20 April, 2014

5th Degree Of Inebriation

20 April 2014

R. Linda:

So . . . I had this dream -- I know what you are going to accuse me of and you'd be right! I ate spicy food therefore, strangely stupid dream.

I dreamt I was in Ireland and sitting in a pub in Dublin when I was handed a t-shirt. I put it on thinking it was the name of the pub but it wasn't. It said, "1st degree of inebriation: SOBER" in great big yellow letters. I looked around to see if anyone else had a t-shirt like mine, and well, there were black t-shirts galore all with either yellow, red, blue, orange or green lettering, but I could not see what they said because people were moving about the place and it seemed a blur.

So I ordered me up a Murphys Stout and sat sipping me beer thinking the chat was always loud in Dublin pubs and I was wondering to meself why that was until I realised I was in one of those pubs made famous by the Irish Tourist Board where Americans come and Americans are by nature LOUD.

I shrugged to meself that that was the why of it and went back to sipping me beer. I then wondered why it was in a Dublin pub you paid an arm and a leg for your jar. I ordered me another as I thought of that and realised again it was the fault of the Irish Tourist Board touting such places to foreign travellers who they knew would pay an arm and a leg for the brew and the atmosphere. But I did not reach this conclusion until I was three Murphys in.

Someone came along and handed me another t-shirt. I put it on over the first one and looked down and noticed it was red and the lettering said: "2nd degree of inebriation: MERRY!" Well, I was sort of, at least I felt quite happy as I ordered me fourth brew.

As I sat there I wondered why everyone around me were so lively. I looked at me jar of Murphys and thought it looked no different than usual so was it the beer? Nah, not everyone was drinking Murphys, some had Guinness, some had Beamish, some O'Hara's Celtic, some Kilkenny and others Harp. So couldn't be the brew but then I realised the most lively among us was the whiskey drinkers swirling their Jamesons or Bushmills, the majority in their cups on Paddys. I decided to order up me merry way to an Irish whiskey and a Paddys was brought before me.

As I contemplated the smoothness of me Paddys Irish Whiskey, someone gave me another T-shirt and I put it on. I looked down and the letters were an electric blue colour and the wording said: "3rd degree of inebriation: DRUNK!" I realised I was sort of there I was, but that didn't stop me from ordering another Paddys.

Behind me was a wee bit of ruckus, there was a group of pub-goers hoping about with "DRUNK" t-shirts trying to do Irish dance but they just looked silly and everyone, including the would-be River dancers were laughing. I toasted the group and ordered another Murphys and a shot of Paddys. I was doing shots with me beer and lost count of how many beer shots I had until someone pulled a t-shirt over me head. I looked down and it was orange and the words said: "4th degree of inebriation: TOTALLY WASTED."

Uh huh that was probably the case and being in such a state I did not care. It was then I changed over to what everyone at the bar was drinking -- Irish car bombs! It was then I was wondering why the music was so loud and then I remembered, when I was half a block away I could hear that music and that sound led me to the pub. But the music was American not Celtic. But then this was a tourist trap and well . . . goes without saying.

I was on me tenth car bomb feeling no pain when the barkeep leans towards me with a folded t-shirt and informs me I have "arrived." I unfolded the t-shirt and in big green letters it said: "5th degree of inebriation IRISH!" Yup it said that and yup I put it on.

Seems because I did not open me gob, everyone thought I was an American and working me way to being Irish, or what Americans think Irish are . . . drunkards. I took exception to that I did, even though I had on the offending t-shirt. But then I clamped me gob shut thinking let them think what they will, we are making money off them as they try to be us, but know not a fig about us.

So in me dream I was an alcoholic, but in real life I be a coffee addict. Back home there is a pub on almost every street corner because for centuries the meeting place in British Europe has always been the inn or pub. And believe it or not, not everyone who frequents these places, and many of us do, are not alcoholics. It is chat up friends at the end of the day that be the real draw. The tradition survives to this day! Strange how being from another country and knowing better, one picks up what people living in the adopted country think of you. Not only that now that I live here, I have adopted the coffee craze of Americans. So what's up with that? Or more, what's up with me?

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

13 April, 2014

Fluffy gets high and Weasil hits an all time low

13 April 2014

R. Linda:

Weasil rang to let me know he be back in Steamboat Springs, Colorado and "trying to" enjoy the new weed law. Yes, indeed. The young whippersnapper takes a toke every so often now that it's "legal." Personally, I am not about any of that because I was brought up on Irish whiskey and that's an Irishman's way of dulling the senses, therefore, I know very little about the stuff as does Weasil's Scottish governess.

He hired this person years ago and told me she was an older woman from Peebles, Scotland, very prim and proper just what he thought his two kiddos needed. Since then, I have met Ms. Macmillan and she did not come off as Mary Poppins or Super Nanny but the old fashioned staid and 'tradition at all costs' kind of governess. I thought she was exactly what the Weasil brood needed because her stern exterior shouted no nonsense.

I know what you're thinking -- a governess? Really? In this day and age. But we are talking Weasil who be all about good form if it applies to anyone else but him.

Well, try as the governess might the two "children" are anything but well mannered delights. BUT when in her presence you could not ask for two more well behaved children, but away from her guiding presence . . . nah, everything falls apart. She seems the strict disciplinarian and keeps those two youngins' on their educational toes she does. I am not sure why she's still employed, as both children go to fine schools, but as with most things and people, I can only suppose she's become a fixture of the Weasil household.

Recently, with the new weed law in place, Weasil decided to go out and buy some. When I heard this I thought it might explain the killing off of Weasil brain cells and was not a bit surprised he'd be out to purchase a bag of the stuff. And being Weasil it wasn't a little bag it was a big bag, or so he said. I thought you could only buy a little but well, we are talking the Weasil who could charm the pants off of a snake if he had to.

He comes home with the baggie and he hides it in a guest room the family doesn't use, because we know Max the eldest would be right there trying the stuff out and the daughter, Miss Scientific Experimenter Extraordinaire, well we KNOW she'd be trying it.

So, the other day Ms. Macmillan had nothing much to do as the kiddos were in school and the Weasils were out shopping in Aspen. She decided to "tidy up a wee bit," and that included the guest room. She opened a nightstand drawer and finds this bag of brownish green vegetation.

"Oh my," she mutters to herself, "this must be Fluffy's "new stash" as Mr. Weasil calls it." And with a sigh she takes the baggie from the drawer and goes into the great room where the Weasil family cat is perched on the back of a couch, looking out the window at the wooded hillside probably dreaming of catching and torturing (before biting the head off) a chipmunk or other outdoor rodent.

"Here kitty, kitty, look what Mildred has for you!" Says Macmillan shaking the baggie.

And of course kitty hears the sound of that and it looks very much like her usual catnip and off she jumps meowing at Macmillan to get some of that catnip gold out so she can roll her fluffy self in it for the joy of wallowing the day around in a catnip high.

This our governess does and the smell was so pungent to that cat it plunged into the bit on the floor and rolled around and meowed like this was the greatest catnip ever! The cat was so animated and "cute" that Macmillan gave her some more, enough that cat was walking on air, or more accurately tripping out.

As the week passed anytime Macmillan (who loves cats) was in that room, she'd go to the high chest where she placed the bag of 'catnip' and if the cat was in the room (and you know it was) she'd toss out some of the stuff and the cat would have a high old time quite literally. Macmillan noticed the cat was fast becoming "her" cat because when it saw her it knew it would get this new and improved catnip and this woman was her favourite person in the whole house now. Something Macmillan, lover of cats, did not mind at all.

About two nights ago, Weasil decided it was time to smoke a bowl of the weed he bought. The kiddos were in bed and the household settled for the night. He went into the guest room and as you know the baggie was not there. He stood there wondering if he put the stuff someplace else, but no, he distinctly remembered putting in the guest room. He hunted around and could not find it anywhere. He went to his wife Amanda and the two of them scoured the house but no bag of weed did they find.

Perplexed, Weasil went into the great room where he noticed the cat, who, for the past few days was very vocal and would walk over to the big chest and meow like it wanted something from there. He had opened some of the drawers and found nothing, thinking maybe a mouse was in the chest somewhere. Well, this time the cat was demanding about that chest. But nothing could Weasil see and he was too lazy to open all the drawers.

A few minutes later, in comes Macmillan to say goodnight, and she sees the cat begging at the chest. She goes in and slides open a drawer as Weasil is sitting there racking his brains about where he misplaced the bag, and what does he see, yup you guessed it, she removes THE baggie from the chest and croons to kitty she has kitty's catnip. He watches in shocked astonishment as she takes the little that is left and spreads it on the floor and Fluffy goes ape shite rolling around and meowing its delight in getting the 'good stuff' before bed.

Too overcome for words, Weasil says nothing but sits there watching the cat enjoy its furry self in his expensive purchase. He gets up goes to the drawer where he saw Macmillan re-stash the stash in the hopes there is some left and what he found was he's got very little left of his expensive weed, a pinch no less, not even! He hits his forehead with his hand and looks down at the fluff ball wearing his prized Mary Jane and feels faint. Somehow he got the with all to pick up the cat as carefully as he could and over to the glass top coffee table by the scruff of the neck he takes it. Gingerly he brushes the stuff on the table, debriding cat of weed. He had 1/4 teaspoon! Poor Weasil, poor man, poor cat!

The cat was deposited on the floor and it sat looking at the Weasil like he had one hell of a nerve. Yes, it did!

As you can see - not happy and very pisssed off 
Macmillan unwittingly made a junkie out of the cat. Weasil was telling me that every time he goes near that chest or even ventures into the great room the cat comes out of nowhere and cuffs his ankles but good. He said his ankles are cut up from scratches so bad he can't wear socks or bleeding "profusely" begins.

I asked him what he was going to do. He told me he had no choice but to buy two baggies of weed next time, his and the cat's.

Oi!

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

11 April, 2014

A Happy Accident

11 April 2014

R. Linda:

At work, the powers that be were offering us discounts on our health insurance premiums if we'd get off our lazy butts and exercise more. Walking was suggested as an easy form of getting healthy and if you decided you want to give it a go, a free pedometer is yours to use and it will monitor directly to the people in charge of overseeing your new healthy lifestyle, thus discounted premiums.

Sounds great doesn't it? Well, with three kiddos any new way to save money is usually given a try and so I signed up. Yes, I did! I got me a pedometer and hooked it on me belt and sat me lazy butt back down.

As I did me work me mobile was buzzing with a Tweet. It said: Gabriel O'Sullivan welcome to Discount Dollars For Your Health Insurance! You've had your pedometer for an hour and haven't made a move. Don't you think it's about time you got up and took a short walk around the office to re energise?

Well, no, no I did not think I needed to re energise, I thought I should be doing me work. So I ignored the Tweet and went back to me proofing. It was not more than 20 minutes later I get another Tweet saying near the same thing and again I ignored it. I had a deadline to meet. But that did not seem to matter to the discount dollar people, they wanted me arse up and they wanted me walking NOW. I finally gave up and took a stroll around the office. Matter of fact, I was pissed off so I went to the coffee machine, got me a cup of Joe and strolled around the lounge area until I was done. Then I went back to me work.

I finally learned that the Tweets go to an automated system if you are 20 minutes immobile. I couldn't get it to turn off. I finally caved and every 20 minutes I took a stroll while reading my copy, much like walking and texting, a very dangerous business. I wondered I wouldn't get fired for loafing around the office complex like I had nothing to do but walk about like I'd never seen the place before. I tell ya!

So I've had this stupid thing with me for two weeks. I walk when I can and when I can't I hook it to Miss Jao's purse and let her walk around. I know that is cheating but it's better than being Tweeted every 20 minutes. Yes, the discount dollar people have found a way to get through to me whether I want them to or not!

But the ultimate shock happened to the discount dollar people just last night. I had gone to bed and put the pedometer on me nightstand as I usually do and was in blissful dreamland when suddenly me phone started vibrating on the nightstand and woke me up. I picked it up to see who was calling me and I discovered it was a Tweet from the discount dollar people. It said: Hey GREAT GABE you are up and have walked 600 yards! We are so proud of you, keep up the good work!"

At first I was annoyed these twits would be awakening me at 3:30 a.m. with a Tweet when I realised something odd, I had been asleep, I hadn't walked 600 yards and if I did it would be in me sleep. Then it hit me did I actually do that and put the pedometer on out of force of habit? I reached for the stupid thing but it wasn't there. I put the searchlight on me phone on, so as not to wake the wife who had grumbled through the phone vibrating its way off the nightstand. There was no pedometer on the table, on the bed, on the floor, or on me! I had no clue and I thought I'd dropped it behind the table but hey I was tired I was going back to sleep and would look in the morning.

But I didn't get back to sleep, three more times I got TWEETS! Telling me what a fantastic job I was doing walking off a sleepless night. I was livid. Finally I took meself downstairs because dawn's light was breaking, and I was not going to get anymore sleep and I knew it and I did not want to disturb the sleeping wife anymore than I had with the phone vibrating across the table for the Tweets.

I got down into the living room thinking to throw meself on the couch and try to get some shuteye, and it was then I noticed something. Mr. Kits was running around like he had something on him he couldn't get off and he was struggling. He'd throw himself down and with his hind legs go scratching violently at his collar and then, he'd jump up and run around the downstairs and over the hassock and throw himself down and do the kicking at his collar.

I couldn't take the antics so I caught hold of him and what did I discover? Stupid had knocked the pedometer off me nightstand and cuffed it out the door into the hallway where it fell down the stairs to the first floor and his rolling around playing with it, got it caught or hooked on his collar and thus the 600 yards in less than five minutes!

This only gave me ideas. So on the weekends when I don't feel like walking two miles, I hook it on the dogs collar and send her loose to run. Yup, the Tweets are glowing and the premium is coming down. Doesn't get any better than that!

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

28 March, 2014

Faery Dust - reinvented with a little something extra

28 March 2014

R. Linda:

Forget daydreams, let's go directly to crazy land. Just when I thought Weasil would be back in Scotland voting to stay a part of the United Kingdom . . . or not, I find him AND his wife at me doorstep. Their kiddos were with her father and step-mother someplace and these two had nothing better to do, but fly into New Hampshire to visit me on me last day off! I tell ya I can't get any peace, nor sleep.

So here it is, in all its weirdness the conversation I was forced to be privy to, in me own kitchen.

"You know what honey, I think I know what to do with the urn that is on the mantle back home."

The person speaking was Mrs. W, and she was directing this pregnant thought to her husband who was toasting Toaster Strudels (the entire supply me wife bought me kiddos) and squeezing the gooey icing over the top of the ones he had thus far toasted to Weasil perfection.

"And wot wood datty be?" He asked in mid squeeze.

"I think we should book a trip to Disney World." She said all lit up like a light bulb.

I was wondering what an urn full of ashes on a mantle had to do with Disney World, but then I wasn't exactly sitting with the sharpest tacks in the box. I didn't have to wonder long.

"Well, you know my late mum liked faeries and I thought she'd like to have her ashes spread in Tinkerbell land, you know by the castle in Disney World."

I bit my tongue so hard it hurt, and shook me head NO, but I had nothing to do with this . . .  this . . . conversation (if you can call it that).

"Welly . . ." was all Weasil uttered, as if he was capable of deep thought.

It was much to me amazement he'd even give it credence. But we are talking Weasil here, not Albert Einstein.

"AND you know how much she liked her bling," this said with a wistful sigh, "I could get some glitter and mix it in with her ashes so when I spread them they look like faery dust!" She was really lit up now.

I sat there aghast but her husband thought it was a great idea. But then he would!

"I could mix them together . . . but then there are those bigger pieces . . . " she drifted off in thought, a puzzled look on her face.

"Bigger pieces?" I said to meself only then realising what she meant and then was doubly aghast.

"We could git a blender," Weasil suggested, an icing packet raised in the air as if the thought was this side of brilliant.

"OH no we could get a Vitamix!" Brightly suggested by his wife.

"Yeah datty would blend da glitter an ashes to a fine dust." Weasil said serving the first box of Toaster Strudel.

I cleared me throat and ventured in as if I would be accepted as the voice of reason. Stupid me.

"I don't think the Disney people will allow that."

They both looked at me like I was the nutter.

"They won't know, we'll just throw the ashes out and everyone will think faery dust," the brilliant Mrs. Weasil threw out.

"Nah, da best way ta do datty dere iz ta take da gondola and throw it from there and da peeps will think, wow faery dust!"

"Oh no, no, no," I said shaking me head violently, imaging meself walking below a gondola being dosed with ashes from a dead body. "You can't rain down someones ashes on tourists, I mean most of them will be kiddos below."

"Dey will luv it," Weasil said, "a bit o' magic hey dere Gabbie?"

"How you going to get an urn into Disney World in the first place?" I challenged.

"I will sew a gold lame' bag and bedazzle it with rhinestones that says 'FAERY DUST' on it." The Mrs. said, ever full of inventive ideas.

"Get a patent on that while you're at it," I mumbled to meself.

"Wait, better den datty dere," Weasil said having an obvious brainstorm, "you can sew little individual baggies of da dustie and we'll git us a vendors license and sell it as faery dustie."

As SHE howled in ecstasy at that idea, I at the same time howled in protest and was overcome by the thought to which I started eating strudel like it was going out of style.

"So what happens when you run out of ashes . . . oh excuse me faery dust?" I threw out me mouth full.

"Gabbie, it's Florida," Weasil said condescendingly to me.

I stopped chewing in wonder, so what it's Florida I mused to meself still not figuring it out. So I blurted out me consternation. "What you mean its Florida? What does that have to do with anything?" I asked getting a bit warm and taking another Toaster Strudel.

"Old peeps. We stake out an old peeps home and Bob's your uncle, every week we will have another urn."

I sat there in unspeakable horror looking at the Weasil and his wife, the strudel falling from me gaping mouth.

"YOU CANNOT DO THAT!" I shouted when I finally got me vocal cords to kick in from the shock.

"Dat was a wastie of perfectly goodly studellie thingees," Weasil said blotting me lips with a napkin.

I threw off his hand and got up and asked them how'd they feel if someone sprinkled ashes with glitter on THEM.

"Wood we knowz it weren't faery dustie? Nah ha we wood notty." Weasil said smugly.

"You are an idiot of the first degree. I cannot believe either of you would be so callous, so disrespectful . . . " I started to rant.

"No not disrespectful, if anything," Mrs. Weasil chuckled at me like I was a dope, "we would be respecting my mother's last wish."

"Which was?" I had hands on hips now, like I meant business. "YOU are not telling me in her last will and testament she said, mix my ashes with glitter and oh yeah use a Vitamix-er to do it, and then throw me in gold baggies and sell me at Disney World so my ashes can be spread in the land of make believe."

SILENCE. NOT A WORD. They sat there looking at each other their eyes wide in disbelief I'd know that.

"NO! You are not telling me she ACTUALLY requested THAT?" I demanded. "SHE DID DIDN'T SHE? OH MY GOD!" I sat heavily back down as they started to chew again. Interruption over, as they shrugged their shoulders in unison. "I AM APPALLED." I said crossing me arms over me chest in dissatisfaction.

That was it. I could say no more. I had said me piece, it wasn't accepted as offering sound advice, I was an unfeeling wretch and that was that.

They finished off the rest of the Toaster Strudel. Yes they did, they had worked up an appetite and were hot to be off to Florida, urn and all. I sat there with me long legs spread out under the table, me big self slouched back in me chair, arms akimbo with a sour expression on me face. I don't know how long I sat there but it wasn't too long before I realised, me very own kiddos have a trip to Disney World coming up with the in-laws. THAT thought got me out of me chair and leaning on the table hyperventilating at the thought of drifting ashes and glitter and them noticing the 'faery dust' and dancing around in it. I was beside meself I was!

I kept telling meself THAT will never happen, but we all know the Weasilmans, where there is a will there be a way and you know they'd do it! I estimated by the time they returned to Scotland and got the Vitmixer AND the urn, it would be around spring break here. That thought spurred me to action it did. I made phone calls trying to locate the Weasils, I couldn't! I called me in-laws and warned them that IF this fine dust with glitter was to fall from gondolas in Disney World it wasn't what they would think it was and to get out of there and not let me kiddos get full of it because they'd be literally wearing Amanda's mother.

And what did I get for all this warning? I got this from the Dragon-in-law, "Really Gabriel I can't think where you get this stuff from, but you are making me seriously consider committing you to an institution for the weak of mind."

YUP that's what she said, if anyone should be committed it should be the Weasils, but no, its ME that is the crazy person. Oi!

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

27 March, 2014

Don't You Dare Laugh

27 March 2014

R. Linda:

Because of me work schedule, I sometimes get a weekday off instead of a weekend. So it was yesterday when I thought I could be sleeping in but that didn't happen, no, no it wasn't meant to be. I got kiddos coming in zombie-like for a kiss goodbye before they were off to school. I fell back into me pillow as they shuffled out and then ten minutes later, the wife comes in for the same reason, she be off to work. I couldn't manage to lift me head for the kiss but she leaned down and smack and goodbye and out she went. I sighed that FINALLY I'd get some more shuteye.

Within minutes I could feel the bed move, and I knew the dog was climbing in to take Tonya's place. If Tonya was still home that would never happen, but it was me, and our lurvey setter knew I'd not chase her. I think I had drifted off when I was awakened by a large wet tongue licking the side of me face. It was warm slobber and well that grossed me out immediately I sat up in bed throwing the dog off me.

"UGH! YOU gnarly hound stop it. Get off with you," I waved her off the bed, and wiped me face with the sheet. As I sat there wondering if it was worth a try to sleep again, in came the same doggy culprit carrying her food bowl between her teeth. I got it, she wasn't fed, Tonya did what she always does, leaves me to feed the zoo if I am home on me day off!

I got out of bed and thundered over the old floorboards grabbing the bowl from the setter who was wagging tail and dancing around like I was the can opener on legs. I got the food in the bowl, got her fresh water and then thundered back to bed where I slammed the door behind me.

It wasn't three minutes I was in there snug as a bug in a rug, when I heard this roaring sound. I opened one eye, then the other but nothing did I see and in me groggy state it was a familiar sound so I let it go and shut me eyes. Suddenly me head felt very warm like I was wearing a hat. I reached up and felt a furry body stretched over me head and knew the damn cat was in bed with me now! AND sleeping in its favourite place, which be on me head!

I knew he hadn't eaten either, so I pushed him off to which unlike the setter, he stood looking at me all indignant. I thundered over the old floorboards to the kitchen, and once again piled on the food for culprit number two, WHO, had the nerve to slowly make his way into the kitchen, as he rubbed up against the walls, the door, the dog, and finally made his way to the food bowl where he sniffed it and then tail straight up stalked away because we did not like the choice for breakfast. I wanted to throw that bowl of glop after him, but I refrained and poured me coffee instead.

I sat down and realised me newspaper wasn't brought in so I tramped out to the cold to get it. I stood on the porch and it wasn't in its usual place, no indeed, it was down in the snow. Having no slippers on me bare feet and too mad and lazy to go get them, I pounded down the stairs into the cold icy snow and retrieved the paper. I was quite a bit chilled and thinking a sip of me coffee would warm me up. I went back to the kitchen took a swig and was rewarded with what was akin to ice coffee. Tonya hadn't left it on the heat, no she thought I'd be sleeping in, so she left it to get cold. WONDERFUL!

I set to brewing a fresh pot and realised I'd get no more sleep, so while the coffee brewed I took meself for a shower. I turned the water on to get it warm while I shaved and then once me face was less hairy, I got in the shower to find the water wasn't in the least warm it was like ice water. I danced around holding me breath when reaching for the towel I neglected to put out. When I realised there was no towel, I had no choice but to get out of the tub dripping wet and freezing. I went to the linen closet leaving a trail of water behind me when I found the towels were all used that morning by the boys and wife along with the hot water, and there was none to be had. Cursing royally I made me way to the kitchen in the nude, still very wet and cold, to find a tea towel (we had one clean) and I stood there drying off when their was a knocking on me door. I froze.

You know me kitchen has that great big Williamsburg window and two small cottage windows. The door is right next to the big window and that door has windows and there I was just behind the fireplace by the stove where the cabinet over the stove held the tea towels. Had I been seen? I wasn't sure. But even if I was, I was not about to come out of that corner and go answer the door wearing nothing but a tiny tea towel! Gees Louise! I tell ya.

So there I was tucked in the corner hoping whoever it was would go away, but the dog heard the knock and had come bounding into the kitchen barking at the door. BUT then she'd trot to where I was and stand looking at me barking, like "Gabe, answer the door!" So me hiding spot was given away by the ever helpful watchdog. I tried to shoo her away, but she decided it was a game, to where she'd get down on her two front legs, butt in the air and bark at me, then, being a quick and fleet sort, she rushed me and got the towel and took off with it. Now I had NOTHING to cover me with, NOTHING. I could see her in the living room throwing the towel in the air and pouncing on it, then she'd run in the kitchen bark at the door and run back to throw the towel in the air. I was furious but kept meself hidden and quiet and as motionless as possible in case I cast any kind of a moving shadow.

Finally, the knocking ceased, the dog came in and laid down at me feet and I figured it was safe to come out of the corner. I stole a look before leaving me hiding spot, but saw no one. I ran, yes I did, I ran for the bedroom and got me slightly dry self dressed. Then I ran to the front door to see if I could see who had been at me door, but no one did I see until Lois suddenly popped up in the glass part of the door window. We stood there motionless looking at each other. She had bent down to leave a bottle of homemade maple syrup she had made for us and was about to tack a note to the door. I shyly opened the door not sure what to say or do about the nude dry off she might have seen, or why I had been home and not answered the door. She was acting kind of strange herself which made me wonder more just how much of me she had seen!

"I . . . uh . . . I brought you some maple syrup I made a few batches and I know O'Hare loves dark maple syrup on his pancakes." She said haltingly, which wasn't Lois's way at all. This made me very nervous.

"I am sorry Lois, I was on the back porch and didn't hear you knocking until it was too late and then well, I went to look for you and here you are." I said just as nervously but more like a right arse.

"Oh that's okay, I knew you must be busy. So, I'll be on my way." She smiled nervously at me as she handed me the large bottle of syrup wrapped in a hand towel. "Oh, if you want the towel there you can keep it." She said as she started down the steps.

I KNEW IT, yes I knew then she had seen me romping about looking for a towel. Was I embarrassed you betcha I was!

"Or, if you want I have a load of extra curtains I don't use and I could drop them by." This cast at me over her shoulder as she walked down the path away from me, her shoulders shaking in laughter.

I stood there watching her, me mind thinking about how the next neighbourhood get together would be. Yup, Lois has a big mouth and I know I will hear snickers and be the butt of innuendos and such. Oh yeah. I took a deep breath and gently closed the door. My life was over. Children would sneak through the woods to point at me abode and the leader would tell the others, "That's where the guy lives. He doesn't wear any clothes, he's a hermit. Likes to dress up in tea towels."

Oh yeah life is over.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

26 March, 2014

Snippets Within Daydreams

26 March 2014

R. Linda:

There are times when one be daydreaming that vague memories can spring to mind and it is like watching a film in ones head. Such was me in a moment of being so worn out that I sat at me kitchen table, chin resting in one hand, the other wrapped around the warmth of a coffee cup, letting me mind wander wherever it wanted.

It floated into me mind a snippet, yes a snippet of a memory. I was discussing writing endeavours at me local library. I was the guest speaker and it was one of those times that the Weasil had paid me an unexpected visit and because I had to be at the library and had little time for Weasil nonsense, I packed him in me car and headed with him to the library.

Everything was going great. I made a few jokes and they were received like I was a stand up comic, even the Weasil chuckled along. I talked about me work, but most of me audience were budding writers who wanted to know more along the line, of how to write a good story and get published. Somehow, and I guess because we were in a library surrounded by books written by some of the most wonderful authors ever, we got into a discussion on the classics.

I told the story of author and BFF of Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins who is credited with writing the first who done it mystery in England, complete with suspects telling their side of the tale. His book the Woman in White and the more famous Moonstone, if read by the modern reader, is very old hat if you get me drift. But it is of value to know the author wrote the first of what today has become the modern detective, crime, mystery novel.

We had a wonderful discussion on this and I, thinking I was being very smart in rewarding the Weasil for being so well behaved (for a change) that I ended me lecture with the following and was rewarded for me efforts with the Weasil being the Weasil in spite of his good behaviour.

"Now I know this young man sitting in the front row has an extensive library and probably has read many a mystery novel." I smiled benevolently at the young whippersnapper, who smiled benevolently back at me and said, "Every novel iz a mystery if you dunt finish it."

Yes indeed. Me ego was deflated like a balloon that someone thrust a pin in. Why I thought of that I do not know. Note to self: Do not call attention to the Weasil when with a group of strangers.

I drifted into a more recent snippet/thought, I was driving down the highway to Target to pick up something or other, I don't remember what and it isn't important. Anyway, I happened to have me Irish Red and White Setter in the backseat of me car and she likes nothing better than hanging her lurvey head out the window. If we stop for a light and I am in the right hand lane, heaven forbid someone pulls up next to me in the left hand lane. She goes nuts. She barks at them fiercely as if she's saying, "HEY YOU! Pull it the hell over or I'll eat you!"

This annoys me no end and I always look apologetically at the driver and shrug like -- it's a dog, this is what MINE does. Sorry. But the drivers never look pacified, they look irritated and will gun their cars to get passed mine as soon as the light changes.

I made a mental note to self: Do not take the dog on trips where there are red lights.

Me mind drifted further on, this time to a work snippet where I was reading a police report, that had three people basically tattling on each other. It was one paragraph long, and it contained prostitution, drug addiction, and shaking down an old guy who was mentally impaired for filing a false police report, though he stated he was not impaired, which more the pity because something was wrong with him. There had to be zero brain power between all three. They each incriminated the other, all in the quest to report one another for something ridiculous. One of the "ladies" (and I use that term loosely) reported that the other stole a car that turned out belonged to the one accused of stealing it, I tell ya! So right there is crime number one: Filing a false report. The one accused of grand theft accused the old man of letting his new heroin addict girlfriend to influence him to report the car stolen because she wouldn't sleep with him, and that he was mad because of that. He said, that wasn't true, all was platonic (I can see the officer rolling his eyes at that), but the car belonged to him. She came back with he "gifted" it to her for services rendered (prostitution). Oh my. The officer asked the first "lady" if she was indeed addicted to heroin and stupid said "yes." The police officer was not happy with any of them. I was thinking I could almost hear them chattering at each other in argumentative fashion and the police officer sighing he wished he could go home. But there in the background I envisioned a lawyer standing in the shadows, rubbing his hands together and smiling evilly, wanting to snatch that police report in the worse way. Somehow, I left that snippet scene to another along the same lines.

In me last snippet, I was listening to me Mam, asking her son-in-law about buying a gun. Now in Ireland guns aren't always readily available as they are in this country, so you can't just go out and buy one at a gun store. No, one must go to the local Garda Station and request the firearms form. One must distinguish whether one is buying a gun to hunt or for target practice. Then one must take a firearm safety course, etc., so it is a process it be. So much paperwork, I tell ya! So the son-in-law says, "Nah Ma, you can use mine." Not what he should have said, but that's what he did say. Next thing me Mam be on the phone ringing me up telling me she be going to shoot me father. AND the beauty in it was that the gun she was using would be traced back to her son-in-law who she never liked anyway.

That woke me up from me daydreams. I made a note to self: Get more sleep and lay off the coffee!

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

20 March, 2014

Another Spring in New Hampshire - sort of like groundhog day AGAIN

20 March 2014

R. Linda:

Ah springtime in New Hampshire 2014 -- almost like springtime in New Hampshire 2013! SNOW everywhere, because it freaking snowed last night!

Only this time something was added to the snow, a hungry bobcat came out of me woods. See for yourself:

Hungry, hungry, hungry

I realised I haven't seen any deer all winter, and now I know why.

Here kitty, kitty - right!
I was thinking if me Mam had seen this she'd be calling it in like she did mistaking the skunk for our very own Mr. Kits.

You know it be bad enough we have a resident black bear, now we have THIS -- a rather strong and by the looks of it, well fed wild cat stalking the property. Needless to say, Mr. Kits be inside where he is safe and to be quite honest he doesn't seem in a hurry to go out. Now our lurvy dog on the other hand, is all about going out. She'd chase this thing she would, but I have to wonder if el bobcat wouldn't turn and fight.

Anyway, nothing much going on just the same old same old. Oh good news Weasil be gone to Steamboat Springs for the spring skiing season, so he's out in YOUR neck of the woods. Just letting you know just in case you get a yen for donuts and run him over, I mean run into him at your local coffee shoppe.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

17 March, 2014

Weasil's wallet gets a direct hit in the donuts

17 March 2014

R. Linda:

So here it be, I be taking a year off of celebrating St. Paddy's Day. With all the snow on the ground it doesn't look like St. Paddy's Day. The price of lamb is sky high and that too doesn't help make it seem like St. Paddy's Day and add to that, the store only had Guinness in cans! THAT be decidedly NOT like St. Paddy's Day to be drinking the good stuff out of a can!

I did, however, take the day off anyway. I thought to catch up on some sleep but me dog started barking at 4 in the morning at God knows what that came out of the woods to feed at the bird feeder. I have a sneaking suspicion what came out of the woods was Weasil and why? Because at 7:00 a.m. when I went to the door to get me morning paper, there was the Weasil's car parked in front of me abode WITH the Weasil in it sipping coffee and munching on green donuts.

I was hoping me brain was playing tricks on me telling me that each St. Paddy's Day I somehow end up with a visit by the Weasil, but he was really there because the door of the red Mustang opened and out came himself greeting me with "Top o' the morning' ta ya Gabbie." Oh yeah, "and the rest of the day to you Weasil" you non-Irishman. Only a non-Irish person would say such to an authentic Irish person, thereby alerting the authentic Irish person that the other person isn't Irish at all.

So there we were, me blurry eyed and getting pissed off and the Weasil (still chewing and smiling), chewed his way passed me and into me abode, stepping on me newspaper in the process, which I had me hand on to pick up and of course I couldn't because of his big foot on it that left a large dirty and snowy wet footprint. I left the paper being now in a bit of a wee snit I did - Happy St. Pat's Day to me indeed.

Well, as the day isn't over YET and Weasil being fully informed I be not celebrating THE day, he suggested to put me in a "goodly moodie" he'd drive me to Dunks for a hot coffee and a dozen green St. Pat's Day donuts. Well, no one in me house wanted the dozen green donuts so early in the morning, so I went off for coffee, just to get him out of the house so the kiddos could get ready for school without Weasil pulling shenanigans on them, and so Tonya wouldn't be a crazy person as Weasil tends to have that effect upon me darling wife.

Off to Dunks we went and there was such a line of cars we went across the road to a mom and pop's donut place complete with drive thru and it was festive there too! The line of cars in front were busy buying green donuts with their coffee so by the time we got up to order there were no more green donuts (the Weasil wanted to buy me one) so we got two coffees instead. As the Weasil whipped out his cash we were asked if we'd like to pay it forward as the car in front had paid for us. And Weasil, being a good Joe, said sure he would how much was the order for the car behind us and he was told what it was, and well, I had to laugh to meself because the Weasil got a tab bigger than what the two coffees would cost us if they weren't paid for by the car that had been in front of us. Yes, the Weasil had a bill for $43.56 in donuts and Joe because the car behind us (I have to assume) was buying for an office. Yes, and he paid it he did. He had this sick smile on his face he did as he fished out his bills.

"Do ya have change of a hundred?" He asked the girl at the window.

"I do not, but you could pay the next four cars and call it even." She said with a huge benevolent St. Paddy's Day smile.

There was dead silence for a moment and then (I think because I was with him and he didn't want to seem like the stingy Scotsman) he nodded and reluctantly handed over the hundred dollar bill. She handed over the two coffees.

"I guess we can call that even," I chuckled as he pulled off.

"Gabbie, datty dere was highway robbery!" He said flipping the tab on his coffee.

He took a sip and it was hot enough it burned the roof of his mouth to add more injury to the already insulted Weasil.

All morning long I have heard this incident repeated in exaggerated story form by the Weasil, who I think is either looking for sympathy or a shoulder to cry on.

This be the second time something like this has happened in the "paying forward" network of good deeds.

Here be the warning of the day: I want to say, be careful of paying forward. You may be paying for a lot more than just a cup of coffee. It seems like a nice idea and it will make you feel good about yourself, UNLESS you get someone behind you who has ordered the entire store. You could just say "THIS is for the coffee order behind me," and hope it is just for coffee and not every single donut on the shelves, which be what Weasil should have done. Anyway, good luck with that!

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

11 March, 2014

March Madness

11 March 2014

R. Linda:

Because I got the good news I don't need a second surgery -- I be able to fly. So I let me office know and next thing I be asked if I want a trip to Nevada.

I got three days in Vegas baby! For free! I took the wife, left the kids with the witch-in-law and headed out for what I hoped would be three days of recharging. There was a journalists conference at the Paris Las Vegas Hotel AND Casino and I thought this be needed about now. So off I went, wearing me stretch socks to keep from having blood clots and a pulmonary embolism on the flight. I hope you have never had the occasion to wear these particular socks or in me case stockings. They reach to the thigh and are tighter than a small elastic band and trying to get them on takes some gymnastics and another body to help you pull them up. Oi!

I made one dreadful mistake though, I got a call from the Weasil and happened to mention where I was going and where I was staying. Yup, you probably guessed it, waiting for me in me hotel lobby was the young whippersnapper. I tell ya, is nothing sacred in me world?

I checked in and the convention was already started, and because I had to sign in, I dragged Tonya with me hoping to escape the Weasil, but he was already IN the convention room strolling around with an apple liquor and Crown Royal drink that was making his eyes bug out of his head every time he sipped it. He even had a tag on that said, Hello, My Name Is Matt.

I looked at the tag and asked him who Matt was.

"I dunno, I just said me name was Matt and da girlie said Matt Connor? An I said yeppers dats me!"

"And Bob's your uncle, name tag attached and here you are. I do wonder where the real Matt Connor is." I said recklessly looking around. I didn't care who heard me this sort of thing had got to stop. But it seemed Weasil had the luck as no one seemed to care.

"Hey Ron," Weasil called out to a man with salt and pepper hair, "Ya should take dissy here," he shoved his drink in "Ron's" hand.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"Iz some kinda apple drink but it iz mostly Crown Royal."

Ron took a sip and his eyes lit up and got big.

"You aren't slipping me a ruffy are you?" He asked Weas.

"Nah." They both laughed and Weasil strolled off.

"Ron?" Tonya questioned to me shrug of an answer.

It was twenty minutes later, the wife was not enjoying the free bar that was open the entire conference and the servers who'd come by and ask her if she was ready for a double, because she looked like she was. I tell ya!

We went outside for some air and to see the place. As we walked out we were instantly accosted by strangers handing out strip club fliers. At first we didn't know what they were handing out but considering we were in Sin City, it figured. We weren't outside more than three minutes before we were joined by Matt, I mean Weasil. There he was with a large plastic replica of the Eiffel Tower filled to the brim with liquor.

"What the heck is that?" I asked him.

"I dint like da apple and Crown Royals sos I decided to drink wot da ladies were drinkin' and sos I gots me one of dese. I had me choice of being lady-like and havin' icey put inta da drinkie, but I tole em' straight up."

AND he took a sip and oh my my did his face do all sorts of strange twitches and if I thought his eyes were bugging out of his head before they certainly were now.

Before we could react three guys came up and photo bombed the wife. Yes, they did. She was looking very lovely and sporting a new do when they came up on both sides of her and in front and the one crouching in front took a selfie and off they went. THIS happened to her three times, so you know she was looking good and her photo be probably plastered all over the Internet.

"Why do you look so good?" I asked her, "Why the new clothes and new hair-do?"

"For you Gabe," she said somewhat offended. "You're my man why wouldn't I want to look nice for you, hum?"

As we strolled and Weasil lurched down the boulevard sipping from his massive drink, we came upon a person dressed in a gold lame' suit with what looked like orange alligator shoes, an orange handkerchief and a wide brimmed orange hat. Of course Tonya and I knew instantly the man was a pimp, but Weasil was more intrigued with the man's dress than anything else. Well of course he would be! He walked right up to him, Parisian drink and all and felt the material of the suit.

"Dissy here iz nicie."

"You like this? My man I have suits like this in all colours. And, I have something you'll like more, I have girls! All kinds, colours, sizes and shapes. You just tell me which you prefer and my man she's yours." The pimp said with an unctuous smile.

"Oh if only Manda could see diss." Weasil said out loud and caught himself. He never mentions Amanda (the wife) unless he's had too much to drink and well he had. He was swaying like there was a breeze blowing. Tonya and I caught him under the arms and dragged him away from the pimp but not before he yelled over his shoulders he wanted the name of the man's shoe "builder."

When we got back to the hotel I was told a friend of mine (whom I hadn't seen in seven years) had heard I was at the conference and wanted Tonya and I to join him for dinner. I rang his room and told him I would love to come, but I had some unexpected company from Scotland with me. To which he quickly told me to bring him along.

"But . . . but . . . but. . ." I mumbled but too late!

I told them we had to leave for the dining room in fifteen minutes. Tonya took off to get changed in the loo while Weasil whined to me he couldn't get off the bed. He had collapsed on our bed totally too looped to move. I was ever so happy to hear that he wasn't joining us, but suddenly he slurred he was "comin'" even if he had to barf his guts up.

"No, no, you rest," I said shoving him back down. I stood watching as his eyelids fluttered and he was out like a light.

Tonya came out of the loo affixing an earring and looked at the sleeping wonder.

"He can't stay here," she said, "that's not good."

"We'll move him when we come back," I said opening the door for her.

We had a wonderful time completely forgetting about the sleeping Weasil on our bed. When we came to our room, we hadn't left a light on, so we forgot all about the body in the bed until Tonya sat on it and realised he was still there. She turned on the bedside lamp and tsked.

"OMG, I totally forgot about him," I said, "put an arm under his shoulders and help me get him to his room."

She did this and we both struggled to slide him to the foot of the bed. Then we each put a limp arm over our shoulders and carted him to the door. I got it opened and we dragged him into the hall, Tonya pushing Weasil's weight toward me to close the door. Once settled again, we started to drag him down the hall when I realised I had no clue what room he was staying in let alone if he was registered to our hotel.

"What do you mean you don't know what room he's in?" Tonya hissed.

We ended up dragging him to our room, and thankfully no one saw us until I realised the security cameras picked us up. And I was right, we weren't 3 minutes back in our room when a banging and a voice called to us to open up, "Hotel Security" and there they were, two big meaty guys in suits.

We spent half an hour explaining Weasil and let me tell you it isn't easy explaining Weasil. In the interim of all this Weasil would awaken to confirm a bit we told them and finally satisfied we were truthful they left us with a warning to be careful how much we drink we don't poison ourselves. Like Tonya and I needed that.

"SO GENIUS," Tonya started on me.

"We'll just leave him on the bed." I said cutting her off like I was thinking what to do. We found out from the security guys Weasil was not registered at the Paris. Where he was registered, we had no clue and he didn't stay sobered long enough to get an answer. So we were stuck with his drunken arse.

"Well, he's not sleeping it off on the bed," Tonya said grabbing Weas's ankles. "Get him by the shoulders let's move him to the floor."

And to placate her that's what I did. I might as well have joined him because I was not getting the bed to share, no the wife was in a snit. I could sleep in a chair I was told, or join Weasil on the floor.

Once lights were out I pleaded with her in the dark to let me in bed, with me just being out of hospital it wouldn't be good for me to sleep in a chair. She reluctantly murmured something sarcastic and there I was sharing the bed.

Next morning I could hear the shower going and figured Weasil had arisen early and was cleaning up. I nestled closer to Tonya and inhaled the smell of her hair. I don't know what the hair product she uses is, but it smells really nice. Only this time it smelled a lot like scotch. I slowly opened me eyes to see the person I was embracing to me had blond hair. It was WEASIL!

I jumped up out of bed making disparaging ape-like noises. I was grossed out I was! I hopped around the room flaying me hands as if I was trying to dislodge cooties. I tell ya! I must have been a sight because the wife came out of the loo with towel wrapped turban style around her head, the rest of her sporting a terry bathrobe. She watched me and a malicious smile played her lips.

"YOU! YOU!" I pointed at her. "YOU think this is funny!" I shouted as the Weasil began to rouse at the noise. "AND YOU!" I pointed at him, "How did you get in our bed?"

"I duntz member." He slurred and then went to roll over and found himself promptly on the floor.

That did it for Tonya she was covering her mouth trying to keep the laughter and idea of lunacy inside and back to the loo she went, shutting the door, BUT I could hear the unconfined laughter.

"Get up and . . . get out!" I said through clenched teeth.

"But Gabby . . . " Weasil said picking himself up. "Yer were holdin' on ta me like ya loved me and now yer tellin' me to leave?" This last said with a lopsided grin that was mocking me and I knew it.

I won't bore you with the conversation, it was pathetic on his part and well, I was totally grossed and in need of a cleansing shower. The wife finally gave up the loo to which I rushed in and locked the door to shower off any traces of Weasil anything.

By the time I came out Weasil had magically disappeared and we were ready for what turned out to be a Weasil-free day. I wish I could say the last day was the same but no, no, Weasil showed up, a bit coy in attitude but he was off the bottle and tame.

Please remind me never to tell Weasil where I am off to or what I be doing. If I shoot me mouth off please write me "I told you so," as a subject title in all your emails for a year so I don't forget what happens when I mention things I shouldn't. Much appreciated.

View from room window I wish I could have thrown Weasil out of
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

01 March, 2014

Of strange rosebush fetishes

01 March 2014

R. Linda:

You may know a person for a number of years and not know everything about them. This be not news to most but here I was thinking I knew all there was to know about the Weasil. He invades me life with every opportunity he can get and like most pests, he is hard to get rid of.  In me quest to understand him, I have taken to observing some of his outlandish ways.

I know he's strange all on his own, that I shouldn't have to point out an exact example of his acting or being strange, but this, THIS I just have to. The whole episode was a total surprise to me that someone so . . . so . . . crazy could have a side to him where he appreciates things most of us do, but then that appreciation goes askew.

At the time of this particular episode that I want to share with you, I didn't take much notice of the fact the Weasil is a bit of a gardener . . . that he is. I guess because one of me non interests is gardening as you well know. I be forced into gardening by me wife, not because it is a favourite hobby of mine, or that I like flowers and vegetable growing, it is because it is a favourite hobby of hers that she thinks should be mine too. However, there is the Weasil who seems to relish getting into potting soil or any kind of manure that will grow flowers tall and beauteous. Beauteous being a favourite Weasil garden word just to pass that on to your diminutive self.

Anyway, when I was in Scotland, before the Weasil wedding (of which you will remember the young whippersnapper was conveniently missing for the pre-nuptial festivities), I was shown by an infatuated wife to be, one Amanda AKA Manda da Panda (yes, Weasil's cutesy moniker for "his woman") a rather lovely rose garden. There were bushes of colours all exuberant and in full glory and oh the fragrance that wafted along the castle wall! I tell ya. Miss Manda pointed out her betrothed had planted the sixty bushes and tended them himself!

Well, this was news. When did Weasil, world traveller, pesterer of Gabe, thorn in everyone's side, and leader of the crazy rebellion have time to tend rosebushes I wanna know? Well, he did Miss Manda said with an adorable sigh. AND he wanted a grand total of 80 rosebushes. Why not a hundred? I had the nerve to ask, and the answer was because that would "be very gauche Gabe."

So you want to know where I am going with this right? I'll tell ya right now. The Weasil finally was located and dragged in to celebrate his nuptials and to make his reluctance to celebrate all the parties thrown in his and Amanda's honour, he had a bad habit of escaping the said festivities. I often wondered where he disappeared to and I searched the dungeon being quite a bit certain that's where he'd go, but no I could not find him in five party tries UNTIL the sixth castle party when he pulled his Houdini and I, needing some air from all the Scotch fumes had gone to the rose garden to take in the wafting perfume of Weasil's 60 rosebushes.

I was damn surprised to walk up on the kilted wonder struggling with pulling out a yellow rosebush. I mean he was wrestling the thing out by the roots and it was rooted in there, but he didn't seem to mind the thorns ripping at clothing and skin as he finally uprooted it. I stood there in amazement as he put the thing in his arms and then proceeded with it to the parking area where he threw it in a white  Mercedes convertible (top down). Must I tell you the seats were white too? Yes, the entire auto was white and I was aghast at this . . . this display of disregard for the colour white!

When I asked him what it was about, as I gestured at the dirt strewn all over the pristine upholstery, he told me Mrs. Angus Ferguson had each morning been admiring his rose bushes. The yellows were a rare and late blooming bunch and every morning she'd go see if the brilliant yellow buds were unfurling until that morning when they did and Mrs. Angus Ferguson took her nail clippers and clipped herself the most magnificent of the bunch a single bright yellow rose with a pink inside.

Now Weasil did not know this until an hour later he went to check his beauteous bushes and noticed one big bloom missing! He went berserk right then and there, and he knew, yes he knew who clipped his fabulous rose. For the rest of the day the Weasil was grumpy and inwardly seething. Yes, he was. When the party started and Mr. W was well in his cups, his eyes became slits in his head as Mrs. Angus Ferguson passed him by wearing the giant yellow and (I must add) glorious bloom as a boutonniere. He lost it I say, HE LOST IT, but not a word passed his lips, no it was all action, go to the rose garden, pull out that bush with his bare hands and then by golly, trash it in Mrs. Angus Ferguson's prized white Mercedes convertible with the pristine white seats. Yes, that's the ticket and that's exactly what he did.

He said to me, "If she likes that bush so much she can have it!"

He muttered about clipping other people's prize possessions and such but he had his revenge fully when about an hour later (with Mrs. Angus Ferguson still partying) the heavens opened up and yes, the dirt from the roots and the debris of the blooms all burst and the Mercedes was a sight.

Her reaction was priceless when she ran out with a servant holding a brolly over her head, his kilted self telling her he'd be glad to put the top up for her and such and there was Weasil and I standing in an indentation in the castle wall by the parking area, well out of sight watching. The Weasil's reaction to her reaction was a very dirty HA HA, and inside he stepped as Mrs. Angus Ferguson stood crying in the rain.

Did she know what had happened? No, she never did wise up to why that particular, let alone any rosebush, should be dirtying up her motor, but she suspected it was payback. She just didn't know for what until recently when she was visiting the castle again. She noticed the hole in the ground where the brilliant yellow rosebush used to be and she noticed the garden had reached an astounding 79 rosebushes.

She approached the Weasil and asked him why he did not replace the one some practical joker had dug up and stuck in her immaculate white Mercedes. Weasil stretched his aching back from his toils in the roses and said, "Love thou the rose, yet leave it on its stem. Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton." And he looked straight at her when he said it, his eyes glistened in knowledge. Mrs. Angus Ferguson's mouth opened in a wide O as he gathered his hat and jacket and left her standing there watching him saunter off to the castle. Yes indeed.

BUT WAIT, this gets better! The Weasil thought he had his revenge, but Mrs. Angus Ferguson was standing there mouthing the name Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton. I heard she went into the castle asking who that man was, and why did he not like her. She reminds me a lot of Dragon. Just not completely all there. Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton indeed.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

18 February, 2014

Of a flask of vodka, more torture, cleaning snow off cars and SNOW BOWS!

18 February 2014

R. Linda:

This week Dragon flew in on her broom to "help take care of the poor invalid." That would be me. I want you to know I have been doing very well on me own and certainly the last person in the world I want caring for me be me mother-in-law. However, she's here, I be trapped, nothing to be done about it. SIGH.

Today I had another PT session, this time with another guy, the owner of the place. I called in early because me scheduled 3:00 appointment would be at the height of the snow storm we are currently having. We have these snow storms it seems on the very days I have PT scheduled, and be it known the snow isn't an inch or two, it's more like the inch an hour for seven to ten hours.

Since I cannot drive safely in snow, I need a driver. Guess who? Since we both can't fit on her broomstick, it was decided to take me trusty Saturn. Yes, it is still running!

She dropped me off and decided to go across the highway to the mall and do some shopping. Thank God she wasn't in the PT place with me. I could just see them bending me legs backwards and me crying, "uncle," and Dragon telling them to bend more!

As it was I got quite the workout. I was surprised at the end of it I could stand, let alone walk!

While I was being put into contortions I only thought long skinny balloons could be used for, this other physical therapist stops by me table in the middle of me pleading for the other therapist to please stop, and asks me if I left a vodka bottle when I was there yesterday.

"NO!" I moaned loudly, "But I could use a shot of it now."

Seems someone had a flask full of vodka they left at the table I had been worked on. Wasn't me, I'd have had Irish whiskey, but someone had that flask.

Just as the torture stopped for me to catch me breath before it began again, I thought to scan the room for the vodka flask because I was tempted. However, me mobile phone text messaging was going off (I have the Sherwood Forest trumpet sound for Dragon), so I knew it was her. I ignored it. Wrong move, she came in to see "what are you doing?" Like she didn't know.

I told her I had fifteen more minutes of fun and I'd be out.

"Okay then, I am going out to wipe off the car. The snow is really coming down." And off she went and back to the torture went I -- vodka-less.

I happened to look out the large window at the parking lot trying to get me mind off the pain and who do I see but the Dragon with a long snow brush brushing off the car. I noticed she got one side done and started the other. Then as she got that side done, she sees she has to go back and brush off the other side because the snow is falling faster than she can clear the windows. Then something occurred to me, yes it did . . . she was clearing off someone elses car. Yes she was. I started laughing just as me legs were bent near into me back and because the therapist thought I was mocking the pain, he pushed in more and I came close to screaming like a girl.

Damn that Dragon!

When I was finally released from hell, I went lurching outside to the snow world of the parking lot and I informed Madame Dragon she was working on the wrong vehicle. Oi! I was of a mind she had found that flask of vodka and that might explain the mental abrasion. So we both took to cleaning the snow off the right vehicle and we got in and just as we pull onto the highway, the snow suddenly stops. This is New England, so one shouldn't get all happy and cheery when an event like this happens because it isn't long before it starts again and when it does it comes twofold as heavy as it first was.

BUT, you need to be in a car with Dragon when she sees a snow bow. That would be a rainbow that one sees after a snow storm, happens here with some frequency, so to me it be no big deal. But to a person who isn't used to seeing a snow bow, when it does occur it is quite a sight. It was very pretty to look around at the wonderland of white. We started off down the highway with her yakking about what she bought, with no questions to me about what my therapist had to say. As we made our way through rather heavy traffic, the woman explodes with amazement at the snow bow (I neglected to point it out because I be used to seeing them, just like thunder snow, no biggy up here), she sees the thing and she flips me her phone and says to take a photo because snow bows are so rare. I at first had no clue what she was yammering about but she was pointing and eventually I saw it had moved just out of me sight line. I told her we were not at a good angle to get a good shot so she decided to ride around to find that perfect setting for a phone photo. I tell ya!

So as we are pulling up to these traffic lights of which there are a few just down from the mall where the highways converge, and she is ducking her head under the dash and looking up to see if there is a view from below and then she is cocking her head this way and that and to look at her, she looked suspicious, especially since we were stopped by a bank. This behaviour did not go unnoticed by the local police who had pulled up next to us in the other lane at the light. The officer sat there watching her looking very puzzled until he saw the bank. Then he looked not puzzled at all but suspicious she was casing the joint. Oh yeah, I could read his face perfectly and I was trying to tell Dragon out of the side of my mouth, not to do what she was doing, that she was about to be pulled over. And we were.

Oh yes, as the light changed, the siren did that thing that means pull to the side of the road and of course we did and he got out and asked her if there was a problem as her behaviour warranted she might be impaired, or she was trying to find a way to the bank across the way. I knew that was an excuse to pull her over for suspicious behaviour. She got it instantly and pointed to the now snow bow-less grey sky just as the heavy snow flakes came whirling back. Yup she tried to explain there was a snow bow and he, like moi, looked around and of course by then it was gone and you could hardly see for the heavy falling snow.  Well, she explained the best she could and the officer gave it up and told her to move on. Yup he did.

She lucked out no warning or anything, but what could he cite her for really? I wanted to tell him she drives a broom without a license, but well . . .

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

17 February, 2014

Oh the nerve! Dragon becomes unhappy and I get a laugh

17 February 2014

R. Linda:

I had PT an hour ago and the self torture I must inflict on meself at home has shown some positive results. I was told to stick at it because it was the only way to avoid that other torture, surgery! I'm working on it. But today I had gone in and me regular therapist had the week off so I got this blond Adonis who was very short but built like a truck. I be used to the gentle touch I get from me regular guy so it was totally unsuspected that when the new guy got a hold of me he'd be using the more . . . shall we say, aggressive approach?

He told me to lie on me stomach and he took hold of me leg and wow suddenly it seemed like I could see me foot dangling over me head! Me leg doesn't go in that position EVER, but it did. I heard something pop and though oh no what happened? But oddly enough when he stopped and told me to get off the table and walk, I felt amazingly better. Though at the time . . .

But enough about me and the torture chamber, back in New Jersey things were getting stupid (as they always seem to do when Dragon is involved). I heard from Tonya when I got home from PT and she had what she thought was an annoying story about her family for me. I didn't find it annoying, I found it amusing at the Dragon lady's expense. The "incident" happened some months ago and Dragon just cannot let it go. She had been over to visit her son and well when she got home she rang up her daughter to complain.

This is how it goes:

Seems Dragon and Big Tony have a property in Roselle Park, New Jersey. It was their first house and most of their kids grew up there. They moved to Cape May eventually because Big likes the shore and had done well for himself (had his own construction company), and his dream was to live in one of the big Victorian homes that face the ocean and beach. But Big couldn't let go of the old house in Roselle Park (memories and all that you know) and so he rented it out to family. His Aunt Baba recently lived there until she died last year and so the house has been vacant. One of his sons has a job in Union so it would be convenient to live in Roselle Park . . . free. So Dragon, knowing her son was going to the Bahamas for holiday with his wife and two kiddos, decided to go over and have the house cleaned up and fresh paint inside and whatever needed fixing got fixed.

She spent two weeks on the hallway that leads from the front door to the back of the house in particular. She had the walls primed, and painted and had the place tidy and ready when her daughter-in-law's mother rang her up and asked if she could come over to "Baba's house" and help Dragon get the "kids" furniture in and decorated for their return from the Bahamas. Now Dragon doesn't exactly like her daughter-in-law's parents (French Canadians originally from Quebec), because the first time they had dinner together in a fancy restaurant, Muriel (the mom) asked her daughter in front of Big Tony, her son-in-law, and her own husband, how "Mimi" (the daughter) had made out at the Gynaecologists. Big was embarrassed, the son was wondering what was going on that his wife was at the gynaecologists office, and Muriel's own husband was the only one took it all in stride. Well, it seemed Mimi explained in graphic detail the birth control device she was having inserted and well, the Abdullah's were horrified. After that there were no dinners out where the waiters stopped to listen to such intimate feminine details, and frankly there were no more dinners that included the in-laws . . . EVER.

So when Muriel asked to come over once all the grunt work was done, to do the fluff stuff, Dragon was not a happy camper. Deciding she would make Muriel do the kiddie decorating work, Dragon informed the woman that she would leave the key under the mat and Muriel would have to do the placement of furniture as Dragon had to be elsewhere that day, and oh, so sorry can't even drop by. Well, Muriel was fine with that and Dragon should have been leery of that, but no she didn't catch on.

That night she got a call from Muriel telling her all was set for the "kids" return. Curious at how the place looked Dragon took a ride up the next day to check it out. Oh my what she saw. That long hallway she worked so hard on, had photographs from one end to the other. And the photographs were of the in-laws and daughter from infancy to all grown up. Yup, just the parents and daughter throughout the years. BUT on the table in the hallway was one frame with no picture in it, just a post-a-note that said: Abdullahs - Him and Her. Yes indeed and to this day that frame was never filled. It's in the drawer of that very same table empty. The photographs are all still up, Dragon makes disparaging noises every time she visits. Yes, she does.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved