Monday, June 02, 2014
Now Jenny and I are in Minnesota, getting ready for my dad's sale.
Rather than tell you all about convention, I'll cut and paste the updates I wrote on Facebook. For unknown reasons they were all written in rhyme and rhythm.
Paul and I and seven kids
are on our way to ISC.
But first we went to J & J
to pull a poking nail free.
We got to Portland still on time
and shuffled through security.
Now all the bags are at my feet
while all the girls are off to eat.
All is silent as we fly
since Mr. Smucker soundly sleeps
and from the students' ears there grow
buds and wires plugged below
while Mrs. Smucker vigil keeps.
Everywhere we went today
we had to close attention pay
lest by a swallow unintentional
we catch a dreadful bug intestinal.
In Portland we could not get tea.
Its waters teemed with Coli E.
And tapeworms try to sicken too
all we who use the Phoenix loo.
We hope to find at ISC
a clean and healthy place to be.
Dress checks and rallies and judging exhibits.
Breakfast at Foster and passports and ties.
Curfews and rules that the naughty inhibit.
Making sure the quilt entries are all the right size.
Parking lots full of extended white vans
Blazened with church names and verses and such.
Badges on lanyards and Master Control.
Mr. Johnson in Bible Bowl and dear Mr. Mutsch.
We sing and we cheer and we eat and we walk
The girls long for flip flops as I sip my iced tea
We meet the Ugandans and Haitians and Brits
We have fun and adventures at 2014 ISC.
Mrs. Smucker At International Student Convention
The rallies each evening at KCAC
were a longstanding tradition of ISC.
There were contests and speeches and tossing of candy
sermons and altar calls; performances command-y.
There was cheering and singing and blowing of horns
Like Gabriel's trumpet on Judgment Day morn.
The volume on speakers was cranked up to HIGH.
I had a migraine one night and I thought I would die.
So the very next evening I showed up with protection--
a pair of orange earplugs that were plump soft perfection.
The clapping was muffled, the stomping was mild.
The volume on speakers to "murmur" was dialed.
I heard all the words and contentedly smiled.
the long plastic horns only made a faint buzz.
But there was one problem. We shall see what it was.
A lull in the action and I heard a faint tweedle
Like faraway music of a long-ago Beatle.
My daughter turned toward me with eyes that were stinging--
"Oh Mom! Don't you hear it? Your cell phone is ringing!!"
I grabbed for my purse and I hunted it through.
I patted my Bible, my passport pouch blue.
the music kept tweedling, I pulled out one plug.
The sound was still faint like from under a rug.
At last in my pocket the culprit was found.
Desperately, quickly I turned off the sound.
My daughter looked stricken with shame. As for me?
Perhaps I'm a little too old for ISC.
Quote of the Day:
Girl A: I just got a text from "Courtney." She's wondering if there are any cute guys here.
Girl B: Tell her this is ACE. No cute guys.
[But THEN I noticed the young man at the next table in the dining hall who looked just like Damian McGinty from Celtic Thunder. I pointed this out to Girl B and her tune changed, shall we say...pun intended.]