If I Were Mean

Sometimes being a nice person can be a burden.

I wonder if it’s easier to be mean? Some days I wonder if I should be mean…but mean simply isn’t me. I’m simply not mean. If I was mean, I wouldn’t be me and if I’m not myself then I’m no one.

— O. Ryder

Solve My Riddle…

Solve My Riddle!

— The grumpy old troll who lives under the bridge from Dora the Explora.

I haven’t asked anyone to solve a riddle in maybe two years now. That’s a long time.

So here’s a riddle: You give someone a dollar. You are this persons brother but the person is not your brother. How is the possible?

 

Christmas Memories: The Balloon.

balloon

Today I thought that I would tell,

Memories of Christmas past.

Sit back and get cozy,

With your nose and cheeks rosy,

And listen to this tale.

— Orion.

 

T’was the week of Christmas and all through the house

There was laughter, excitement and a large cookie eating mouse.

My younger sister, at the time of the age of five,

Had a bright blue balloon that hit the ceiling while it flied.

I watched her run around the room.

She dashed by. Zip, zip, zip.

She raced around. Zoom, zoom, Zoom.

As she passed the tree there arose such a clatter.

She cried out and I asked her, “What is the matter?”

“My balloon,” she said with tears in her eyes,

“It’s stuck in the tree. The tree is taller than I.”

I puffed up my cheeks. Oh what should I do?

Call our mother for help,

Or do what we older siblings must do.

So I took the string and I tugged it a little.

The balloon was stuck in this tree so brittle.

I turned to my sister and said, “I didn’t have luck.”

She started to fuss and the balloon she tried to pluck.

She pulled harder and harder on that blue ribbon.

I said, “Let’s just go ask Mom. She’ll get be sure to get ‘em.”

But my sister wouldn’t stop,

Her balloon was up top.

So she jumped up and pulled as she headed for the ground.

My eyes grew wide at a startling sound.

Down went the tree.

Down the balloon.

Towards my young sister,

Who did not see the danger.

My heart raced and away I went,

I pulled back my sister as the tree bent.

Pop went the balloon.

Crash went the tree.

Mom ran in and looked from my sister to me.

“What on earth happened?” she asked worriedly.

My sister hugged me and smiled,

“My balloon was stuck,

I tried to get it down.

Then the tree started falling.

Good thing Eden was around.”

Mom started at me and said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Thank God for you little child of mine.

You saved your sister just in time.

Come let’s all get away from this tree.

Into the kitchen you’ll have milk and cookies.”

My sister looked sadly at her balloon.

“Cookies make your tummy happy,” I said,

“You’ll get another one soon.”

With a nod of her head she followed behind.

She took her hand and placed it in mine.

 

 

Orion Ryder. December 24, 2013.

For my little sister.

 

 

The colours on …

The colours on my mug didn’t really turn out. Next time I’m going to use black.

This is where you insert the really sad violin music, which shall accompanied by a gentle, cool breeze blowing snow across the empty street, where young Ryder stands alone whispering, “Why?”