Doctor Gamgee's Birthday
For our Doctor Gamgee, upon the event of his 40th trip around the sun.
Contents:
The Rubaiyat of Doctor G - Various
Trip the Song Fantastic - Laiquendi
The Birthday of Gamgee - Daughter of Kings
The Streets of Gondolin - JimboBaggins
There once was a Doctor... - Ashlyn
Look at Me, I'm Dr. G - Frodosmiss
Gamgee Haiku - Primula
Over the Hill - MerryK
Happy Birthday, Dr. G - Silivren Ithildin
Verses for Dr. G - Lothithil
One Doc - Varda
76 Elf Horns - Erech the Undead
The Streets of Laredo - Vison
A Boromir Tale for Doctor G - Agape4Rivendell
Little Forty Notes from the Book - Linaewen
A Response - Dr. Gamgee
Doctor Gamgee's 40th Birthday Cake Recipe (Orange Raspberry)
The Rubaiyat of Doctor G
Verses assembled by Primula,
Frodosmiss and Orangeblossom Took
A baby boy beheld the world,
And as he grew the notes unfurled
The music growing with this boy
Bedecking ev'ry treble curled.
A music note was his best toy
To toss through days, this humming boy,
And opera notes could make him swoon,
Delightful sound to ne'er annoy.
The boy grew up, it was his boon
That voice was broken, settled soon
To deeper notes for singing strong
That gave to him a heartfelt tune.
And then one year, ago not long,
A wondrous story fraught with song
Drew him unto another place
And to this home he did belong.
Though they not often see his face,
This family he did embrace
Who loved him much, 'twas surely seen,
And in their hearts he found a place.
Empower'd with a title and pen of green
He helps maintain a home safe and serene.
Tis his compassion that in me has won
Much admiration for this friend unseen.
His fortieth trip round sun so
clear
He faced with nary a sigh or tear,
For he knew the best was yet to come:
No peddling! Now he coasts from here.
Downhill he coasts with song and hum,
With labors behind and the fun begun;
Compared to adolescence, what a gas
To maturely ponder what youth has done!
Good Doctor, I don't say, "Alas,"
For though the silliness of youth must pass,
Maturity makes both life and voice rich
And you must admit the ride's been a blast.
In youth, pores clog and muscles twitch.
Your midlife harvest is at fever pitch.
Life with G's Mrs. and Minor is sweet
And there is nothing to change or to switch.
These lines are no great birthday treat
But as a Mod and a friend you are neat.
So Happy Birthday my dear Dr. G;
I hope your birthday and year are most sweet.
Our wishes to our good friend you see,
Before you written, to one and three,
(Mrs. and Minor are there as well),
There's no finer folks than our Gamgees!
To his fortieth, and to his health!
We would bequeath virtual wealth,
Virtual riches and hugs so stout,
Blessings aloud, blessings in stealth.
We lift our glass and give a shout
That we the finest Doc do tout,
He's the best around, we say it clear,
May the hair on his toes never fall
out!
Response from Dr. Gamgee:
Enjoys he these poems for fun,
And brightened have you, like the Sun,
this Day, which rings his fortieth year
And knows the party's just begun!
And a post-script by Frodosmiss:
"Sure! I'm 40!", he said with a sneer
It's a number, it's nothing austere
What matters most is the life I LIVE
And the people I touch while I'm here!
top
In honour of
his Most Grand Doctorness, I present to thee a short composition
entitled:
Trip the Song Fantastic!
by Laiquendi
The sudden banging noises on the front door were sufficient to rouse an
extremely tired Frodo from his wistful slumberings, although not quite
enough to actually make him get out of bed. After several minutes more
thumping, and quite a few choice curses, Frodo decided that the only
way he was going to get any sleep tonight was to either i) open the
door and pretend he was a vampire or ii) put on some earmuffs.
Following a frantic attempt to unearth his favourite earmuffs
(unfortunately to no avail), he gave in to the now slightly less
emphatic pounding on his door and slowly walked to the hallway and
opened the large round door to Bag-End.
Standing in a huddle by the door were Sam, Merry and Pippin, all
looking extremely distraught and slightly annoyed.
“You rang?” Frodo asked with a fake smile and a handful of shaving
cream in one hand for the fateful Hobbit that tried to push past him.
“Frodo! Quick! A huge malady has befallen the Shire! It’s a
catastrophe!” They all shouted together, or attempted to at least.
“Ahah…” Frodo replied. “Go find Gandalf.” Before promptly slamming the
door in their faces.
A short while later, and coincidently just as Frodo had climbed
back into his bed, the loud thumping started again. Reaching for his
trusty bottle of shaving foam, Frodo made his way to the front door
again and slowly opened it.
There stood Sam, Merry and Pippin again, although Merry was now
dressed as Magneto and Pippin was in a Captain Jack Sparrow costume.
“We found Gandalf!” Sam shouted in glee.
“And Captain Jack!” Pippin added quickly, raising his plastic sword
with an “argghhhh” sound.
“We walked down the road and couldn’t see Gandalf, but Mrs.
Offerhoffen’s fancy dress shop was still open, and well, we thought you
wouldn’t notice the difference.” Sam tried to explain.
