Run, Baby, Run….and bring your friends and family

Total time spent cooking: 1 hour, 45 minutes.

The results: cookies resembling rocks in taste and density, fish so overspiced as to be inedible, soupy mashed potatoes, a sink full of dishes and a clogged garbage disposal.

Cookies: Made them with Natalie. Improvised as we were out of butter. I do not recommend this. Much more intent on helping the two year old than followng any semblence of a recipe. She was cute working the beaters, though. My husband declined to eat them and my three-year-old declared them “bumpy, not flat” and “hard to eat.” Then he helped me throw them away.

Fish: Had a great salmon rub. Learned that a little goes a long, long way. Three-year-old also threw his fish away.

Mashed potates: Decent, but not great. Left the skins on, as I knew I’d be the only one eating them anyway. Way, way too much milk.

Dishes: You can imagine.

Garbage disposal: Left-over pasta down the drain. I thought I had it figured out, no rice or green beans down the disposal. Which is what I told my husband. Apparently, it’s been clogged three times from pasta. I think he might have put the pasta down the drain. Which is what I told him. He laughed and laughed, with the “are you kidding me?” look. The thing about being married to somebody with a terrifically better memory is that you really just have to accept that he’s very right and I’ve forgotten about the last two times. Which he had to clean up.

It’s a really good thing that I’m not a chef.

‘Twas the night before Vegas
and all through the strip,
not a creature was stirring
except dancers, for tips.

The directions were placed
in the lobby with care,
in hopes that the race
would be run clean and fair.

The runners were nestled
all snug in their beds,
while visions of mile-markers
danced in their heads.

And hubby in his boxers
and blanket, well wrapped,
had just tumbled in bed
from a heavy night cap.

When out on the strip
there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed
to see what was the matter.

Away to the window
I flew like a flash,
jumped over the furniture
like a hurdler’s dash.

The moon on the breast
of the hookers below
gave a dubious luster
to the men saying “no”.

When what, to my wondering
eyes should appear,
but a miniature Elvis,
chugging a beer.

With his white satin jumpsuit,
stretched so very taut,
I knew in a moment-
young Elvis, he’s not.

More rapid than eagles,
the Elvises came in a line
and they whistled and shouted
and said it was time!

“Run Blue Man! Run Elvis!
Run Sir Elton John!
Jog tourists! Jog locals!
Jog Celine Dion!

To the top of the hill,
to the top of the strip!
Run all the way,
run away! Please do not trip!”

As dry leaves before
a marathon fly,
when they meet a running shoe
leaping the sky,

so up to the top
of the hotel they flew,
with an arm full of numbers
and pins and chips, too.

And then in a twinkling,
I heard on the roof,
A belch and a burp
that were not very couth.

As I drew in my head,
and was turning around,
down the fire escape Elvis
came, iridescent and round.

He was dressed all in spandex,
from his head to his foot,
and his shoes were all covered
in ashes and roots.

A bundle of goodies
he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler
just opening his pack.

His eyes how they twinkled,
his dimples how merry.
His cheeks were like roses,
His nose like a cherry.

His droll little mouth
was smiling bright,
and the roll at his belly
was pasty and white.

The stump of a ciggy
he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke, it encircled
his head like a wreath.

“I’m Elvis, the Las Vegas
Marathon Fairy.
I come bearing gifts.
I don’t mean to be scary.”

He was chubby and plump,
a jolly old elf,
and I laughed when I saw him,
in spite of myself.

A wink of his eye
and a twist of his hand,
and I saw his wrist covered
by a LiveStrong band.

“You’ve got to run hard.
You’ve got to run long.
My friends and I hope
to entertain you in song.

Now take your bib number
and fasten it tight.
Then down to the start line,
your run is in sight!”

Then he sprang to the landing,
to his friends gave a whistle,
and they tumbled downstairs
like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim,
‘ere he stumbled away,
“Good luck with the run!
It will be over one day!”

Sorry to those who have read this already, but I hope you enjoyed it. I thought it deserved a replay, as it’s actually now going to be the night before Vegas. See you there!