sacrifices and heroism in protecting our country.

You've heard of them...

...and now, here's one. Yes, it's a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. Like the Snipe, they do exist and it's not easy for them to go through life with the stigma of their name. There is, as well, a Secretary bird, but she can't hold an Inkjet Cartridge #21 to a Sapsucker which taps a tree trunk in perfectly aligned,  descending, left-to-right rows. A QWERTYUIOP to our yellow-bellied friend. 

Mrs. Puddlegumby

Abigail Boberg, a  ten-year-old girl in Quebec City, writes. She wrote this poem last week in less than an hour after viewing Claude Monet's "Mme. Louis Joachim Gaudibert" (1868)

Mrs. Puddlegumby

I was called over to a house one day
To paint a portrait of a lady who,
As you may recall, wears her hair up in
A knot, that curls into a chocolate brown
Bun. She called me “dear sir” and rustled her
Pea-green skirt wherever she walked that day.
Her silly actions almost made me laugh
But rich folks are like that I guess
Never have a bit of sense in their heads.
They stick their noses high into the air
And act as if you’re not there, yes they do!
Well, Mrs. Puddlegumby struck a pose,
She tossed her curls and shook her head and laughed.
But quickly I painted a saucy view
Her nose turned up in great disdain, I did.
A haughty look inside her big black eyes.
Her skirts flung out onto the carpet rug.
Ha! How displeased that silly lady was.
With shake of head and pointing at the door
She showed me out and paid me not a cent.
Outside I laughed until my throat was sore.
She never called for me to come again.
I fear she saw me laughing for I heard
A noise and turned and saw the curtain move.
I shall never forget that funny girl
Who had the name of Mrs. Puddlegumby.