“And it was two for one, so Pip here had to have one too…” Merry
added with a grumble. “Want to see me levitate the door-knocker?!”
Frodo had to admit he was kind of curious, so he quickly deposited
the remaining shaving foam into one of Bilbo’s old coat pockets and
open the door to let his companions in.
“Now, where’s the tea!” said Captain Pippin Sparrow, running straight
to Frodo’s sofa with a flying leap.
“Some cake wouldn’t go amiss!” Sam called out, starting his search in
the kitchen larder.
“Now just hang on a minute!” Frodo interrupted, having decided that
it was probably best not feed the obviously hyperactive Hobbits,
although he was reconsidering the shaving foam after he saw Pippin’s
muddy footprints on his new three-seater. “What’s happened, and why do
you always have to come to me?!”
“You’re the big thinker.” Pippin said with a grin, as he bounced up and
down on the cushions.
“With all those ideas and such.” added Merry concentrating on the
door-knocker with his hands held out trying desperately to get it to
move.
“And it was too far to walk to find someone else.” Sam chimed in,
trying to see if Frodo had secreted any cake in the coal bin by the
fire.
“Ok, ok… so start from the beginning.” Frodo finally said, coming
to the quick conclusion that he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight,
his door-knocker wasn’t going to move one it’s own accord, and that his
secret stash of crumpets was worryingly close to being found.
“Well… “ Merry started, giving up on the door-knocker and moving on to
the silver cutlery set.
“Sam had invited me, Fatty and Merry to the Green Dragon for a few
drinks…” jumped in Pippin, still bouncing on the sofa.
“…and suddenly…” Merry tried to continue.
“…out of no-where…” Sam finally managed to say, his mouth full of
yesterday afternoon’s crumpets that he discovered in the tuperware
cupboard.
“…a huge, gigantic malady fell on the pub!” Pippin finished with a
yell, and then a “matey!”
“A malady?” Frodo said, still completely lost in the conversation and
bemoaning his lack of ingenious food storage locations.
“Yep, and a big one too!” Merry said, making a dive for some of Frodo’s
crumpets.
“It got Mrs Engelbert.” Sam said.
“And the two Rufferduffer twins!” Pippin added.
Frodo, growing increasingly worried about his fine butter
croissants, quickly came to the only sane conclusion avalaible. “I
think that what we need here is…. a Doctor.”
“The Doctor!” Pippin said with amazement.
“The Doctor?” Mumbled Sam through the last crumpet.
“For Mocha!” Merry said, before realising it sounded a bit odd,
although it did bring on a strange need for coffee…
“Doctor who?” asked Pippin.
“Ooo… do you mean that weird fellow down the road with the big blue
police box?” Merry said, and then quickly quieted down after everyone
turned to stare at him. “Well it could be…”
“No, no…. we need a specialist doctor, someone trained to deal
with such odd occurrences, and also charges low, low prices for quality
craftsmanship. I have heard of such a gentleman, in whispered tales on
the weneedaconvienientplotpoint.com website. He lives far away to the
west, through dangerous obstacles and death-defying hurdles!” Frodo
boomed ominously into the room, mostly just to scare Sam who suddenly
jumped after Pippin poked him with his plastic sword. “Only with his
help will we be able to end this cruel malady!”
A large groan sounded from the invading Hobbits as they realised
they were going to have to go on yet another adventure, and just after
they had broken into the pastry containers.
“We need to find the village of Lower Uppingdown. There the
enigmatic Doctor hides away, where none shall find him unless they
follow the clearly-marked signs!” Frodo concluded with a crescendo,
mostly thanks to Merry finally making the drum kit move after
accidentally hitting it with the butter knife. And so, it was with a
lot of grumbling, a lot of pushing, and a few well-placed kicks from
Frodo, that the motley crew of Hobbits emerged from Bag-End ready for
their adventure to save the Shire.
Several hours later, and several meals lighter, the three sturdy
Hobbits arrived at the clearly-sign posted village of Lower Uppingdown.
They had traversed the mighty bridge of doom, scaled the perilous
heights of sudden death, crossed through the obligatory foul-smelled
pond of festering unholiness, escaped from the giant troll of
increasing fatality (by tying up Merry as bait and running rapidly in
the opposite direction… although they later realised that perhaps they
should have gone back for Merry before Sam pointed out he had eaten
three portions of the apple pie last evening) and then got a ride on
the local bus service after discovering that Pippin had accidentally
dropped their map in the foul-smelling pond. They now stood to face
their final challenge…. working out which house was the doctors.
Arriving at the last house in the village (which, fortunately they
decided to check first since Frodo knew something about irony), they
walked gingerly up the immaculately kept garden and forced Pippin to
knock politely on the green-painted front door. After a rustle inside,
the door opened to reveal a sharply dressed gentle-Hobbit.
“Ahah! And who may you be?” The keen-eyed Hobbit said with a smile.
“Mmmm… well….” Mumbled Pippin before squealing and running behind
Frodo.
“Yes, well.. I’m Frodo Baggins,” Frodo finally said not for the
last time wondering why on earth he had agreed to come on this silly
expedition. “The squealing Hobbit in the pirate costume is Peregrin
Took and the portly fellow behind my back is Samwise Gamgee.”
“Gamgee you say!” The doctor exclaimed loudly, which was quite
loud when you were stand mere feet from him as Frodo realised. “Well,
that’s my name too! Doctor Gamgee to be precise.”
“Oooo… do you know Gertrude Gamgee?” Sam suddenly said, coming t from
behind Frodo’s back.
“Nope, don’t think I do.” The doctor replied.
“How about Eustace Gamgee?” Sam said.
“No…”
“Ermintrude Gamgee?”
“No.”
“Philomena Glackensmith-Gamgee?”
“Was she the one that married the Hobbit that looked like a horse?” The
doctor asked.
“No, she was the one that married the man that looked like a cabbage.”
Sam said quickly, “Are you sure you’re really a Gamgee?”
“Quite sure!” He said with a grin and a chuckle. “Now, I’m sure
you’re not here just to carry out a genealogical search… or are you?
“No, we are here on the most important business!” Frodo finally
said, trying desperately to bring the conversation to any sort of
sanity.
“A great malady had befallen the Shire!!” Pippin said, waving his arms
emphatically around and narrowly missing Frodo’s head.
“Well you had better come on in then!” The doctor said, ushering the
three Hobbits into his very presentable house.
Standing in the kitchen was a lady baking cakes, while running
around the floor was a young Hobbitling pretending to be some sort of
flying apparatus. Seating the three companions at the table, the doctor
poured everyone some of the finest ale they had ever tasted along with
some of the fine lady’s decidedly scrumptious fruitcake.
“That there is G-minor, our proud son. Just this morning he
rewrote the theory of relativity to account for variations in the
cosmological constant due to temporal dillationary effects as you reach
the speed of light, while yesterday he played the entire back-catalogue
of Elvis hits, on the fiddle, using his feet. My they do grow up fast
don’t they…”
“What’s he doing right now…?” Frodo asked warily.
“Trying to eat flies.” The doctor said. “Now describe for me the nature
of this malady that has so befallen the Shire.”
“Well,” Sam began before stuffing his mouth full of another slice of
fruitcake.
“This great malady just fell from the sky and crashed straight into
the Green Dragon pub” Pippin continued, cursing himself for not trying
to grab the piece before Sam. “Huge lady, big hat on her head with two
horn coming out of it. Long flowing locks and a chestplate the size of
the Alps.”
“She squashed at least three drunken Hobbits before anyone
realised the roof was caving in around them. It was such a tragedy...”
Sam lamented softly between mouthfuls of cake.
“It is indeed,” Pippin added, “All that fine ale wasted. And it was
Happy hour too!”
“Ahah…” The doctor said joining in their remorse, then began to
slowly rub his chin as if in deep thought while Frodo looked at Pippin
in amazement.
“You mean, it’s not a virus or anything, Pip?” Frodo asked
incredulously.
“Nope, big fat lady that sings.” Pippin said in reply. “Apparently
Fatty thought it was the end of the world of something.”
“How can a doctor save us from that?!” Frodo shouted out, his last
clutch on sanity having fled the same time as the last piece of
fruitcake.
“Only if you have the right doctor!” The doctor said with a laugh. “And
luckily enough, you found him!”
In a seemingly unrelated fit of despair, Frodo began to bang his
head against the dinning room table. Unsurprisingly, it actually
started to make him feel that little bit better, desperate the lack of
protestations from his friends.
“We don’t have much time if we’re to save the Shire! We must be
off immediately to vanquish this menace!” The doctor exclaimed loud,
raising from his comfortable chair to strike a dashing pose against the
setting sun.
Their plan set, sort of, it didn’t take long for Sam and Merry to
drag the grumbling Frodo out the door, thank Mrs. Doctor Gamgee for the
two additional fruitcakes and set off with their new companion back
towards the Shire.
They trekked through the harsh jungles of providence, skirted round
the foul-smelling pond of festering unholiness using a shortcut into
the sweet-smelling forest of ever-lasting ylang-ylang, encountered a
very unhappy Merry standing over the dead body of the giant troll of
increasingly less fatal fatality, leisurely abseiled down the perilous
height of sudden death and skipped across the bridge of doom until
arriving safely back in the Shire.
Racing to (what was left of) the Green Dragon pub, the five
Hobbits suddenly encountered the almighty malady of the Shire, just as
she finished the last aria of the second act of Don Giovanni.
Scattered around here were the battered remains of several Hobbits that
had tried to fight her off, but none could get close enough before they
were blown fifty feet into the air by her voice.
The doctor rolled up his sleeves, and turned to face his fellow
companions.
“It will be difficult, but I may just be able to save the day!” He
said with a stern grimace. “In a fiendishly devised plot point, I shall
volunteer my services to vanquish this heartless woman by singing
louder, faster and with a great deal more emphatic gesturing! Anyone
have any requests?”
“Ooo, ooo,” Pippin said, jumping up and down. “Joseph and His Amazing
Technicolour Dreamcoat!”
“The Pirates of Penzance!” Sam shouted out.
“Anything by Justin Timberlake!” Merry squealed out with joy.
“The Barber of Seville?” Frodo asked, finally deciding that if was
going to save the day, he might as well do it in style.
“Ahah!” The doctor said with a large grin. “Excellent choice, my
grouchy Hobbit friend!”
And so the doctor marched proudly to just outside the range of the mad
woman’s voice and began to sing…
Pronto prontissimo son come il
fulmine:
sono il factotum della citta.
Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo;
fortunatissimo, fortunatissimo,
fortunatissimo per verità!
A te fortuna non mancherà….
Suddenly joined by the Tookborough Amateur Dramatics & Operatic
Society (which consisted of two sopranos, a baritone with a sore throat
and a Hobbit playing the triangle), the doctor bellowed with joy in
counterpoint to the threatening malady.
Realising that now they were soon to be out of danger, and
agreeing to enjoy the free show, the remaining Hobbits rapidly set up
some chairs and turned the remains of the Green Dragon into a low-cost
duplicate for the Royal Albert Hall.
“What are they saying?” Pippin said to Frodo as he examining the
proceedings through his pirate costume telescope.
“I’m not entirely sure, but it may be some form of Elvish…. Or
possibly Italian.” Frodo said, munching his way through a huge bowl of
popcorn that someone had handily set up near the rear stalls.
“It’s got to be Italian.” Merry quickly interrupted from his
position in the Royal box (which turned out to be the upside barrel
cart that had been propelled into the air during the malady’s previous
performance of The Ride of the
Valkyries).
“How can you tell?” asked Sam, still eating his way through the second
of Mrs Dr. G’s fruitcakes.
“Well, when did you last see an Elf that looked like that…” Merry
replied pointedly. “Although I have no idea what he is saying.”
“I shall attempt to translate.” Frodo said, quickly scanning the
glossy programme that was being sold for an extortionate price in the
foyer.
Pour toes and kiss your nose son come
in for my tray
Son all facts onto the settee
Ah, brave fig-roll! Brave, bra is mine!
For I am in a tiz at mo, for tunes are really slow
Four moons are long ago for very far
At the poor tuna no man can chew her…
“Doesn’t really make sense, does it?” Merry said to a bemused Pippin.
“No, but then, has any of this story made sense up till now?”
Pippin replied, to which Merry shrugged and returned to the show. “The
show’s not over until the fat lady stops singing!”
Eventually, after a long and arduous operatic sing-off, and an
interval that was far too short for the Hobbit’s liking, the mad malady
began to sing higher and higher, and louder and louder in order to
compete with the doctor’s rapid pace and dulcet tones. Just as she was
about to break the sound barrier, the malady suddenly exploded in a
mass rain of body-shaped confetti. Instantly a cheer erupted from the
gathered crowds of Hobbits and other assorted opera fans, shouting out
for an encore, only with more breaks and fewer exploding women.
Following the rapturous applause that greeted the seventeenth
encore, Frodo walked up to the exhausted doctor and presented him with
a large bunch of flowers.
“To show our gratitude and support for all you have done for the
Shire, we give you this lovely collection of flowers that we happened
to find nearby!” Frodo said, handing over the wilting bouquet. “And
now, we have one final favour to ask of you…”
“As long as it’s not another encore…” The doctor panted, wondering if
he’d ever be able to sing again.
“No, no…nothing like that.” Frodo said reassuringly. “We’ve just
got a little problem with a rampaging horde of giant mutated spiders….
Look there’s some over there!”
Frodo pointed off to the horizon, where over the hills swarmed a
mass of large spiders devouring everything in their path. Looking back
to the doctor, Frodo was surprised to see that he had suddenly
vanished.
“Oh great, there goes another one…” He said with a scowl. “Does anyone
know a good supplier of industrial strength bug-spray?”
Here's to you, Doc!
top
Partly found and partly
made,
Writ in fun, with love displayed,
This tale, a gift to you from me.
Happy Birthday, Dr.G! 
The Birthday of Gamgee
Frodo took a handkerchief from his
pocket and wiped his brow. Late May in South Texas meant wildflowers
and new growth on the blackjack oaks, but it also meant warm and humid.
Putting the handkerchief away, he reached into a second pocket and
pulled out a small parchment, glanced between it and the house numbers
painted on the curb. Nodding to Sam, he continued along the sidewalk
and knocked on a particular door.
Frodo and Sam were not the first arrivals. Elrond was there, and
Frodo saw Glorfindel and Glóin; and in a corner alone Strider
was
sitting, clad in his old travel-worn clothes again. At the far end of
the room Théoden sat in a heavy overstuffed chair, and beside
him stood
a woman clad in white; his niece, Éowyn.
In the back yard, in two lawn chairs there sat, side by side, Celeborn
and Galadriel; Treebeard and Quickbeam were providing shade and
conversation to the Elf lord and lady. Gimli had (quite
surreptitiously) excavated a horseshoe pit, and was in the process of
losing a game to Éomer. Legolas was entertaining G-minor.
Sam made straight for the dining room, where the buffet would be
served. There was a round table, already spread with a white cloth, and
there was hot soup, cold meats, a blackberry tart, new loaves, slabs of
butter, half a ripe cheese; good plain food, as good as the Shire could
show, and homelike enough to dispel the last of Sam’s misgivings (he
had his doubts when the invitation said the gathering would be
potluck).
In the music room, Frodo found Bilbo sitting at the piano, tapping out
a few notes and humming to himself. “Hullo, Frodo my lad!” said Bilbo.
“So you are here at last. I hoped you would manage it; I want your help
in something urgent. Elrond says this song of mine is to be finished
before the end of the evening, and I am stuck.”
“Yes, I’ve made it, and Sam is with me,” Frodo said, and as if on
cue, Sam came into the room with Merry and Pippin, whom he had found inspecting the buffet table. “Sam,
Bilbo needs help with his song for tonight.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Frodo…” Sam started to say.
“Come on, Sam!” said Merry. “There’s more stored in your head than you
let on about.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Sam. “It ain’t what I call proper
poetry, if you understand me: just a bit of nonsense.”
But the others would hear nothing of Sam’s humility. Frodo left them
gathered around the piano, tossing rhymes back and forth, and went in
search of Gandalf.
He found his old friend in the kitchen, chatting with Mrs.Dr.G. After
greeting his hostess, he turned to the wizard. “How long have you been
hiding out here?”
“A habit of the old, “Gandalf explained with a smile and a wink
for Mrs.G. “They choose the wisest person present to speak to.”
Mrs.G. blushed a rosy pink, gave Gandalf a “my-but-you-do-go-on”
look, handed Frodo a glass of ginger-peach iced tea, and bustled off to
see that the buffet table was still well-stocked and her guests cared
for.
Guests and gifts continued to arrive. FedEx delivered a small
package wrapped in white silk and tied up with a very elaborate bow.
Mrs.G. took the present to put with the others that were piling up on a
side table, when suddenly, she felt movement and heard a scritch-ing noise inside the box.
With a little Eek!,
she dropped it. The lid came off and a tarantula scuttled out.
Fortunately, Frodo and Sam both had experience handling large
arachnids, and they were able to remove Shelob’s gift from the house in
short order.
Boromir was last to arrive, looking somewhat harried and rumpled.
Mrs.G greeted him warmly and fussed over his appearance. He was quick
to reassure her, but had to confess, “It was a long and wearisome
journey from Wisconsin. I lost my party hat and my map while dashing
through the DFW airport. Long have I wandered by roads forgotten,
seeking the home of Dr.G. I am glad to finally arrive.”
As tea time passed, the suspense began to build. Everyone knew that
Dr.G would be coming home soon. Aragorn had been keeping watch for him,
but was distracted by G-minor wandering through the living room. The
lad kept up a steady stream of conversation with the Elf, and at the
moment was asking how old his father was today. “Old, very old,” said
the Elf, with a wink, “so old that I almost feel young again.” G-minor
giggled. Aragorn smiled at the joke and the laughing child, and in
doing so, almost missed the arrival of the Guest of Honor.
Gimli spied Dr.G., though, and gave a shout. “Look, Aragorn! There is
the old man.”
“Everyone hide!” Aragorn called out, and there was a brief scramble
as the guests dove for their favorite hiding places. Merry and Pippin
wound up under the buffet table, of course.
Then the front door opened, and Dr.G entered.
SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DOCTOR GAMGEE!
And then the fun began. 
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The Streets of Gondolin
Noticed your
from Laredo with a profession in music so with apologies
to Arlo Guthrie here is my birthday present to you...(To the tune of
Streets of Laredo) - JimboBaggins
The Streets of
Gondolin
As I walked out in the streets of Gondolin
As I walked out in Gondolin one day
I spied a poor elf lad wrapped up in white linen
All wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.
“I see by your outfit that you are of the Noldor”
These words he did say as I proudly stepped by
“Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story
I’m shot by an orc and I know I must die.”
’Twas once in Valinor I used to go walking
Once in Valinor I used to go walkin’ all day
First lead to creating and then to jewel makin’
I’m shot by an orc and I’m dying today.
Let six jolly elf lads come carry my coffin
Let six pretty elf lasses come carry my pall
Throw bunches of elanor all over my coffin
Throw elanor to deaden the clods as they fall
“Oh, beat the drum slowly, and play the harp lowly
And play the elf harp as you carry me along
Take me to the green valley and lay the earth o’er me
For I’m a poor elf lad and I know I’ve done wrong”
We beat the drum slowly and played the harp lowly
And bitterly wept as we carried him along
For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young and handsome
We all loved our elf lad although he done no wrong
top
There once was a
Doctor named Gamgee,
T'was a mod so nice and quite savy.
When his birthday came round,
All his friends could be found,
Gathered near to give him a party!
-
Ashlyn
Happiest Birthday
Wishes, Dear Friend Gamgee!
Here's my homage to you on your 40th, with a nod to my
Samsmissy, whose love for this musical is the reason why this song
plays in my head constantly...
- Frodosmiss
Look At Me, I'm Doctor G.
Sung to the tune of “Look at Me, I’m
Sandra Dee”
from 'Grease'
Look at me I'm Doctor G...
I can’t believe that I’m forty!
That middle age spread just fills me with dread...
Not me! I’m Doctor G!
Watch it! Hey, evil Birthday
I won’t let you have your way!
Won't come across, though my youth may be lost...
On this, the blackest day!
I won't drink or swear
When I lose my hair...
I’ll get ill and break out in a sweat!
Hold your hearty guffaws at my burgeoning flaws...
I KNOW behind my ears, it’s no longer wet!
You say, “Ha! Methuselah!
You’ve sure got some real chutzpa!”
Well look, if you must, but I'm no object of lust...
I'm just plain Doctor G!
Reaper, Reaper, let me be!
Keep that sickle far from me!
I’m just forty, blockhead- It don’t mean I’m dead!
Hey, Nazgul, I'm Doctor G!
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Gamgee Haiku
Hey Doctor Gamgee!
Maturity is such fun,
Adorning your head.
A true Texan son,
Never shown up, Nuh-uh!
Biggest in our hearts.
- Primula
Over the Hill
- by MerryK
What luck, thought Eowyn, that the royalty of Gondor and Rohan
should come together for council at this time on this year.
Knowing that her brother would support her if he but heard, she began
by explaining the basics of her plan to Faramir, who, of course,
objected. Eowyn was used to that.
“Come now, my love,” she wheedled, putting all her charm into it
and looking about for Eomer. “It would be a wonderful experience, and
moreover, a Rohirric tradition.”
“Absolutely not,” declared Faramir. “I am but forty years of age,
and there is nothing about that age that is, as you put it, ‘over the
hill’.”
“But Faramir,” she continued, eyes wide and sincere, “you are quite
old.”
His spluttering was quite enjoyable, but she hid her smile.
“I am not old,” he said. “Not a smidgen of it.”
“Yes, you are,” said Eomer, emerging from another group to join them.
“Quite old. Why I am but one and thirty!”
“As I am but seven and twenty,” answered Eowyn. “My love, you are old
indeed.”
Faramir said nothing, eying the two with scarcely hidden
disapproval. He looked around the room, and called to his aid one whom
he was sure would ally with him: “My lord! Elessar!”
The king, aged three and ninety, raised his eyebrows and said: “Yes?”
“Is it a reasonable situation to throw a celebration for a person
turning forty, with the purpose of welcoming them to old age?”
Aragorn paused for a moment, seeing Faramir’s almost pleading face,
and Eomer and Eowyn’s wickedly delighted ones. “Of course,” he snorted.
“It is tradition, Faramir.”
“Your favorite thing,” said Eomer with an evil look.
”Can no one understand that I only honor traditions worth
honoring?” Faramir responded with a frustration born of long endurance
with this subject.
”Such as the one that calls for the King to wear disgustingly
embroidered robes to every Council meeting?” muttered Aragorn as he
turned away.
“That was quite an honorable tradition,” retorted Faramir. “And the
word you are searching for is delicately, not disgustingly.”
But Aragorn was gone, and Faramir turned to face his Rohirric
relations again, cringing at the glee that shone from their faces. “For
the last time, please, I beg you,” he said, “I am not old.”
But before another word could be said, Legolas slid up behind
Faramir, putting an arm round his shoulder and smiling down upon
brother and sister with a youthlike demeanor. “Of course you are not,
Faramir. Why, you are but a child, scarcely older than these babes I
see before me.”
And with a flashing grin, he turned and whisked himself away,
leaving the Steward of Gondor fairly smug, and the King of Rohan
magnificently smoldering.
“As you can see,” said Faramir smoothly, “holding this party now would
be quite out of place. If you should choose to do so in, say, forty
years, I should not make ruckus. But if nothing else is convincing, let
you both know that if you declare me elderly at forty years of age,
what would you call the Lady Galadriel?”
“Nothing that is not flattering, of course,” growled Gimli, the latest
eavesdropper.
As Faramir departed, triumphant, it was in Eomer’s mind to call out
the word ‘ancient’ in answer, defying the rhetoric nature of the
question and Gimli at the same time, but Eowyn spotted his look, and
spoke quickly: “Eomer, we must admit that have been outdone, by
Gondorians and Elves no less. But think you for a moment of the
benefits—if Faramir has it not done to him, neither shall it be done to
us.”
“So say you, oh happy resident of Gondor,” murmured Eomer, sighing.
“Elfhelm, despite his name, knows nothing of Elvish ways, and will not
care what has been decided today. It will not matter how youthful I may
be in nine years: it shall happen.”
“Great mearas, Eomer, are you
envying Gondor?” queried Eowyn, eyes open wide.
“Of course not!” snorted Eomer. He wrapped one arm around Eowyn and
leaned in, whispering: “Yes, in this matter, of course, but let it
never be known.”
Eowyn chuckled. “Of course. Worry not, my brother, I shall not even
tell my quite elderly husband.” And with a twinkle in her eye, she
departed in search of Faramir again.
top
Happy Birthday, Dr. G!
The Party Tree was all aglow
Our love for Dr. G to show,
Some cake and ice cream
plus lots of kid's screams,
Pass round the finest ale
and someone start to tell a tale,
We couldn't let this day pass
without fun, hilarity and sass,
Our Dr. G is a wonderful mod
we give him lots of nods,
So, have a excellent time today
and Dr. G, Happy Birthday!!!
-
Silivren Ithildin
Dr. G—Dr. G
Father of Family
Maker of simile,
Limerick, and poem
Dispensing acumen
Ever a Gentleman
Supercongenially
Makes our club a ‘Home’
There once was a Hobbit in Texas
I wish I could buy him a Lexus
Dr. G is—it’s been said—
The best thing since sliced bread!
He’s at the heart of M.E.—part of the nexus!
(have you ANY IDEA how hard it is to
find rhymes to ‘Texas’? Dr. G—why on earth can’t you live in Maine? I gotta thousand rhymes for that state!
LOL!)
Happy Birthday Doc! We love
you!! -
- Lothithil
top
One Doc to rule them all
One Doc to find them
One Doc to bring them all
And in the....er....darkness bind them
Somehow that did not quite go the way I intended 
I better stick to fiction.
- Varda
As we celebrate our dear Doctor's timely
passage into Middle Age (er, Middle Earth),
let us pause to reflect on his earlier accomplishments, prior to taking
up residence in the middle of the desert...
It seems the Professor had a somewhat dubious reputation back then.
Tales are told of a wanderer who beguiled students and parents alike,
for the purpose of organising musical groups of any variety: choral
groups, marching bands, quartets, quintets, hip-hop groups...
All quite notorious, and underfunded... 
He met his match, however, in the form of a Southern maiden, a Miss
Paroo, with whom he had to paroove
himself. It was then that he headed Southwest, settling in a small town
not far from Riven City...
In those early days, those murky, shadowy days, the Doc employed an
alias, an alter ego if you will. He travelled far and wide, engaging in
all manner of musical mischief. It is even reported that he may have
practiced unsafe sax...
He was simply known, back then, as Professor Harry Underhill...
And this was his calling card; his trademark; his signature; his Opus;
his forte'...
-------------------------------------------
to 76 TROMBONES,
1957 Meredith Willson
76 ELF HORNS
, 2007 Erech the undead
Seventy six Elf horns led the Elf brigade
With a hundred and ten times ten glowing blades
They were followed by rows and rows of warriors proud all spears aglow
They're the cream of every Elven glade.
Seventy six Elf horns sounding forth ablow
With a hundred and ten Elf squads in colorful rows
There were more than a thousand reeds springing up like Mallorn seeds
There were Ents of every shape and kind you know
There were horse platoons with copper bottom tympani
Thundering, thundering, right down to the Sea
Double bell euphoniums for times of war
Edoras is on the march to fight for you and me
There were fifty thousand horsemen riding to the fore
Thundering, thundering, louder than before
Trumpeters who's backs would arch as foes all fled into the dark
Their wretched corpses piled up by the score
Seventy six Elf horns scattered every Orc
While a thousand times ten Elf voices pierced the Mark
To the rhythm of 'Harch Harch Harch!'
All these Men and Elves did march
Cries of "Victory" still shouted loud today!
top
As I walked out in the streets of
Laredo,
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
I spied a young Doctor a-walkin’ and singin’
A-walkin’ and singin’ as bold as a jay.
He sang like a birdie and smiled while he did it,
He sang like a birdie whilst amblin’ on.
This musical Doctor is one of our best guys,
He’s clever and funny, deserving of song.
Here’s hoping your Birthday, my dear Doctor Gamgee,
Is Happy and Fun-Filled from morning till night.
May all of your birthdays forever and ever
Be happy and joyful and full of delight.
- Vison
We do not know
exactly what date Boromir of
Gondor was born on – but he was forty years old when he set off on the
quest to find the answers for the riddle of the dream that Faramir and
he shared.
So it seems only logical (what woman
of Gondor needs logic) – to have a
little tale of Boromir’s birthday to give to Dr. G on his fortieth
birthday! Many, many happy returns, dear friend!
July 3rd - -
He heard stifled laughter coming from his father’s study; his brow
furrowed. There was naught to laugh about, in his mind’s eye. All
seemed to be doom and gloom. Was not he leaving on a dangerous quest on
the morrow? He hesitated a moment before knocking on the door.
“Who calls?”
Now Boromir was highly disturbed. His father’s voice questioned
him! Did not his father summon him? The guard at his side never
flinched. “You told him I was here?”
The guard nodded, but said nary a word.
“‘Tis Boromir. You sent for me, my Lord Steward,” he called through the
closed oaken door.
Uproarious laughter greeted his words. Boromir began to fume.
Mayhap he should turn around and go to The Green Parrot, as he had
planned before the summons.
“Just a moment, Captain. I need to tidy the room.”
Behind the door, snorts and giggles greeted this response. Boromir
stood at the closed door, his mouth agape. ‘What in all the tea in
Harad is going on?’ He clutched his sword hilt and paced back and
forth.
“You may enter,” his father’s voice said a few moments later.
He put his hand on the cold, black, iron handle and pushed the lever
down. The door was locked!
Raucous laughter came through the door.
“Forgive me, my son,” the Steward called aloud. “I forgot I locked it.”
Boromir stood back, waiting impatiently for someone to unlock it
and let him in. It was nearing dusk. He had hoped to spend the night
packing, sharpening his sword, and spending at least a little time with
Faramir. He had reserved a table at the Green Parrot and had hoped to
enjoy what was left of this hideous day with Faramir and some close
friends.
The Council meeting earlier in the day had been a disaster. It had
taken all of Boromir’s persuading to finally sway his father to let him
go to Imladris. If such a place could be found. Faramir had wanted to
go, probably should have been the one sent; instead he left in anger.
They had not spoken since Denethor gave the mission to Boromir in his
stead.
If his father was in one of his moods, he would spend the night
here, listening to theories, looking at maps, and going over all the
information that they had eschewed at the Council meeting earlier in
the day. He tried to control his temper, his frustration, and his
sorrow. He needed to spend time with his brother, to explain his
reasons for making the journey instead. Faramir was disappointed in
him, he knew that.
“Surprise!” The shouted greeting met him as he stepped through the late
opened door. “Happy Birth Day!”
Boromir stared. Denethor, Faramir, Imrahil, the captains of the
different Citadel guards, some of the lords from the Council meeting –
all stood about with smiles upon their faces and shouts of
congratulations on their lips.
“I… I had forgotten.”
Faramir stepped forward and hugged him. “We did not!”
- Agape4Rivendell
Little 'FORTY' notes from THE books -
Gelion was a great river; and he rose in two sources and had at first
two branches; Little Gelion that came from the Hill of Himring, and
Greater Gelion that came from Mount Rerir. From the meeting of his arms
he flowed south for forty leagues before he
found his tributaries… The Silmarillion
At last worn by haste and the long road (for forty leagues
and more had he journeyed without rest) he (TURIN) came with the first
ice of winter to the pools of Ivrin, where before he had been healed.
But they were now but a frozen mire, and he could drink there no more.'
The Silmarillion
"-and slipped inside the crack before it closed. I followed down into
the main hall, which was crowded with goblins. The Great Goblin was
there with thirty or forty armed
guards. I thought to myself 'even if they were not all chained
together, what can a dozen do against so many?' " The Hobbit
Most of their earlier settlements had long disappeared and been
forgotten in Bilbo's time; but one of the first to become important
still endured, though reduced in size; this was at Bree and in the
Chetwood that lay round about, some forty miles east of the
Shire. FOTR
Forty
leagues
it stretched from the Far Downs to the Brandywine Bridge, and fifty
from the northern moors to the marshes in the south. The Hobbits named
it the Shire… FOTR
No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham Gamgee, commonly
known as the Gaffer. He held forth at The Ivy Bush, a small inn on the
Bywater road; and he spoke with some authority, for he had tended the
garden at Bag End for forty years… FOTR
"I cannot say," answered Gandalf. "It depends on many chances. But
going straight, without mishap or losing our way, we shall take three
or four marches, I expect. It cannot be less than forty miles
from West-door to East-gate in a direct line, and the road may wind
much."
Forty
leagues
and more it was, as a bird flies, from Edoras to the fords of the Isen,
where they hoped to find the king's men that held back the hosts of
Saruman. TTT
"How many are there?" he (SAM) thought. "Thirty or forty from
the tower at least, and a lot more than that from down below, I guess.
How many can I kill before they get me? TTT
Shagrat's company had seemed to be about forty,
and Gorbag's more than twice as large… ROTK
Still far away, forty miles
at least, they saw Mount Doom, its feet founded in ashen ruin, its huge
cone rising to a great height, where its reeking head was swathed in
cloud. ROTK
It was a good forty miles from the Bridge
to Bag End, but someone made the journey in a hurry. So Frodo and his
friends soon discovered. ROTK
Dr. G - I honestly don’t think Tolkien liked the number forty – if you
wait two years - forty-two is a favorite of his – especially concerning
the battle of numbers between Gimli and Legolas!!!
Of course, my main man was forty when he started out on the Quest – but
Tollers doesn’t mention his age. THIS to me is quite significant and
makes a wondrous thought for the day.
I hope you enjoyed this little trip down memory lane – you will need it
– for your memory will disappear too – into the West, I think!
Many happy returns, dearest friend….
- Linaewen
top
And a Response:
I
don't think the term "Laugh Lines" for "wrinkles" has ever applied to
my face before, but after reading all of these lovely posts, and
loosing 5 lbs. by LMBO I have to say, "Yeah, I have Laugh Lines!"
The posts were all wonderful. I
was rather shocked to see so many, and
with Inklings and Poems and Songs, Limericks added in to all the good
wishes, I am rather humbled by the outpouring.
My friends, you have made my 40th
birthday a delight. Had I known how
great this side of the hill was, I would have gone over it YEARS ago!
Bless you all for enriching my
life in so many ways,
Dr.G
And finally...
Doctor Gamgee's 40th Birthday Cake
(Orange Raspberry)
Make a Yellow Cake Mix (Substitute Orange Juice for Water)
and add fresh raspberries (stirred gently by hand once the batter is
liquid).
If you have it, add a dash of Watkins Orange Extract.
I
covered mine with the Pillsbury Cream Cheese frosting, and had a bit of
Raspberry filling (found near the pie fillings) which is used for
pastries to make thin lines on top, then dragged the edge of a knife
down through the lines to add an interesting pattern.
It
was YUMMY!
