07 December, 2014

Its That Time Of Year

07 December 2014

R. Linda:

Well, it be that time of season it be. Last month the turkeys quaked at their fate, this month the Christmas trees. Yes, it be that time of year again, go on out and kill a Christmas tree!

Up here we have tree farms that raise fir trees specifically for that sole purpose to be slaughtered after years of tender, loving care by the hand of strangers with laughing children wielding axes. I tell ya!

Me wife and kids had gone Christmas shopping and I was by meself outside walking the dog. I had waved at me neighbour below and he came up and asked me what I had planned for the day. I told him nothing much and he asked if I'd like to help him with the family Christmas tree. I hesitated, but felt like I had no choice, so I put me dog up and drove on down and followed him and his kiddos to the tree farm.

The wee ones were all excited and carrying axes as I followed the merry family out into the tree fields where they went about the selection process. It was like Sophie's Choice the way they stood there talking out loud discussing the merits or non merits of a few select trees. I was wondering what the trees thought of all that being rooted to the spot and unable to pick up their lower branches and flee!

"Oh daddy, look at that one, it's got branches all around, no holes in it, THAT'S THE ONE!" And wham with the axe, cutting deeply into the lower trunk, the sap glistening in the sunlight blinding one as the life force runs out like dripping molasses and then another WHAMMO and chips of wood flying everywhere! I could just imagine the tree screaming, HELP THIS WEE PERSON IS KILLING ME! DON'T JUST STAND THERE LOOKING HORRIFIED, STOP HER!

I had to look away from the quaking branches that I knew were shaking with fear and angst. Can no one do something to stop this I thought. But no, that small tyke had her a tree and now the big man, daddy, was finishing the job by lobbing off the trunk from its base and Santa's your gift giver and it was done. I wanted to cry at the inhumanity.

I looked down filled with sad remorse at the felled tree that just moments before was smiling in the sunlight, looking beautiful, and now reduced to a silent, not moving pile of needles and wood. Oh the tragedy of it all!

With no formality the poor dead thing was lifted onto the sleigh and tied down, the final humiliation! But it did not end there, as soon as we got to the parking lot a worker came and untied it, shook the poor thing out, gave a price and then into a machine that netted the poor tree to look no longer fluffy and fine, but like a stick encased in a cocoon of mesh plastic.

Up it was hauled onto the top of the car! Not even a last consideration to be IN the car, it was placed on TOP of it and again, now skinny as a stick lashed to the vehicle tightly.  I followed in me treeless Saturn and watched the poor thing tied to the top of the roof of the car in front. It shook with terror it was not cushioned to each pothole we hit, no it was crushed to the top of the car and the wind was pulling at it, needles flying. Oh my God the heartache!

When we got to the abode the children were jumping up and down like this was a great thing, the death of a Christmas tree. Yes, they wanted to decorate the corpse. Yes, they did, they couldn't get inside fast enough and I will say because it was in the netting it seemed they took no care at all. Down it was thrown to the hard frozen ground, tears hit me eyes at the sight. The netting was clipped off with no regard to a few fingertips, I mean branches going with it.

Then it was dragged, yes R. Linda dragged inside and placed in a holder that had screws that tore the wooden flesh to keep it upright. Water with BLEACH was put in the well where the cut limb sat and I had to think, ouch that must sting. I was told the bleach PRESERVES the tree so it doesn't shed it's needles too quickly. They even got wire they attached to the branches to hold it upright. The wires constricted around the tiny branches and affixed to teeny hooks in the ceiling. Oh this was like a crucifixion.

I had to turn away as they got strings and strings of lights and they threw those on the poor thing as if to give it life, electric life I suppose. Then they put tinsel garland in hills and valleys within the tree, and then they put heavy ornaments that meant something to each child of which there were three! Then came the creme de la creme the placing of a tree topper on the one lonely and gnarled branch that was at the very top, the head of the tree! This was an old world Santa Claus and he looked heavy. No angel, no a Santa -- the symbol of commercial shoppers everywhere. The poor thing couldn't see for the Santa topper! What is the world coming to I ask ya.

It was too much for me, I had to turn away. They weren't finished though, no they got a tree skirt to cover the butcher job at the base of the tree. Yes, they covered their brutal work up. Then a few gifts were put under and it was declared done.

The hot cocoa was brought out and they sat around admiring their dead tree as they played Christmas carols in the background! Music R Linda! They were playing happy music to a nearly dead tree. I was sobbing profusely by that time.

I do wonder what the poor little guy be thinking tucked away in a corner, weighted down with lights and heavy ornaments, humans shoving presents underneath him, trying to trip him up so he can't leave that corner. Sigh.

So get your boots on and get out there and kill a Christmas tree. You know you wanna do it. Just don't tell me you did the deed.

Merry Christmas!

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

03 December, 2014

Thanksgiving in New Hampshire - Not Exacty A Currier And Ives Picture

03 December 2014

R. Linda:

You know how much I like me turkey and of all the American holidays, THANKSGIVING be me fav. Yes, it was. Well, not anymore it isn't.

Let me start with Wednesday last shall I? Yes, I shall like it or not. Me house was in a flurry of activity it was, yes the turkey day shopping had been done, the preparations for the next day were about to commence and all was right with the turkey prep world. Except for one small detail, a few of the items needed to cook the bird were sold out at the market. Oh no what to do? I'll tell you what was done, I was sent to the store! AND another small detail, it started to snow. Not flurries, I mean snow in earnest that you couldn't see two feet in front of you for the white stuff like you find in Colorado. Just a sheet of white is the best way to describe this. Well, okay it started sticking on the grass but the pavement was too warm and this meant only one thing, since it was surmised by the womenfolk that this was a STORM yours truly should go out and get what was missing from the shopping list, since I was not included in turkey prep. For joy!

Here, take a look outside at the time, it was doing THIS!

video


So off I went and the roads were not bad at all. I get to the small mini mart and I found most of what was sold out at the big market the day before and out I go into . . . into a blizzard! I be like what happened? I was inside the market for no more than 10 minutes and I come out to two inches of snow! I got everything and meself back in the Saturn and start for home and find someone put skis on me car because I be sliding all over kingdom come. Somehow I fishtailed me way home and then had to get me vehicle up Mt. Everest which be me neighbours driveway. Well, R. Linda the beginning of the drive goes straight up it does, so I know not to slow down because if I do I will slide down. So I gun the Saturn and like a bat out of hell I start up and I am almost to the top when the auto goes into a skid and I release everything and slide back down. So I step on the gas but me tyres spin. Again and again same thing, Gabriel is going nowhere. I back down the road, stop to put the gear in drive and spinning tyres again! Now I am getting frustrated which is another word for angrier than an Irishman banned from a pub. I back the auto down further and before I stop, ram the gear into drive (yes, I know I could ruin the transmission) and Gonzo's your father I am off like Sterling Moss in a Grand Prix start. Up that sucker I go and slam down on the other side free of the incline and because I had momentum going I kept me big hopper on the pedal and roared on passed me old neighbours house on up me non-existent driveway to me abode. I vaguely remember seeing the old man's face as he looked out his large window admiring the landscape as I shot by a blur in a bluish silver bullet up into the woods. I think amazed and stunned would adequately describe his expression.

I get up to me abode and find that stepping on me brakes is a waste of time because now I be driving sideways! Yes, on passed me own abode and nearly to the old shed before I stop facing the way I came. I tell ya! Well, nothing to be done about that, so I shrugged, gathered the sack of what was missing items that no longer were, and out I go to find . . . wait for it . . . I be stepping out not on snow, but snow covering black ice and down me and sack go! I was floundering out there for five minutes trying to get me footing and no one in me abode was looking out the window to help me but one person and that person was me youngest and he doesn't talk yet! Though it looked to me from me position on the ground that he was laughing.

I finally got meself and the sack up off the frozen ground, and I was literally ice skating without skates to me front stoop. I thought it sounded awfully quiet and realised the freaking power was gone out!

I dump the shopping bag on the table and immediately am told to go back outside to the shed where I had just been and go get dry firewood from inside because it was going to be a long day and probably night and next day and day after that because in New Hampshire when one loses power it isn't for an hour, no it's for WEEKS ON END!

I was mumbling it was much too early for this crap to be going down, and slamming wood and generally having a free for all of wood slinging mayhem in the shed. SO I get three slippery trips of wood in with our dog bouncing around me barking because she thinks all this wood toting is fun, and finally get a couple of the hearths going, sit me exhausted self down only to be told to get up the fuel truck has pulled in and tell them we don't need fuel because we have no power. Oi! Without thinking about this, and this was told me by me own sainted mam, I went out jacket-less in the blizzard and informed the driver we didn't want any fuel. He was happy to get the hell out of Dodge as he told me he had spent over 30 minutes trying to get up the old man's driveway to me abode. I'd say I watched him tool on up to Lois's but the snow was so thick I couldn't see which way he went. He could be lost in the woods for all I knew.

When I came in the door the kiddos were pointing and laughing at me, and I knew why with a glance in the hall mirror, I looked like a snowman, that's how covered I was. Tonya got me towels to dry off and asked me what I was doing outside without a coat and when I told her she looked at me like I had half a brain.

"That's great Gabriel, you saved some money but you know the electric will come on and we won't have any fuel. Go back out there and hunt the fuel guy down."

Ohhh.

Ouch.

Uh no.

Yes, I had succumbed to me Irish Mam's way of stretching a pound or saving one by thinking I was still in Ireland when I realised just where I was. O M G the woman has done things like that to me since she's been here. She lulls me into reminiscing about the old sod and me like a dumb eejit starts thinking I still be there. Well, being COLD will learn me won't it?

I was driven from me reverie by being told to go out and get the generator out of the shed, and to look for the fuel driver while I was at it, but this time wear a coat, hat, galoshes and gloves. This I did, still wet to the skin thinking the entire time I will have pneumonia by midnight and nothing of this will matter. I don't have to tell you I could see hide nor hair of the fuel truck.

I got the kids sleigh and heaved the generator on it and pulled it toward the side of the house where the connections were. I got the fuel, poured it in, and then pulled on the cord to start it. Nothing. I must have pulled that cord fifty times before I remembered I didn't get the fuel pump fixed last summer like I was reminded so often by the wife.  Oh boy was I in deep poo. I stood there remembering the generator's problem as the fuel I just poured in, poured out of the bottom of it onto the ground. Oh and not to mention the kiddos when seeing me with the sleigh, had got dressed to the nines in snow gear, all for me to pull them through the heavy thick snow to the sound of the silent generator. So I had three pointing (ok two pointing) children telling me the generator was bleeding I must have hurt it when I kicked it. Uh huh.

In the process of pulling kiddos through heavy snow, I did have reason of mind to call me old neighbour and ask him if he could look at me generator if I brought it down to his workshop by the barn. He was gracious I should say, and so with kiddos slogging along with me, I had got the generator back on the sleigh and pulled that sucker what seemed like two miles to me neighbour.

To make a long story short, he tinkered with it, said he could rig the fuel pump with some glue because it was cracked and he did. We had to leave it to dry and then we'd know if it worked or not. This, after the two of us drained what was left of the fuel I put in it which was no easy or light job.

All the way home I was going to think of a plausible excuse as to WHY the generator was not running to tell Tonya, but the idea of all that glue doing the trick had me thinking it wouldn't work no way, no how, and gees what were he and I thinking until I stepped in the door realising I hadn't thought a good lie up to tell Tonya. So I told her the truth and she was not happy. No she was not talking to me unhappy, ignoring me existence unhappy, but she did inform me not to get too cosy under down comforters because I'd be making lots of trips to the woodshed all night to keep her, me MOTHER and the kiddos warm. Yup got it, ay ay sir.

The stopping of preparations for turkey day took place much to me whining about we can make do somehow. The word 'somehow' was bandied about that "Somehow YOU forget to service the generator, and now 'somehow' we all would be trying to keep warm and somehow, we'd all be huddled together," except for ME because I'd be keeping warm by going for wood every five minutes.

Well, with the boyos help I got the wood stacked so I wasn't going to the woodshed every five minutes. Me old neighbour told me the generator was taking longer for the glue to dry but he thought by tomorrow it would be ready to go. Just come down early and he'd have it ready. He would invite us down but all his family was there and there wasn't much room but we were welcome. I told him I had plenty of wood we were fine, but I was secretly disappointed the generator wasn't ready.

Meanwhile, there was no lull in the storm and it continued. By evening I could hear the hum of generators when I took the dog out as I got more wood. Inside the house it was getting quite a bit cooler unless you were saddled on up to a fireplace which was rather crowded, one area was pets and kiddos, the other the women, two grumpy women so that was where there was room for me, but truly I couldn't take hearing about me forgetfulness or worse laziness where generators are concerned, so I stayed on the fringes of the warmth. I tell ya even me green blanket was pressed into service by O'Hare putting it around the dog! I started to say something but was quickly hushed by me Mam saying, "Well sonny boy, if ye had remembered to git da genny serviced da dog wouldn't be cold."

Me Mam boiled water over the fire and we had warm tea and cold biscuits. The turkey was fine, it was cold so not going bad, but the idea of having a turkey and not getting to eat it was dispiriting to say the least. There was some discussion on grilling it outside, but oh yes Gabriel let the propane run out so THAT idea was no good. Well, we could get a giant stick and rotisserie the bird over the fire, but no THAT idea wouldn't fly because we'd cause one hell of a grease fire and set the abode ablaze. BUT (I pointed out) we'd all be warm! No one laughed so that was me last attempt at humour and getting into their good graces.

After a rather sleepless, cold night the day dawned like snow never happened.

Glorious Thanksgiving Day and well . . . still no power.
I went to the neighbour's and we filled the generator and tried it and wow it actually held the fuel and it worked! I packed it back up on the sleigh and installed it by the side of the house and was never so happy to hear the hum of the thing. I ran inside turned on lights and informed the womenfolk turkey could be started, only to be told, the hook up for the generator did not include the oven only the stove and the bird was too big for stove top cooking. So there!

Yup I had the electrician make sure the heat, water, some lights, stove and fridge worked. Not the oven though. Yes, me fault once again. Say nothing, just know I can hear what you are thinking.

It was declared by me uneducated in New Hampshire Power little grey-haired apple cheeked mam, that tomorrow we'd celebrate the day with the turkey since for sure the power would be back up. I looked at Tonya over me Mam's head and she looked at me like - who is going to tell her and break her heart that there will be no turkey tomorrow either. I did, yes, I had no choice because it was mouthed at me, "She's YOUR mother, YOU tell her." Oh the disappointment in the little woman when I had to sit her down she didn't up and swoon away.

We had no clue anyone but our town was out of power. I found out after that this was the fourth biggest power outage ever in the state, 60% with no roasting turkeys! I thought the mega snow storm on Halloween a few years back was bad, but when it comes to a favourite food not being cooked on THE day well . . . I can only say it wasn't just us in a grumpy mood. 60% of the state was not happy, a clear reason for revolt from the power companies.

For a whole day we saw no power crew, we heard nothing and certainly smelled no turkey dinner cooking. The next day being in a fouler mood it dawned like this:

Really cold that the snow wasn't melting
It was shortly after I took this picture I ran out of petrol for the generator. Yup. Not only that, I ran out of petrol for the furnace too. Oh and yes, you know it I heard about both. I called the fuel people and asked them to come out and put fuel in the furnace tanks. Then I syphoned petrol out of me car for me generator. Yes, I did. So me generator fired up, but me auto didn't. But at least I wasn't driving around looking for a petrol station which I already knew was not running as no one had power restored as of then.

The fuel guy pulled up none to happy to have had to attempt Mr. Everest a second time when the first would have been enough -- had I let him fill the tanks. Lack of turkey made him as grumpy as the rest of us I suppose.

It was shortly after I drained me auto of fuel which I had thought twice of doing, that the power came on and now I had an auto that had no petrol. Yes, Murphy's Law is alive and well and still incorporated at me abode!

Anyway, turkey was had a few days late, it wasn't as wonderful a dinner as it usually was because we were all still fighting off chill and grumpy to have had to entertain each other (if you can call it that). The worse thing about losing power wasn't the loss of a hot delicious turkey dinner, no it was the fact we had NO CABLE!

We had no news of the outside world, AND worst of all, there was no TELLY to watch. No, notta, nothing. I tell ya one can lose one's sanity without Cable TV. When forced to talk with family members fighting or misunderstandings ensue. Board games one can play for just so long before rampant cheating starts and more arguments destroy any fun one might have had had as a cheating winner. So there was THAT little detail that has been very painful to write about. I don't understand why me emails all come once a day and I could send but one email, that was it. The wife was upset over all the discount coupons for Black Friday and such she couldn't print off or retrieve. Me, it was the freaking CABLE! How is it we could get emails and send but one email, but no cable? I simply don't understand.

I wanted to share the misery with your wee self since I know you've been there, done that.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

25 October, 2014

The Grumplesons go house hunting

25 October 2014

R. Linda:

I have been very remiss on keeping the blog up to snuff. I know you have dusted it until you are blue in the face but I have an excuse. Probably not a very good one, but talk about draining the creative juices, house hunting will do that. By the time you have viewed 8 houses in one day and 8 more the next and each one begins to blend into the last one, you begin to feel like you would rather live in a tent. I am very tired of Realtors telling me they can be a facilitator or a buyer agent, which would I like. I would like you just show the house and answer me questions and nothing more, but no, no now you have to sign papers before you even head out so they get a commission as one kind of agent or the other and it becomes all about the money and after a bit of this I SIMPLY DO NOT CARE.

As you and a few others know, I be looking for a new abode. With the family expanded we are falling all over each other and it lends to grumpy Grumplesons all over the place. I have actually started referring to us as the Grumplesons and embarrassed the wife when we had reservations for dinner and they asked me for the name of me party of two. Yes, I said Grumplesons not realising I had said such. There was a loud audible TSK from the wife who then corrected me with O'Sullivan.

Well, that be the last straw for Mrs. Grumplesons because as soon  as she got home that night she was on the computer looking at homes for sale. I tell ya! I thought this would all fade away but no, no, she found a few prospects and dragged me out to look with her.

Having since June (or was it July? Can't remember which) I have looked at a grand total of what seems like 3 million homes but in reality (I am told), was about 43 houses on the market. I will say since I looked at these 43 homes, none have sold but one, and 3/4 of them have come way down in price. Which is a good thing if I liked any of them, but I didn't.

We decided that if we bought a home it would be an older home as we rather like the charm and character of our own antique cape. So if we could find another just a wee bit bigger that would be great. And we wanted quiet as we like to not hear traffic, all those leaf peepers going by I tell ya! We wanted a few acres like we have now, so we aren't right on top of our neighbours but not far enough away we can't at least see their chimney.

Let me regale you with one choice property. It stands out to me this mid century Victorian, that was restored beautifully, airy rooms, high drafty ceilings, big drafty windows, acres of green grassy land and a barn which at the time of the showing had show horses in it. Well, we looked at the wonderfully decorated interiour, and then went outside. The first thing I noticed was the smell of horse. Yes, indeed horsey manure o'de' smell! The horses were turned out up by the house which intrigued me as there were acres (at least 10) of prime pasture land. So why up by the house I wanted to know.

Flood plain. Flood what I asked? Corps of Army Engineers came down and dug out so when the river which is right behind the house (hidden by a slope so you don't see it), when it overflows its banks, the water comes down into those nice grassy lower pastures and floods for about 8 weeks in the spring! The house and the ones on the road don't get flooded because of this engineering marvel which happens to be in (if I bought the place) ones own backyard. For joy instant boating. I don't think so. Anyway the floods had only subsided a month ago, the grasses were coming in and they were keeping the horses off it until established, and the horses come up near the house when it floods. So there you go Mr. O'Sullivan (not that I'd have horses, but flood waters in the backyard?).

We took a walk to see this river and oh my goodness me, but it is a huge belt of water and rapid and I thought me kiddos would not be safe if they took a tumble down the steep embankment. I was told I could build a dock and put a boat down there. How was one to get down there to build anything I wanted to know. The Realtor's bright idea was to get slabs of stone and pound them in like stairs into the steep slope. Can you see me doing that and trying to get wood down the stone stairs to build a dock? Me either. And the rushing water would not allow one to build a dock so just what the feck? But while we were there, on the other side of the river were these rather sketchy looking characters walking along and I asked about that. Seems there is a nature trail across the way. And at close observation of these three "nature lovers" I spied what looked like cannabis ciggies. Oh wonderful NOT. This sighting prompted the wife to ask about the crime rate and home invasions. We were reassured this "probably" was a safe area but the Realtor would look it up when he was back at office. Yes indeed the drug trade in one's backyard!

I also asked what was on the other side of the hill where the 'nature lovers' were and was told -- trees. In fact, as we later drove over that way, there is a strip mall and a busy highway which was somewhat buffered by the hill on the other side of the river with a belt of trees inbetween. I thought I heard traffic but couldn't understand where the sound was coming from. Well . . .

So as we came back through the "flood plain" up toward the very lovely screened in porch we passed by six whitish stone objects protruding out of the ground. I saw them from the corner of me eye and thought Halloween had come early, or the owners never put the decorations away. But me wife was more observant and actually turned and looked hard at the "decorations." Seems not decorations at all but the real thing, headstones. Yes, the headstones come with the house as the original owners are buried there, yes R. Linda, right in the backyard where if you were enjoying the first of many martinis you would be looking down on their headstones, wondering WHY. For joy! NOT.

"Could they be removed?" I wanted to know and was told, ha ha no they are grandfathered on the property and are a permanent fixture or fixtures to the place. Halloween year round, just your sort of thing I suppose, but not mine.

As I was contemplating this, there was a buzzing like large saws heard in the background and then grinding noises like a machine eating up tree trunks. I asked about that and was told OH a neighbour down the road was clearing for a pasture. In fact it was (I later found out) not a neighbour but a housing developer clearing to build a development (a large one which means lots of traffic). When I later told the Realtor this, he said he didn't really glance down that way, but maybe. Maybe? No maybe about it. I looked the plans up online and at least 20 homes going in. So we would be subject to the noise of construction for as long as it took to build those 20 new homes.

How would that be, here we'd be in our antique Victorian looking out on a flood in the backyard, and new cookie cutter housing from our side window with across the street a quaint but run down cape and on the other side what looked like muddy, rocky cleared land. And what do you supposed will be going there? Aha! I looked that up too, condos! So the quiet small town housing I was looking for was going to be smack in the middle of a boom town.

And the worst part of this whole scenario was that two days later I get a call from Mr. Realtor telling me that someone else was interested in the property and I should quickly put a bid on it. I thanked him very much and told him no, I was not interested. I must say that every single property of the 43 had someone bidding, or about to bid, or interested ready to pounce if I didn't pounce first. I have observed in passing no one seems to be looking at homes but me and Tonya. NO ONE. So I be getting very annoyed with this hurry up and buy this house or that house. Not gonna happen.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

13 September, 2014

Since We Are On The Subject Of Dress Up

13 September 2014

R. Linda:

You ever go to one of those Ren Faires or King Richard's Faire things? Well, I was told I was going out for a fun night with the fellas. Yeah before you say anything I was lied to AGAIN, I might add. I thought it was not going to be another night of stupid drinking, carousing, and general tomfoolery as is usually the case with WHO? You guessed it the only two idiots in the world I go out with lately. Yeah THOSE two the Irish Twins or in this case the Scottish ones, Weasil and Kincaid. I trust too much that one of these days it would not be that kind of an evening. I am the forever optimist but that is slowly wearing out it is. Oi!

As I was chilling in the backseat of the red speed bucked AKA Weasil's Mustang, clothing was thrown over the backseat at me by Kincaid. It sounded like bells, felt like velvet and silk but I couldn't see it in the dark backseat.

"What the hell is THIS?" I said holding up what looked like a burgundy and black with gold piping JERKIN!

"Jus poot it on," Kincaid threw at me.

Because I ran down me stairs and got into the vehicle without letting the two miscreants get out to come get me, I did not see the attire they were sporting. Well, this taught me never again to do something so stupid as to try to spare me family the stupid remarks the two would make if they were two feet inside me door.

"WOT BE THIS?" I held up what looked like black leggings.

"Yer pants, jus poot em' on," Kincaid sighed like I was the stupid idiot in the car.

I protested much until Kincaid told Weasil to stop the car and he hoisted a meaty green leg up on the dashboard where I could see he had on leggings. I was stunned to see so much fat encased like a sausage in green merry man tights. And I opened me gob hole and said as much. Stupid laughed and so did the other one and onward we went. I should know by now, insults do not work on them.

"Where the feck are we going?" I moaned undressing to put on the silly stuff, BECAUSE I knew if I didn't I'd be that odd and recognisable civilian I always am.

"We iz going to a new pubee," Weasil said, "it be called da Red Rat Inn, I mean da Red Dragon Inn."

"Oh for joy!" I said with acid tripping off me tongue, as I struggled into the leggings. "Oh wait a minute, just because the place is called the Red Rat was it? Or, Dragon Inn it doesn't mean you need to dress like it is someplace out of Lord of the Rings?"

Not a word, they exchanged glances and a slight nod. I leaned over the front seat and that caused Weasil to tell me it WAS dress up time, it was a club for nerds who like to pretend they are a character from Game of Thrones, or part of King Arthur's court. I sat back thinking and then I looked down.

"I am NOT wearing THIS." I held up a court jester hat with bells on the ends of each isosceles triangle. "NO!"

"Coom on Gabby yer needs ta luke da pat." Kincaid said his accent not easy to understand when your own is Irish.

"I need to look like a Pat, a Paddy do ye mean?" I said getting a wee bit of temper up. "Ye tink we Irish are all jesters doo ye?"

"No, it goos wit yer coostoom." Kincaid soothed.

Like I believed him. I knew I was right even if he pronounced part as pat. There was always an Irish joke in there somewhere and it was always on me!

"Yer both prats," I mumbled jamming the stupid looking thing on me head and feeling the right fool. but then I felt something at me feet and it had bells. I reached down and held it up to the passing street lights. There was another one of on the floor. It was a shoe, but not just any shoe, it had curled up toe with a bell attached.

"OH NO, NO, NO, NO!" I threw the jester shoe at Kincaid's head.

He picked it up where it dropped to the floor and without looking threw it back and it hit me in the nose. The bell did, so it hurt.

"Coom on noe Gabe," Kincaid moaned like I was an errant child or more the brat. "Ye got to look like ya belong or ya won't git in. 'Sides dere wuz no other coostoom."

I sighed, defeated. I slipped me big feet into the big stupid shoes and caught a glimpse of me head wearing the idiotic hat in the rear view mirror. Yeah wonderful sight. NOT. I felt the proper fool. Well, I was dressed for the part so I don't know what I expected.

I sat there in the dark backseat fuming that I was a part of the Weasil/Kincaid show, the new Three Stooges. Yup, that's what was going through me mind.

So we pulled up at this place that was a rather badly put together castle, with crumbly walls and something that was to look like an iron grate with chains holding it up from collapse. We walked through this precarious edifice over a wooden plank bridge with a large puddle underneath doubling as a river. Oh yeah. And then to a thick wooden door with big round bolts that was open emanating a red fireplace glow from inside and oh the noise. The boisterous voices, the banging of pewter cups,  I knew I was in for a fine time and not a good one.

I absolutely hated that I jingled when I walked. That damn hat! The equally damn shoes! People knew I was coming and of course I was the one they looked at first. Well, of course! Weasil was dressed in chain mail and leathers with a long sword looking quite the war lord, the other one, was dressed like Robin Hood but come on! He looked to me like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

So Weasil turns to us and tells us he's got this. Yeah okay. There was a wee woman dressed in a long green skirt that was turned up to the waist to reveal a not so white petticoat. She was dressed in a leather corset with a dirty white puffy sleeved blouse rolled up to her armpits. But the most outstanding thing about her was she had a chest like Dolly Parton only bigger! I had to wonder how she kept from tipping over. She was staring into the huge fireplace that was set with what looked like tree trunks burning merrily. It had her in a daze or it was the mead she had just put down.

In that daze she held out a hand and Weasil handed her a pouch full of gold(?) and says, "Tanks, keepie da changie." This she proceeds to stuff down her bosom. We moved on.

Seating ourselves at a long table already nearly full, we were served as a wench came by and offered us, "Red wyne fer ye gents?" She asked her infrequent teeth yellow with rot, her breath REALLY bad and travelled the whole table. Everyone made a face until she stopped smiling. A jack o'lantern had more teeth than the serving wench.

As we started to sip our 'wyne' a voice came over a loud speaker of all things and said, "Cool Duke, please visit keyword RDI to learn how to use these rooms."

Don't ask I hadn't a clue, but there was a lot of laughter as a result. I wondered if this was a dungeons and dragons dress up, but well I was too engrossed in sipping me 'wyne' to give it much thought.

It was a weird feeling came over me, and the smell of fire was very pronounced as I suddenly glanced behind me and there was the wee doorkeeper standing in that same daze just behind us, still mesmerised by the roaring and might I say HOT fire. Some guy sitting next to me turned and looked at her, and then took a pouch and handed it to her outstretched hand saying to her, "Tip money for the serving wench, see she gets it." Then he smiled brightly up at her waiting for a response.

"The fire looks so much smaller now." She mumbled.

Again clueless here but OK. And once again she stuffed the pouch down her front. It dawned on me that that's why she was so top heavy. Cor! She literally stank of fire and I realised the dirt on her petticoat and blouse was not dirt but fire ash. Gees Louise!

Some poor sod was heaving his drunken bulk up to the bar behind us and the same man that gave the doorkeeper the pouch put his leg out and down went "Rafe" with a boom. He fell heavy and the room shook with laughter. I didn't find that funny, and neither did the embarrassed Rafe. Everyone watched him as muffled chuckles broke free as he limped to the bar. Once he was there, the noise and hubbub started anew.

"What is this?" I asked Kincaid but he shook his head and went to sipping his wyne.

I happened to catch movement above me and there was this guy crossing the rafters. He jumped onto a tabletop and with broadsword in hand gave a speech in old English which I understood not a word but he got laughs all the way through.

"This is bizarre. More bizarre than usual," I whispered to the man on my left hoping he felt the same way because he wasn't laughing either.

It was then I noticed the doorkeeper was right behind him staring into the flames like she was going to lose it. Me left seat companion looked up at her and said, "Do you worship fire or something?" Me question entirely what I wanted to ask but was too timid to voice. Her eyes wandered lazily to his face and she just stared him, causing him to look away in discomfort. She was a spooky lady she was.

Meanwhile, the serving wench plunked down goblets of honey mead when we had all finished our first two goblets of wyne. The stuff splashed over the rim of the goblets and she said to each of us at the long table as she went, "There ya go!" I felt like I was in kindergarten, or worse a geriatric patient in a mental ward.

She returned herself to the bar when she was done with us but the doorkeeper still stood eerily behind me, not moving, still entranced with the fire. I turned to look at her because something about the rather crazy smile breaking over her face made the hairs on the back of me neck stand up. She was, I think, praying to the fire gods and as she prayed her eyes grew brighter and bigger. Oh this wasn't good I told meself.

Before I could say anything of alarm, Weasil got up, clinked his already empty goblet on the table and waved to the crowd.

"Wuzup everyone!" He shouted as the din receded.

Kincaid had meanwhile, reached over to pet a Russian Wolfhound that had come to sit at the end of our long board or table. Weasil found this act one of disrespect because Kincaid noticed the glare he was getting and abruptly stopped petting the animal and muttered a, "Sorry Sor, ye were a-sayin'?"

Just as he finished saying this, the door creaked open and in walked a tall man with shaved head, black arched eyebrows, wearing one gold earring, a long black leather coat with brass buttons down the front and on the cuffs, white pirate shirt and completing the look, a black baldric and sword. The doorkeeper glided over with her hand out. The man took a seat as he dug out a pouch that jingled and handed it to her. The same action of stuffing it down her bodice and she turned and glided back to stand behind me. I reckoned it was the closest to the fire she could get and that just happened to be where I was sitting.

"Hey Iggy man!" Weasil called to him. Iggy nodded in return and was served a splashing, slamming goblet of mead, which he drained in one gulp. He was an ugly man, and a dangerous looking dude which made me wonder at Weasil and Kincaid. Kincaid was nodding and smiling at Iggy as the dog nuzzled its head into his side for attention.

The doorkeeper passed a gold piece with the mark of England on it to Weasil. Weas left it in front of him on the table and shouted at Iggy, "Wots up bro?"

"Howz it goin'?" the Ig asked with a British accent ignoring the question.

Suddenly and without warning the doorkeeper passed to the other side of the table and grabbing a long iron poker started attacking the fire. As she was doing this the Ig got up and with a dexterity not often seen in a man his size cut off two coin pouches of the smaller men sitting nearby. They sat in awe of him as he took the pouches, poured them out in front of Weasil and grinned.

What was THIS about I wanted to know.

"Iggy I thought I wuz goin' nuts in here." Weasil said all smiles. "Cham-pag-ney for all!" Weasil shouted to the wench at the bar.

And champagne it was, the bubbly was uncorked at the bar and the bottles were trayed to each table by the almost toothless wench.

"Wots the occasion?" I asked Kincaid as the wench gathered up the silver and put it back into the two pouches. These she threw on one of her trays and disappeared. Kincaid shrugged and went back to the dog. That made me more nervous. Was something in store for me?

Glass after glass of the bubbly was raised and near the end of the toasts which went something like this:

"To the drink!"
"To US!"
"To the dog!"
"To sweat and bad breath!"

And up and down the tables it went. All stupid stuff until it got to the doorkeeper who stood looking into the fire. She took a coin from her bosom and threw it into the leaping flames and turning to us she stood, her mouth working and her brow all wrinkled in thought. She said to no one in particular, "Takes a coin to keep it goin'." She frowned and then said slowly, "I can't think of anything good to say." With that she shrugged and returned her attention to the flames.

OK THEN, moving ever onward.

Iggy said to the assembly, "I can see yer all chillin' here, specially YOU Weas." And he laughed.

"Bro iz phat to see yaz." Weasil said blushing slightly (as if that was possible).

"Iz there someone else can tend for a moment so I can join the mates?" The bartender shouted.

A few hands went up and the more than drunk among us volunteered. I could imagine one of them behind the bar covertly drinking the profits. One able bodied man did step up and the bartender took his place at the table behind us. He was immediately served by the wench who again did her slam, splash and leave technique.

About that time I heard a rather strange sound. It was the wolfhound and it was purring like a cat. I took a double take and looked around but no one seemed to think THAT was out of the ordinary.

"Iggy dis iz sum kinda roomie," Weasil said gaily. "Dey all got limp wristies."

I sat there me mouth hanging open watching how the assembly took THAT little bit of information. And I can honestly say, not well.

Meanwhile, Kincaid was smiling at the dog and it looked like the purring dog was smiling back! I looked at me glass wondering what I was really drinking.

The barkeep got himself up all burly 6 feet of him. He had his hands on his hips as he glared at the Weasil and said, "Lemme guess, you wanna spar?"

The doorkeeper on that penetrating her brain whipped around and said, "Don't tell me to calm down! Don't tell me to shut up!"

Everyone was silent, the barkeep's eyes were wide with surprise as he sank his big self back in his seat.

"Cool." Weasil whispered, dropping his hand from his sword hilt.

The doorkeeper came forward and stood just behind me AGAIN! Only she was facing the barkeep. Her look was menacing but she went no further. He, for his part looked down at the table. I'd never seen a grown man cringe like that. Just what was her deal? I wanted to ask Weasil, but he slowly sank in his seat across from me with a smug smile on his face as he too looked over at the barkeeper like what are you going to do about it mate, kind of expression.

The room was electric with tension, the fire rose and hissed, the sparks flew as a log fell. Not a sound other than the crackling logs. I was half turned toward the doorkeeper but could see Weasil out of the corner of me other eye. These two I need to keep an eye apiece on if you know what I mean. Yes, I looked strange, one eye focused in one direction the other in the opposite, and yes, I know me eyes could have permanently stayed that way and well then I'd look a lot like Marty Feldman!

The tension began to settle as conversation began in a rumble on the other side of the room and soon rolled over to our side. The barkeeper had slunked his way back behind the bar and was busy drying glasses but the doorkeeper was still zeroed in on him with her death stare.

"Who is she?" I asked Kincaid in as soft a voice as I could.

"She's da Ig's sister." Kincaid whispered not looking at me, but staring into his mead.

"His what?" I exploded and as I rose half out of me seat everyone near me tried to pull me back down, shushing me as they threw side long glances in the direction of Iggy's sister. But she had turned and was looking directly at me with a scowl on her face and I could see the barkeeper sigh relieved the focus was off him. He was pouring himself a shot as I was whipped to face the Weasil side of the room cutting off me view of him and HER. Suddenly I felt the creature's fingers digging into me shoulder and wow that hurt!

"Ye haf a problem do ye?" She hissed into me ear as me mouth wailed a low ouch and me nostrils fought the fire smell.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no," I moaned the pain quite intense as her skeleton fingers with the very long yellow nails dug in.

She threw me away from her and announced to all assembled, "Yer! None of ye are to get apples this day. Notta one of yas."

If I wasn't in so much residual pain I would have shouted, "Apples?" but I was in pain and thankfully that saved me from the probability of a second shoulder squeeze and a hissing question in me ear.

Thankfully, a door on the other side swung open and everyone cheered and rapped their tankards on the tables as two huge pigs with apples in their mouths were hauled out and set on the two bigger tables (one being me own). With a determined step the doorkeeper slid her arm between two would be diners and took the apple out of the pig's mouth and then she moved to the other table and did the same and you will never guess what she did with those apples, she slid them in her bosom! Yup two greasy hot apples right down the old dress front. I tell ya she must have skin of a lizard because she had smoke issuing from her front as she passed by to another table where she took up a pitcher of water and proceeded to pour it not only down the front of her but on the back to the head of the man sitting nearby. He instantly rose up for the ice bucket challenge he didn't know he was a part of and his table laughed as the rest of us sat there watching the doorkeeper's bosom sizzle and smoke as the water produced steam from the heat. With all that water Iggy's sister was overly top heavy and was struggling not to fall face forward.

The Ig got up with the help of the Weasil and a few others to hold her upright and escort her to the bar where she could hold herself up. I was wondering if this night could get anymore bizarre and freaky. I will say I got both miscreants to promise me as soon as we devoured the pig that we would leave and get the hell out of the castle. And we did.

I know what you're saying to your computer screen, why didn't you just leave then Gabe, do you always think of your stomach first? Well uh YEAH.

I was unnerved enough to tell the Weasil I was driving us home, but he would not let me behind the wheel of the speed bucket. So I had to endure a blow by blow of their laughter at ME for botching up the evening. If that console wasn't between them I would have reached over the front seat and bashed their heads together. I spoke not a word, but sat there with me arms folded across me chest, tsking a lot and did not realise as I walked into me own home that I was still dressed the fool. I didn't have long to remember it as me Mam was the only one up with a cuppa watching the telly on a very low volume not to wake the house. When she saw me she turned the volume up and guess what? Yeah all the sleepers in the house awoke to see yours truly in jester dress. Rubbing eyes, double takes, laughter, giggles, pointing, yeah that's what I came home too.

When I tried to explain they told me not to, it was just too priceless.

So thanks a lot Weasil and Robby for making me endure a semi-nightmare, dressed like a complete idiot in the process and then be insulted royally by me own ones. Gees.

I hope it is snowing heavily in Colorado and the two miscreants will leave here and go ski off a mountain. SIGH.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

30 August, 2014

What am I going to do with the lad?

30 August 2014

R. Linda:

Comic Con came and went, but I need to tell you this story because I think it is up your alley and while we are on a Weasil rant, we might as well take it to the extreme.

I am not a comic book fan, never was, never will be, but we know who is. Yes we do, and there are two of them, one be Mr Kincaid, but the biggest fanatic is the Weasil. I didn't tell you about this because I have been somewhat embarrassed about it, but hell here goes.

I was invited and I use that word loosely by the Weasil/Kincaid conglomerate of comic book addicts to "taggy along" to a Massachusetts Comic Con. I declined but it did not matter they showed up at me door anyway and dragged me into that red speed bucket and transported me arse to Comic Con East. May I say I was not dressed for the occasion? No, not when compared to Kincaid sporting a rather large storm trooper suit and the other one dressed as Luke Skywalker.

May I also inform you that the Star Wars exhibit was crowded as you might imagine it would be, so the two impatient characters I was with decided to do Star Trek instead. Never mind they weren't dressed "appropriately" that did not matter, they saw a chink in the line, actually in the curtain housing the Star Trek exhibit and under it they went pulling me along. Well space cadets it was quite the experience.

There we stood on the upper deck of the Starship Enterprise with Star Trek characters turned toward us in surprise that two Star War's characters and one civilian would invade the "set."

All was quiet and then Weasil hitting Kincaid on the arm took out his laser wand.

Assuming a Luke Skywalker stance with wand at the ready he said, "Checking fire wand, ready trooper?" Weasil stood with wand in full red light with sound effects, glowing at his ready to do combat while Kincaid looked dumbly on along with THIS GUY.

"Ready to fire ONE," Kincaid shouts stepping forward with some kind of ray gun.

Everyone including meself stood shock still not a sound. I was then pushed forward and the two miscreants nodded at me to say something.

"Uh . . . setting quadrant sights on ENTERPRISE!" Yes, I didn't know what to say and THAT came out me mouth and a gasp came from the trekkies looking up at us.

Suddenly there were the clicks of many weapons being aimed in our direction, mine in particular. Feeling very self conscious like I said the wrong thing, I blustered out to no one in particular, "Anyone not part of this want to join a Star Trek SIM group?"

No response, nothing, just total silence the room's focus on us along with the weapons.

"Checking on target to the ready," Kincaid shouted, taking the safety off his ray gun. "Shoots at Borg lover!" and the gun made these ray gun sounds and then he said, "Die Borg lover!"

I had no clue.

Then someone below mock hit the deck as though ray gunned down and another shouted, "Borgs are cool! Pulling out MILLS LAUNCHER!"

Weasil stepped forward  as he ducked something that actually shot out at him from the Mills Launcher, "Thinkin' out loudy --HUM that iz Picard," then pointing his laser wand at the fellow with the Mills Launcher, he said, "I knowz who ya are, yer Picard the bald headed Peanut Man!" With that he pointed his wand like it could throw lasers at the so-called Picard, "takie dattie dere!"

Picard looked down at his chest and slowly melted to the floor dead!

Weasil feeling the power said, "I iz smilin' wit evil intentions cuz I think of Captain Kirk . . . " but he didn't get to finish his sentence because someone popped up from behind the captains chair and aimed at the Weasil. They stood eyeing each other both pointing weapons at the other.

"You mild mannered Zoroid, ahem, Hemorrhoid I mean," Weasil began but again didn't get to finish.

"Die!" The Zoroid or Hemorrhoid shouted.

But Weasil dived and did a barrel roll as he whacked his wand with a SWOOSHHH at the Hemorrhoid or Zoroid, or whatever he was and the Zoroid went down.

"Give order FIRE TWO!" I heard Kincaid shout as he aimed his ray gun at a Klingon who happened to innocently enter the room. The Klingon saw him and immediately dove for cover, but the whole room fired at him!

"Both of them gone now fire THREE AND FOUR!" A voice shouted from a woman who had a name tag that said Your Whore AHHHH. I dunno.

"The Klingon empire rules!" The hiding Klingon shouted.

Immediately all weapons were aimed at him and there were swoosh, boom, bang, zing, all kinds of alien sounds emanating in the Klingon's direction from all sorts of odd weapons that lit up. I tell ya it was a virtual light show!

When everything settled down there was a moment of silence, but then from behind the step where the Klingon was hiding he got to his feet and dove at me! The Klingon's voice rang out loud, "Yay the Klingon Empire STILL RULES! This will teach you to mess with a Klingon Warrior!" And before I knew it he had me in his arms with a strange corkscrew weapon pointed at me big toe. Another barrage of sounds fired off in his direction and mine! He threw me from him to get better aim with the corkscrew like device that lit up all colours of the rainbow and made a hissing sound as the light emanated out from it in the direction of the general population.

While all this was going on, Luke Skywalker aka the Weasil had stealthily made his way around and  behind Mr. Klingon. With the silence of cat he crept up behind the man and gently laid his laser wand tip on his shoulder. "Yer dead." Weasil said and the Klingon collapsed in a heap when the wand made that zinging noise.

Sheathing his laser, the Weasil turned to the stunned Trekkies and said, "I take me leavie now." And with that he started up the stairs while an alert Kincaid covered the startled Trekkies with his ray gun.

"I am satisfied," Kincaid said to no one in particular.

But it wasn't over, a Klingon who had been standing in the shadows came out and kneed the Weasil in the nuts. He then pulled out double-edge sabres which lit up. I'd never seen the like before. I watched fascinated as he bent down as if to sever the nuts from the Weasil, but he wasn't thinking of that gnarly Kincaid who stuck the end of his ray gun against the Klingon head.

"Ignites him and he's gone!" Kincaid said pulling the trigger and over tumbled the Klingon.

Weasil, no worse for wear, but quite a bit bent over said, "I had on me protective gear," as he got up and did a "Mahaawwaaaaa" at the defeated Trekkies. Kincaid stated to the assembly, "Clean up on step three, Klingon blood everywhere." Then he noticed Picard bleeding out on the floor, so he pointed and shouted, "KLINGON FEEDING FRENZY!" We went out the door like a herd of wildebeests just as six or seven Klingons came running in.

I had had enough, I walked out after the Weasil, leaving Kincaid staring back at the realistic gore. I mean really? Grown men and women, dressed up like TV characters and acting like it was all real. I was in Alice's Wonderland on another planet! I will say this, Weasil has had me in many strange and bizarre situations, but this one took the cake.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

26 August, 2014

Weasil -- First Time Home Owner

26 August 2014

R. Linda:

First off, it must be said that the Weasil has lead a life none of us can relate to. He is incredibly wealthy, has blue blood running through lordly veins, is set to inherit the title of Lord someday, and has spent most of his born days in castles and manor houses, eating gourmet foods and doing pretty much nothing but most of his time was spend and still is on frivolity and mayhem.

Secondly, the Weasil harboured a wish to experience life like the rest of us. Yes, you'd think he'd want to know what it was like trying to make ends meet, worried if you could put enough food on the table, and if you'd have a job or be put out on the dole. But no, that wasn't the part of the common life that Weasil wanted to experience, oh no it was not. HE wanted to experience what it was like to buy a house!

I wanted to shake him and inform him that some of us never buy a house, we rent or lease because we haven't the capital to buy. But no, he was off and running on his own and to a Property Advisors office doth he went.

He bought his first home in Ireland because that was the place of cheap housing. Please someone tell me the logic to this as he had enough money he paid cash and could have just as easily done the same in his mother country of Scotland or his adopted country of England. But no, we decided all poor people live in Ireland so that's where he went. I tell ya!

Passed the council flats he doth go. Passed the ruined castles to be had at a price, passed the city dwellings to a village where there were maybe fifteen twenty homes clustered together on a dirt road. He bought the only available abode and moved in. He was greeted by his neighbours until they all whispered to one another that an English Toff had moved in among them and who they wanted to know, allowed this travesty to happen? And why was an English Toff dwelling in the dwelling he was and not out buying up Adair Castle or somewhere like that? Well, no one knew and when they found the toffy arse wasn't interested in socialising they left him be. When they saw him, they'd stop and stare. They'd move their caps from their pates, and with the same hand scratch their heads in consternation, put the cap back on and move away to wherever they were at first headed. Weasil was oblivious to this snub, as he was too busy waiting for the "feeling of being poor" to set in.

It never did as you can well imagine as he had all his toys and playthings to occupy his "lonely hours" at home. Finally two weeks of PlayStation fun and games the Weasil was bored. He went into his kitchen and feeling experimental, he mixed green food colouring with his pale ale and did a fair job of creating "green beer." Did I mention it was also St. Patrick's Day? Well, the Weasil had noticed his neighbours were not at a local (there was none in the village), but at the small church at the end of the lane. Not feeling very Catholic (as the Weasil was a dreaded Protestant only his was Church of Scotland so he was awarded some peace by the locals), the Weasil decided to celebrate the day as his American friends would with green beer and crisps.

Well, it poured that day, a good day to be in church for the devout and for the one no so devout well he sat in his bay window stretched out on the window seat watching the drops run down the glass as he munched and drank. When the rain was over, Weasil went outside and spying an old chair outside his door he sat himself down, beer and crisps in hand, and thought to greet his neighbours as they came from church service. You know make a little merry. Uh huh.

Odd it seemed to Mr. W that the church goers were all gathered behind the old stone cemetery wall pointing and looking in his direction. He stopped in mid munch and looked around and nothing out of the ordinary did he see. No not a thing! Yet, the congregation continued to point and stare and chatter to each other in his direction. No one moved from the wall for a good ten minutes when suddenly an RTE News van pulled up followed by TG4 and TV3 News. Out of the vans poured at least two news broadcasters each, with microphones which they hurriedly shoved under the Weasil's lordly nose.

"How do ye explain the rainbow over yer abode?" One asked as another butted his way in.

"Ye are said to be the local rich fella, ye got a pot o' gold in the old abode dere?"

Yet another pushed his microphone under the Weasil's proboscis with, "Yer really a rich fella or a leprechaun? Ye got gold in dere, eh?"

Weasil pushed his way up and out of the milling about to walk across the dirt road and look up at his abode. And what did he see R. Linda? Well, you guessed it a rainbow was making a graceful arch over the home of Weasil. Who'd a thunk that would happen? Well, certainly not me!

"Cor, itz a blimey rainy bow." Weasil whispered to himself marvelling at the phenom.

Microphones reassembled and shoved their way under the Weasil nose once more, and all at once the reporters were firing questions about pots of gold. Weasil, still staring at the rainbow ignored the men and their mics and pushed his way back across the road and inside where he locked the door and stood arms out holding it shut. In his Weasil mind he isn't thinking like a common man would, no he is thinking like the Weasil he is.

He goes down into his dirt floored basement, finds a shovel and starts digging! And why ladies and gentlemen? Because in his fubar mind he has convinced himself there is a pot of gold in his basement, thus the only explanation for a rainbow over his house and his house only!

So he digs, and he digs, and he digs until finally and without warning he hits the water pipes and WHOOSH a giant geyser of water goes roaring upward breaking through the basement ceiling to the first and second floor ceilings and out the roof! Then as if this wasn't bad enough the oil tank exploded and BANG the oil went up making more holes to the outside where it mixed with the water and Bob's your uncle you know what it made. Yes, indeed as the roof parted from the building and Weasil managed to claw his way outside the collapsing floors, what could be seen for kilometres was a giant rainbow.

Everyone had high tailed it to the cemetery wall for safety as the dazed and stumbling backward Weasil looked with open mouthed wonder at the rainbow over his damaged beyond repair home.

"I dunt gits it, I jus dunt." The Weasil said.

And to this day he still doesn't get it. He told me and a few other close "friendies" that if none of that water and oil had happened he'd have found that pot of gold he just knew it. When explained to him by one Wolfie that the water and oil mixture made the rainbow, he didn't believe it. No, Weasil simply did not believe the Wolf's words because as everyone knows, "Oil and water dunt mix."

OK THEN. There is nothing more for me to say, I think Weasil said it all and to this day he believes there is a giant pot of gold under the wreckage. The abode is boarded up and condemned and if it wasn't, you know Weasil would be down there digging. Uh huh.

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

24 August, 2014

Aiden's not so lucky clover

24 August 2014

R. Linda:

All this talk about hair brought to mind an incident that happened some years ago in a little mountain village in Wicklow. It hit the newspapers it did as a curiosity story, and I think I remember most of it to share with you. I think you'll find it amusing and if you're a male, take it as a warning that if you meet a pretty Irish lass from Wicklow named Angelica, you might not stand too close and when you can -- get the hell out of there!

The story goes that there was a pretty young bride named Angelica who lived in a certain village and unleashed an old time curse upon the male population. It was St. Paddy's day in the Republic and Angelica's husband Aiden as usual, celebrated the day not in church but in the local chugging back of all things green beer. Seems the local was owned by an American who bought the state side tradition of green beer to Aiden's little village deep in the Wicklow Mountains along with the American tradition of celebrating St. Patrick's Day by drinking all day and all night, not going to church at all. Now Aiden and his chums had been busy at the drink for the entire day while their wives thought they were in the rectory helping Father O'Reilly after all the morning services were over putting things tidy.

What ye may not know is that the chapel be open all day after the St. Patrick's Day morning masses for those paying prayerful homage to the ancient Saint. Father O's presence wasn't really necessary and where would the good Father be? I ask ya now, but I'd rather tell you he'd be at Tamlian's Pub with the rest of the male population. There be nothing in the church laws that say a priest can't imbibe if he wants to.

So while the ladies went in and rearranged the flowers or cleaned the benches with Murphy's Oil or scrubbed the floors for next days morning services, the men who were supposed to be in the rectory were in Tamlian's rectory cleaning the jars of beer after beer they were.

Now Angelica be a smart lass she be and she knew where Aiden was along with the rest of the male miscreants of the village. She knew making a special dinner was a waste of time as Aiden would appear long after the dinner hour and be too drunk to eat it anyway. But being the good wife she was, she did wait up to make sure he didn't end up asleep in the fireplace or under the couch with the cat.

Well, Aiden made it home at a quarter to four in the morning. You'd think you would that Angelica might be fit to be tied at that hour, but she wasn't, this was one day a year except of course Aiden's birthday when he took it upon himself to over do it on the alcohol. I don't want to give you the impression old Aiden was a drunkard, no, no, he just overdid it twice a year and this was all right with his bride. As long as it wasn't a constant money draining habit, well she let him have his two days of drink.

As I say it was quarter to four in the morn when Aiden lurched in, but he was feeling rather randy for a change and this was not lost on his wife. She, having sat up most of the night in wait, was rather exhausted, what with scrubbing the church floor, and actually doing work unlike Aiden, she had an excuse to be worn out, so his amorous overtures where the last thing she wanted. But he was determined, the sweet talk and trying to pull her to him and her moving behind the table or a chair to keep him at a distance was rather more tiring. Then the racing around the table with Aiden after her further tired her. Finally, because they were both near breathless, he panting and waiting to catch a second wind to chase after her, and her thinking how to stop him because she was truly not in the mood, they stood thinking strategy.

She notice in the press behind her was the wedding plates and crystal champagne goblets, the topper from their wedding cake, the garter she wore and something else, a glass box which contained Aiden's wedding present to his bride, a genuine four leaf clover! Now a few words on this particular clover, because it had a history it did. Seems the witch of the Wicklow Mountains had found this clover and had given it as a present of sorts to a man who come to her saying he was unlucky in everything (much like meself) and he was at his wits end on what to do. Could she help him? He understood she had magical powers. Well, yes, yes she could help him but as all gifts come with a string attached, she'd make him lucky but if he lost, abused, or traded the clover something terrible would befall him.

As you can imagine the man wanted to know what the something terrible would be. The witch came close to him and she said in her hag's whisper, "Ye will lose all yer hair if ye do anything to ruin this fine specimen of luck. As long as it be intact your luck will hold but you lose it your hair will not."

"Pshaw!" The man declared, "give o'r the clover and what instructions I need to keep it safe."

"Ye sure?" She asked and he nodded. "Ye must give it to your bride for safe keeping inside this glass case. Ye are never to take it out to show or wave around. Ye must give it o'r to yer eldest son on his weddin' day and he to his wife for safe keeping, and they will have a long, lucky and happy marriage and he a full head of hair as long as the clover stays in its case."

"What happens if me wife or his wife take it out of the case? Me and he's hair will fall out?" The man asked.

"Every man that cooms near the women who fusses wit it will lose his hair. She'll be cursed to a bald man all her days and any man cooms near her will suffer the hair loss."

"Any man?

"Any man!"

The man thought a moment and then told the witch hair loss was a small price to pay and he had a bride he would take if his luck was as good as she promised who he trusted would never take the clover from the glass box.

And so, for generations the story was told, the wives of all the eldest sons vouchsafed to keep the clover in it's protective case and the luck continued . . . that is until Aiden's wife decided it was all a humbug story and she opened the press, took out the case and held it up. Aiden stopped dead in his tracks and then started laughing, he believed the tale as much as you and I. So he started forward and Angelica opened the case, and took out the clover. He laughed and ran a hand through his good head of hair and not a follicle came out.

So at a full sprint he came round as Angelica took off out the open door and as she did she fell over the cat and Aiden fell over her and the clover drifted through the air and came down in the grass. As Angelica pushed her husband off, she noticed he had passed out. She also noticed his hair was in the grass and he was bald!

She got up quickly looking around for the errant clover but it was dark. She ran in got a torch and flashed it around looking for the clover. Just about then, Father O'Reilly be walking by or should I say wobbling by as he was filled to the brim with drink. He sees the torch light and hears frantic breathing and looks over the gate of Aiden's cottage and sees the missus on hands and knees looking with the aid of torchlight for something on the grass. Then he spies Aiden fully laid out cold and looking odd. Was that Aiden, Father asks himself not recognising the bald man. Not sure he opens the gate and lurches through at the same time asking Angelica if she has lost something and who is the man in the grass. Well, our bride explains it all to the now red in the face priest who offers to help her.

It wasn't long after that Angelica's neighbour Jamie, who was on his way to his job at the dairy, saw her and what he thought might be Father O'Reilly only the priest had no hair and in the limited torch light, he spied a bald man stretched out on the grass. He decided something was decidedly amiss. He came running through the gate to help and well Angelica explained and Jamie laughed at the superstition, but he stayed to help look for the clover.

"This be a right craic of a jape it be," Jamie said looking in the grass not very hard as he didn't believe a word that Angelica and Father O' had said. "Ye shaved their heads. His," he said pointing at Aiden, "because he came in late. I don't get Father here but maybe ye shave his so when Aiden wakes he won't be too angry about ya shaven' his head seein' Father here got shaved too."

The three of them were crawling in the grass and Angelica noticed that Jamie's hair was drifting by her like snow flakes and she points this out to good neighbour Jamie who jumps up and now does not find the superstition funny at all, no not when he feels his bald pate. He started running around not knowing what to do shouting at the top of his lungs about his hair. Well, this got the notice of the Garda who were driving by and saw the commotion. They pulled over got out and shouted for Jamie to calm down and explain the problem.

Well he did and Angelica backed him up and pointed at the passed out bald husband, the bald priest still on hand and knees looking for the missing clover, and then at Jamie and then at the two policemen because . . . well you know because.

Not a second to lose they asked Angelica where she thought the cursed clover had fallen and she points and there is a general loud ruckus which attracted the neighbouring males to come out to see what was going on and well you know what happened don't ya? Now all the men were on hands and knees with torches chattering up a hysterical storm, all of them bald and there was Angelica looking curiously at the family cat. He had found the clover and was eating it. Unfortunately too far gone was the clover to rescue, so Angelica did the next best thing, she slowly and silently backed her way out of the front yard, got in the car and drove off never to be heard from again.

The clover be gone, but the bald men are not. Almost every single one in the small village except the three who slept through the excitement now wear hats that cover the missing hair. The name Angelica has sort of disappeared as they refer to her now as Lillith, demon wife of the poor sod Aiden. Others, more pious who live outside the village say the men got their just desserts including the priest for not abiding St. Patrick's Day as a holy reflective one. Uh huh. If that were true we'd all be bald on St. Patrick's Day.

It looked something like this but dried up
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

20 August, 2014

The Adventures Of Ordering A Cherry Cake

20 August 2014

R. Linda:

The wife's birthday is coming up along with the youngest. I had to order a cake for them from the only bakery in town because most New England housewives bake, thus not many bakeries. I know of towns that don't have even one! Anyway, I got off work early and decided since the bakery was still open and on my way home, to stop in, order the cake, pay for it, and then the only thing I have to do this weekend is pick it up. Yes, yes, yes, the best laid plans! All good deeds do not go unpunished, I know, I know, I know, nothing is every easy. Just cutting you off before you go there.

I stopped in and you would think ordering a cake one of the simplest of tasks . . . you would think that. But no, this was not simple. No it was anything but that. First off the wife wanted a chocolate cake with cherry filling and butter cream icing. Snap right? Nooo . . . not even close.

There I was the only customer in the store except for a woman who was laughing loudly at something one of the counter girls said down the other end. I had the full, undivided attention of the wee brown-eyed, dark-hair tumbled into a black net, small person wearing the name plate Zoe.

"Can I help you?" She eyed me like I was going to rob the place of cookies. Right off I wanted to correct her and say, "You mean MAY I help you?" But I did not.

"Why, yes you MAY," I said jovially. "I'd like to order a birthday cake, 8" round for this Saturday, pick up say 11 a.m."

"O K," she glared at me not sure where I was going with this.

"I'd like it to be a chocolate cake with cherry filling, you do have cherry filling?" I asked, because you'd be surprised the many places in New Hampshire that only do strawberries because they raise an abundance of those fruits.

"Uh we do strawberries." She stated.

"No cherries?" I asked in mock surprise.

"We could make a black forest cake." Said she.

"No, I don't want a black forest cake, I want a birthday cake." I mused.

"There are cherries in the black forest cake," she said, "only they are in a liqueur named Kirsh something so I don't know if you have kids they'd like that much."

"Well, can't you put the liquored up cherries in a chocolate cake with butter cream icing?"

"No, it's whipped cream. You need the whip cream to keep the cherries from bleeding into the cake and making that soggy."

Oh my heavens.

"Yes, yes, but instead of whipped cream can't you substitute butter cream?" Was it me?

"Gloria," Zoe calls to the other counter girl who came trotting down, her customer with her.

The question was asked and lo and behold, Gloria does the cake making. She says of course she can make a chocolate cake with cherry filling and butter cream frosting "you silly rabbit." Viola! Who knew? Gees Louise, or in this case Zoe.

I wanted to ring Zoe's neck for wasting me time. You would think taking the name, the phone number, and all the particulars an easy process from cake selection, BUT IT FREAKING WASN'T!

"What do you want on the cake?" Zoe said pen at ready.

"Well, I'd like a picture of a motorcycle because this is for two people and one of them loves motorcycles." That would be the almost one year old. Loves the things.

Zoe gets the computer screen on the counter up and shows me a motorcycle which was so juvenile it was a NO. But wait she had another one in the adult cake section. Adult cake section? I was afraid to look, but it was clean, yes R. Linda, no porn, clean things like an elaborate basket with flowers, footballs with the number of your age on them, stuff like that. Well, she gets to the adult motorcycle and it is very nice. So I say, "THAT ONE PLEASE. Only instead of the guy with the beard, can you make it with a woman with dark hair and a one year old sitting behind her with blond hair?"

"GLORIA! Can you . . . " yeah and she could, but while Zoe was questioning Gloria's artistic design talents the woman customer leans towards me and says, "Your wife or girlfriend?"

I was taken a back for a moment and answered, wife.

"Motorcycle momma, huh?" And she snickers.

"No, more like the wee one be a fan of motorcycles, that's why I'm . . . " and that's as far as I explained meself because Zoe was back with an affirmative.

"You want some spring flowers on that too?" She asks.

I look at the design and think Zoe has lost her mind. That would look silly, so I shook me head in the negative. She shrugged and gives this big sigh like I was ripping up the cake decorating and filling cookbook. She writes it all out and tells me this and that will cost extra because now it's a speciality cake. I was like just write it down for heavens sake, let's get this painful process over with!

"Take where it says Easy Rider, and instead put Happy Birthday Ton . . . " that is as far as I got she interrupted me with "You do know we have to add the child on the back because that isn't in the design."

"Well, yes, yes I do know that and that's fine." I say and start to tell her what to write but again she stops me.

"How do you spell Tonya?"

I spelt it. I spelt me son's name as well to be on the safe side it didn't say Happy Birthday Tony and Pedro or something just as ludicrous.

"Last thing, see the Harley Davidson insignia at the bottom the 37 is for the age." Zoe points out.

"Oh hold up there, me wife isn't 37 and if I did that she'd have me hide for breakfast. No, no numbers she doesn't like numbers." I protested.

"BUT the 37 comes with it because you picked out a 37th birthday cake topper design."

I stood there dumb. The woman customer stood there dumb as well. Both of us blinking and looking at Zoe, waiting for the joke, but was no joke.

"Why does he need a number at all?" The customer asked.

"Because it is the . . . "

BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH

"It is written in icing, it isn't a stick-on stencil so why does there even have to be a number? Why not the insignia all by itself?" I pleaded.

Zoe shrugged and Xed out the number. GOOD!

"When did you say you want this? I can have it by August 7th."

I stood there looking at her waiting for the punchline. It was August 19th.

"You mean August 23rd." I said.

"Oh yeah. Wednesday." She said writing it down.

"Nooo, Saturday," I corrected.

"Oh right," she says scribbling the date off and changing it.

SO this should be interesting. I don't know what kind of cake I am getting, I don't know if me wife will be on the bike and have a goatee, I don't if the wee one will look like a teenager and I have no clue what the filling really is. I have a sneaking suspicion the number 37 will be somewhere on that cake. I also don't know if the cake will be ready Saturday at 11. I have no earthly idea if there will be a cake.

God knows! I paid a whopping $44.00 for this confection . . . yes I did.

I be shell shocked I be. And it's the only bakery in town!

AND ALAS THE CAKE! Me wife be a blond and I didn't know it!

Looks like Colorado not New Hampshire, and no insignia OR number YEA for that


Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved

16 August, 2014

She named them Left and Right

16 August 2014

R. Linda:

Last week I received an email from Capt. Jaack who told me he had a gift from Wolfie for me sainted grey haired, apple cheeked mam. I had shared with Wolfie me mam's giving up on the male population for having any worth whatsoever and he thought that sad. But he did state he understood her disappointment, after all not everyone could have good hair and be as loyal and well balance as himself. Uh huh.

Anyway, he had sent Jaack something he had found in Japan that he thought would delight me mam and give her a good laugh as well as something to look after to keep her a wee bit busy. Now Jaack said he had seen Wolfie since the trip to Japan and had received the "gift" to give to me to give to me mam and he had been looking "after them Mate, fresh water, nice view," on a weekly basis. What Jaack was talking about I did not know and when I asked, he said he did not know either and couldn't venture a guess because he didn't know what he was looking at. This of course intrigued me no end. What on earth had the Wolf come upon that you couldn't make out what it was, that would make me mam happy, that needed a change of scenery and fresh water? Clueless! But I was thinking whatever it was it must be ALIVE!

"Well, I'll give you me address you can send it on." I emailed Jaack.

"No, you don't understand I can't SEND these through the mail Cappy, I have to BRING them to you." He emailed back.

Now I was truly stymied. So I made a date to meet him next he was down me way.

This Saturday morning very early (because he had a Captain Jaack booking), our very own Captain pulled up me driveway looking totally unsure he was in the right place until he set eyes on me coming out the door in me wife's bunny slippers which I had not a clue I had slipped into. He knew he was in the right place. Well, I had no coffee so I was in a daze I was, so bunny slippers it was.

"I knew you by the bunny slippers," the Captain said leaning out his window looking down at them. "Very you I might add."

"Thanks," I quipped back peering in at his passenger seat where a cardboard box sat on the front seat with a tea towel covering it.

I asked him if he wanted to come in but he said he hadn't the time, rain check though and with that he gingerly lifts this heavy cardboard box and gently hands it off to me from the drivers side window. As I say, it had a tea towel over it that was from Ireland and sent by the thoughtful Wolfie from that place because he knew me mam would appreciate the thought. That was I suppose if she did not appreciate what the Japanese things in the box were. I went to pull the towel back but Jacck stopped me by telling me that "they might catch their death, take them inside and then unpack them, Cappy. But I think you can leave them as they are and let your mother get a look first." And he winked at me making me very suspicious of what on earth was in the box. "OH and Gabe, they are in water so don't slosh the box." He started to back the car up, "Oh, and they don't bite!"

With that he rolled up his window, and backed down me driveway, his head nodding at me not to peek, he was watching me. I tell ya! So I went back inside being very careful and I could hear water inside the box, so I carefully set the box on the coffee table in the living room. I decided I'd go make me some joe to keep from peeking. That didn't keep the cat from taking a look though. When I came back into the lounge, there was the cat, head under the towel, one long arm in the box the rest of him hanging out.

I near dropped me cup as I ran to get him out of the box before he killed or ate whatever was in there, or it killed and ate him! Once I got him out from under the tea towel he was rubbing up against me and meowing to be let back up on the table. Now I was truly curious as I sat there making sure Mr. Kits stayed floor level, I took a quick sip of me coffee, I put the cup down quietly and looked around. No one to be seen, so I extended one arm out toward the towel when a voice made me jump and withdraw it back.

"Is dat me present?" Me mam said shuffling into the room.

"Yes, yes it is." I said with a sheepish smile I be sure.

"Aw and dat Wolf be such a taughtful laddie he be." She said, her eyes gleaming in anticipation. "And och! Woulda lookit dat he poot an Irish linen on toup for goud measure. What a taughtful laddie like I say."

I was frowning now, thinking like I was not a thoughtful lad? Come on! But I held me tongue and temper I did as I watched her slide the towel off and then near put her head in the box looking at what was inside. I got real curious when she started talking to whatever was in there, the box muffling this: "Oh look at yas, yas two . . . ooh such big 'ins ye be, bigger den I remember."

Okay that was it, I pulled her by her bathrobe sleeve to move her back, but she swatted me and told me to be patient she'd take them out, but before she did she wanted to tell me something about Wolf.

"Wot about 'em?" I asked in a hurry to what was in the box.

She picked the box up and stood there waiting for me to settle it down. I did.

"Yer Mr. Wolf has sent me not only a lovely tea linen from the old sod, but he has sent me your father's balls he cut off and dey are a nice shade o' green dey be."

I sat there with me jaws to the ground. NO, she never just said that and NO, I didn't just hear that and NO, HE NEVER DID!

She knew I was about to jump out of me seat so she put her hand out to me chest and kept me seated as I heard water sloshing in the box.

"Gabriel you finish yer cuppa and I will get fresh water in here." She said moving off.

"You mean embalming fluid dontcha?" I said still in shock.

I guess the commotion awoke the wife because she came lurching in the lounge asking me why I was shouting so early on a Saturday morning and at who because I was by myself.

How was I to explain? But I didn't have to, the moment she saw the tea towel, she went for it and asked where it came from? Had I a friend on the General Hospital set who sent me the towel for her? Oh how wonderful, we must frame it just like the one on GH. It dawned on me she thought the towel was from me! I tried to explain, but she was too busy ooh and ahhing over the tea linen.

Yup she wanted to frame it just like at Kellys on GH

I stuttered trying to tell me wife that Wolfie had found me errant father and cut off his balls, and put them in water and sent them to me mam! And I did get that out without knowing I did because she dropped the tea linen to the floor and stood looking at me in horror.

"WOLF DID WHAT?" She said as if she didn't hear me right the first time.

I shrugged I didn't know what more to say, so I said it again.

"OHHH," she mock laughed, "this is a joke right?"

"No, no joke," I said cryptically, "he's a northern man after all there Ton."

"So are you, I might point out." She pointed out!

"No, I mean a Proddy northern man probably into things he shouldn't like blowing people's kneecaps to bits and stuff like that." I said mindlessly.

"Well . . . " Tonya said giving THAT some thought but before anymore could be said, in came me mam with this small fish bowl of sorts and inside were two things that looked like separated testicles with a green fuzz growing on them.

Tonya gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth in horror, stammering, "is that, is that, is that . . . "

As for me, I could feel the size of me eyes must have been like car headlights as I watched me mam advance into the room, put the bowl on the table in front of me and smile with great satisfaction at the two green balls in the bowl.

Here they are!

"Are . . . are . . . " Tonya started, "those little glass rocks on the bottom?"

I exploded with a WHAT because the little glass rocks on the bottom where the least of me concern.

"Well, I don't know." Tonya said flustered.

"Da Wolf put instructions in da box, he did," me mam said, "I hafta keep dem in artificial light and change da water once a week, and no chlorine in da water, and squeeze 'em every so often to get da nitrate outa dem."

Both Tonya and I looked at her in amazement. She said all that like it was nothing. We both directed our gazes back to the balls in the bowl.

"Oh my." Tonya said to me and me back to her.

Later when me mam was elsewhere Tonya and I took a real good look at those green balls.

"Your mum said when you squeeze them they float for a while. I wonder what they feel like."

"Tonya!" I said in genuine shock.

Several times that day we'd both go look at them and every time we did, me mam seemed to know because we could hear her laughing in the other room.

"So glad she thinks this is funny," Tonya whispered.

"Yeah, me poor da. I know he's a bad bad man but . . . cut his balls off? Really? And by Wolf?" I whispered back.

"How much do you think she paid him?" Tonya said.

I didn't get to answer because over our engrossed shoulders came this, "Oh I see ye are gitting to know Left and Right." And she walked away.

"Left and Right?" Tonya whispered trying to catch her breath.

"That's what she said, OH MY GOD, she named them!" I breathed out quickly looking to see if me mam was within earshot. She wasn't.

'You better fire an emergency email off to that Wolf and find out what condition he left your father in." Tonya hissed.

And I did, I went right up to me loft, locked the doors and emailed the Wolf. I wanted to Skype but he wasn't around. Or, if he was, he wasn't saying so. An hour later I got this:

"Your da is doing well, though his voice is a few octaves higher than it was. He limps a bit, but that will right itself in time. Otherwise, don't you worry none I am an ace with a scalpel."

"BUTCHER!" I shouted at me computer screen and then an IM came ringing in.

Wolf: Calm down your da is fine. I don't know where he is anyway
O'Sully: He better be, so who's balls are they?
Wolf: They are Marimos
O'Sully: Who is this Marimos and what have you done with him? And more important why would you send his balls to me sainted mother?
Wolf: LMAO
O'Sully: Glad you find this funny. Japanese guy is he?
Wolf: Mari means a bouncy ball and Mo is a generic term for plants but in this case a species of algae that grow in water. They are called Marimos, mossy round balls of seaweed I guess. Your mam is in on the joke. So was Jaack.

Nice one on me and Tonya! Oh and Tonya got me mam watching that soap and yes, the two of them are taking that tea linen to be framed for OUR kitchen wall. I suggested they take the Marimos and have them stuffed in a shadow box for me mam's bedroom wall. So far mam is liking the idea but she wants the real ones. Oi!

Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved