UNPACKING THE 2025 FALSE DUCKS NEW YEAR’S DAY VIDEO RAMBLE…FINALLY!

March 13th, 2025

     Have you finished fainting yet?  Scott March 12, 2025Yes, this is the day I finally begin to unpack the 2025 False Ducks New Year’s Day Video Ramble.  I posted the video on January 1st of this year but was sidetracked a few times and didn’t get around to the unpacking.  The unpacking is basically me explaining or detailing some of the things I mentioned in the video ramble.  Normally I address the topics in the ramble in the following blahg but, as I said, I got distracted.  First there was the DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB…UNBOXING!, and then there was the two part blahg series of THIS IS 150ISH, PART ONE and THIS IS 150ISH, PART TWO.  Those were written after I discovered that the “Darkwing Duck And The NFT Cash Grab…Unboxing!” was blahg number 150 and I always review the previous 50 blahgs in some sort of summary form.  The “ish” is because “This Is 150ish, Part One” was actually number 151.  Then there was the posting of a new short story in the blahg, THE KEYS OF HIRAM CRENSHAW.  But, today’s the day, with no further excuses.  Let the unpacking begin!

   First I should post the 2025 False Ducks New Year’s Day Video Ramble so you will know what I’m talking about.  Here’s that video: 

The first thing I’ll address is the reference to launching our Christmas Tree into the creek.  This has become a tradition every year of me launching the tree and watching it float away or possibly me failing to get the tree to float away.  In previous blahgs like HOW WAS YOUR CHRISTMAS? and LAUNCHING AND RELAUNCHING, I posted videos of me launching the tree.  Here’s this year’s video.  Don’t be confused because it says “2025 Christmas Tree Launch” but I’m actually launching our Christmas 2024 tree.

Yes, it was an epic fail.  I went back two weeks later and the tree was still there.  I went down to the creek again this past weekend, the second weekend in March and the tree was still there.  It was partially submerged and probably waterlogged.  I’m not sure if it will ever find its way downstream. 

   I mentioned Jeanette’s health scare in this video.  There are no pictures.  Luckily, all was good.  During a routine mammogram in November, they noted that one of Jeanette’s breasts was not the same size since the previous mammogram.  This might have been the result of a mass or anything disastrous really.  She didn’t have a follow-up appointment until January and the results were that there was nothing abnormal.  We had to keep it from our kids over the holidays and stress and worry about it until the subsequent results gave us better news.  Enough on that. 

   Part of the ramble highlighted my accomplishment in reading all 30 of the Cool and Lam detective agency books by Erle Stanley Gardner.  Here’s what I said in my blahg last year after I had accomplished the task: I finally finished all 30 Cool and Lam books. In my previous blahg, UNPACKING THE 2024 FALSE DUCKS NEW YEAR’S DAY VIDEO RAMBLE., I detailed how I had about four to read.  This is a detective series by Erle Stanley Gardner (creator of “Perry Mason”) using the pen name of A. A. Fair.  There were 30 books and I finally finished “All Grass Isn’t Green” this past weekend.  So that’s something off my to do list for 2024.”  

I haven’t set a goal of reading any more books in a series but I did decide to try and do something else monumental.  I’ve read for years that 1939 was one of the greatest years for films.  Just look at the list below of strong classic films from 1939:

  • Gone with the Wind
  • Stagecoach
  • The Wizard of Oz
  • Wuthering Heights
  • Mr. Smith Goes to Washington
  • Goodbye, Mr. Chips
  • Ninotchka
  • Destry Rides Again
  • The Hunchback of Notre Dame
  • Dark Victory
  • Young Mr. Lincoln
  • Of Mice and Men
  • The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
  • Babes in Arms
  • Beau Geste

That is just a sampling of 1939 films.  I set a goal of watching as many films from 1939 that I possibly can.  Some have had DVD releases and are already in my collection.  Others can be viewed online but sometimes the prints are not great.  I have a list of just over 400 films from 1939 and I’ve watched almost 50 films from that year.  I’ll update my progress and thoughts in a later blahg. 

   Some of my ramble was dedicated to my writings.  I published my book “Pippa’s Passing” last year and it can be purchased in paperback and kindle versions from Amazon:  https://www.amazon.ca/Pippas-Passing-Scott-Henderson/dp/1738299120/ref=sr_1_1?crid=U0H43M9PQB3&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.tZB__wB1CglXGVRj0WczhXkKeBXVXCHKTAWgkJXR50ZwZk3lK82YLeGm-7ee9xQd97pxJaD4WBhUB92aoptxVbDllZrcrRUeg8KSgpi9RD6qPY0NqaFijKeb8KumYT_Lx_WX2xsbw1L5AbAhgHThgQpRGE5kZ78iFdgYRtBd8qwJep2U7Z3xMUrcodprgw6P.nmkJUbcZzavDFklC4MIUEO5lG0DNaQamgDkd76XPF4w&dib_tag=se&keywords=pippa%27s+passing&qid=1741803229&s=books&sprefix=pippa%27s+passing%2Cstripbooks%2C196&sr=1-1

I also mentioned the short stories I wrote last year.  You can read them in the following blahgs:

THE HOHNER COMET

HOW GRANDPA PUT DOWN THE ROBOT UPRISING.

SEVEN FEET OF SNOW IN BUFFALO

THE XMAS DIP

I also said I wanted to do more writing this year.  I started off this year with another short story that I published last month, THE KEYS OF HIRAM CRENSHAW.  I hope to do even more writing.  I have an idea for a story that I’m tentatively calling “Pocket Pal.”  We’ll see if I get it written.  I still have to complete “The Soda Machine” which I started writing about two years ago.  It took me long enough to write this unpacking blahg as it is!

   Politics came up in my ramble.  I don’t know what to say.  I’m completely disgusted with this topic.  Our Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau is stepping down in a few days and Mark Carney will be the new Prime Minister.  That will follow with a Federal Election in about six weeks.  It’s a wait and see what will happen.  We had a Provincial election and nothing changed.  Here’s what I posted on my Facebook (which I don’t usually do so you know I was upset): 

So the Ontario Progressive Conservatives won last week’s totally unnecessary election. Now, Doug Ford is going around saying he has the mandate from the Ontario voters to build a super tunnel under the 401 and an unnecessary bypass near Bradford Ontario. He’s saying he has a mandate to do all of the things he’s been talking about.
Really? Let’s examine his so-called mandate. 42.97% of voters who turned out voted PC. That means 57.03% voted for anyone but the PC Party. Elections Ontario reports the unofficial provincial total is a 45.4% voter turnout rate, or about 5 million of the almost 11.1 million people eligible to vote in Ontario weighed in for the 2025 provincial general election. That means that less than half of eligible voters turned out and less than half of those voted for Doug Ford and the PC party.
So Doug Ford thinks this gives him a mandate from the people. He wants to build a multi-billion dollar tunnel under the 401 and he thinks that we’ve given him a mandate. The numbers don’t add up Doug. And this guy wants us to trust he can handle the budget on a multi-billion dollar hole in the ground. If you can’t do basic math Doug then you shouldn’t be Premier.

Now, we have a tariff trade war going on with Donald Trump and Doug Ford is trying to antagonize Trump with reciprocal tariffs and then backing off and saying “let cooler heads prevail.”  The problem is that there are no cooler heads…just hot heads full of hot air. 

   I won’t talk further about Charlie’s lost Christmas gift and how it was found by our cat Rogue.  You can read about that in the 2025 FALSE DUCKS NEW YEAR’S DAY VIDEO RAMBLE blahg.  We’ve since mailed the missing gift back to Charlie. 

   Speaking of Charlies, or in this case, Charley, I discovered the other day that a new Charley Chase DVD set was released last November called “Charley Chase At Hal Roach: The Late Silents (1927).”  I’ve collected all of the other Charley Chase at Hal Roach studios DVDs and I had not known about this release.  Check out the description:

Both Charley Chase and the Hal Roach Studios Golden Era was in the late 1920’s, and 1927 was the year Charley Chase was the Lot of Fun’s Number One star. His films from that period, directed by his Brother James Parrott and supervised by Leo McCarey, were not only some of his best but were some of the best silent comedies from the silent era. Most of these classic shorts have never been seen since their original release, and this set combines materials from film archives and private collections from around the world to bring these shorts together for the first time, all with wonderful accompaniment from Dr. Andrew Simpson, commentary tracks by noted Hal Roach Historian Richard M Roberts, and restoration by the experts at CineMuseum. Fifteen great comedy shorts like MANY SCRAPPY RETURNS, WHAT WOMEN DID FOR ME, THE WAY OF ALL PANTS, and US show Charley Chase as a comedy talent at the top of his game, with interesting co-stars like Lupe Velez, Jean Arthur and Eugene Pallette, as well as Hal Roach regulars like Anita Garvin, Charley Hall, Noah Young and even Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy.

I’ve only watched a handful but these are very funny shorts that I have never seen before.  I wanted to add that information into this blahg because that mention of world politics is no laughing matter…at least this new Charley Chase set is.  Here’s one of the videos on the set, “There Ain’t No Santa Claus.”  Of course it’s not as good as the print on the DVD and the music is not as good as that scored to the films on the set. 

 

   That’s just a little bit of the unpacking or maybe it’s the important bits.  I’ll end this blahg with the same quote I always use at the end of my ramble videos.  I don’t know who originated it but I’ve heard audio of Frank Sinatra saying something to the effect “In this upcoming year, may we find peace in the world and peace among ourselves.”

   Was the unpacking worth it?  Ask me again next year after I delay unpacking the 2026 False Ducks New Year’s Day Video Ramble.

 

THE KEYS OF HIRAM CRENSHAW

February 14th, 2025

Okay, here I go avoiding writing that blahg to unpack the 2025 False Ducks Video Ramble.The Keys of Hiram Crenshaw  Well, I got a little sidetracked when an idea for a short story popped into my head.  The keys in the picture to the right were turned in at my office the other day.  You can see that the words HC Sidney are written on the card inside the red tag.  Sidney is the name of the building and street where I work.  The HC is a mystery.  No one has yet to claim the keys.  That was the inspiration for my new story, “The Keys of Harold Crenshaw.”  I’ll writing that unpacking blahg later but I’m proud to present my new short story.

 

The Keys of Hiram Crenshaw

By

Scott Henderson

            Cole Bronson bent down and picked up the red object half sticking out of the snow next to his car.  He was surprised to find that it was a plastic key tag with two keys attached.  The tag was the kind that opened so you could slide in a small piece of card with an identifying message.  This tag had “H.C.” written inside in black marker.

“I wonder who these belong to?  Cole said aloud.  “H.C.” he murmured to himself as if just saying the initials would unlock their secrets.  “I wonder what these unlock?”  He didn’t even stop to laugh at his own keys unlocking secrets notion.

            Cole looked around.  There was no one else outside.  The keys could have come from anywhere.  They could have fallen out of someone’s pocket.  He thought about his neighbour Jill who had the parking spot next to him.  Jill wasn’t an H.C.  Still, they could be hers because they were found beside his car and hers was the next spot over on that side.

            “I’ll have to ask her.”  Cole pocketed the keys and headed inside.  He glanced back over his shoulder one more time.  Nope, no one else outside.  The parking lot was empty of tenants.  Cars, yes.  People no.

            It was a fairly large parking lot with the availability to accommodate fifty cars.  His apartment building had thirty units inside and there were spots for the thirty apartments in addition to the ones for visitors and the accessible spaces.  Still, there were never more than twenty cars in the lot at any given time.

            It had snowed the night before and the plow had come early.  It was on mornings like this that Cole wished his building had a parking garage or even underground parking.  He’d totally ignored the automated call from Property Management telling him the snow plow was on its way and he was required to move his car.  The plow would first clear the empty spots and then tenants could move their vehicles to the plowed sites and then move them back after the plow had finished the rest of the lot.  Normally he would have obliged but it was Sunday and Sunday meant sleeping in.  He knew later he’d get a notice about his failure to relocate his vehicle because the plow driver always recorded the license plates of people who didn’t comply.

            “I hate that guy,” Cole said aloud.  He didn’t care who knew it and he didn’t care if any anyone heard him.  The driver was someone’s brother-in-law.  He’d heard it gossiped in the elevator.  Nepotism ran rampant around the building.  One of the cleaners was a sister of one of the owners and someone’s son cut the grass in the summer.

            “I think half the dogs in the building are related to each other as well,” Cole stated.  He chuckled at that one.

            Cole pulled out his own keys and unlocked the main entrance.  He had a thought.  He retrieved the key tag and tried one of the keys in the front lock.  It fit and turned; unlocking the door.  He tried the other.  It slid into the lock but would not engage.

            “Apartment key, maybe,” Cole said.  He compared his own keys.  They looked very similar.  “Yep, just like mine, one for the main entrance and one for the apartment door.  Mystery solved.”  Of course the mystery wasn’t solved.  He still didn’t know what apartment the other key unlocked.  He still didn’t know who “H.C.” was.  It wasn’t like he could try the key in every apartment to see which one it unlocked.  Cole thought about that for a second and then dismissed it.  That might have worked for Cinderella but glass slippers were not the same as keys on a plastic tag.  Besides, unlocking someone else’s door would probably get him into a world of trouble.

            Cole pocketed the keys again and started for the stairs.  He liked climbing the steps.  He liked to avoid the elevator; even if was a good spot for building gossip.  He liked the exercise.  It gave him time to think.

            “Hillary Clinton, Harry Connick, Hoagy Carmichael, Harry Chapin, Howard Cossell.” As he trod to the third floor, Cole began to recite the famous names he could recall that began with H.C.  He’d had a look at the directory in the lobby but no name matched the initials on the tag and some of the listings only had an apartment number associated with the call button.  Some people liked their privacy and did not like to have their name listed.  “Hopalong Cassidy,” he continued.  “No, he’s fictional.”  It was just a game but it amused him all the way up.

            Cole stopped at his apartment door and reached into his parka to retrieve his keys.  The tag with the mystery keys came out as well, entangled in his own.  He looked down at them and then walked down the hall to the next apartment and knocked.  Cole’s neighbour Jill answered the door.

            “Are these yours?” Cole asked before Jill could say anything.  He was always tongue-tied when it came to Jill.  Sometimes he called her Julie out of nervousness and once for some odd reason, Jennifer.

            “Which ones?” Jill questioned back.

            Cole looked down and saw that he was holding up all of the entangled keys.  He quickly separated his own and held up the red tag.

            “These ones, er, I found them, uhm, in the parking lot, you know, in the snow next to my car near yours…or, well you know, where you park.”  Cole was stammering but Jill got the gist.

            “Oh those, no I tossed them there as a gag,” Jill quietly replied.

            “Really?” Cole asked with his mouth gaping open.

            “No, not really, Cole.  I was just having you on.  I’ve never seen them before.”

            Cole nervously laughed and then put the keys back in his pocket.

            “Let me see those again,” Jill continued and extended a waiting hand.

            “Here,” Cole said, offering up the keys.  “The tag says H.C. but I haven’t got a clue who that is.”

            “Did you check the directory?” Jill offered.

            “No one with an H.C. listed but that doesn’t mean anything.”

            “What’s this on the back?”  Jill pointed to flipside of the tag.  She could see something on the other side of the card that bore the H.C. initials.

            Cole couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to look on the other side.  Clearly there was a bar code with a Universal Product Code number underneath.

            “Come on inside, Cole,” Jill motioned to him.  “Let’s look it up.”

            “Uh, okay,” Cole mumbled.  He couldn’t believe he was being invited in to Jill’s apartment.  He didn’t care now about the mystery keys.  If nothing else, they’d unlocked the opportunity for him to be invited into his pretty neighbour’s home.

            “H.C., H.C.,” Jill said over again a few times.  I wonder who it can be?”

            “It’s not Hopalong Cassidy,” Cole found himself uttering before he gave himself to think.  He was just a little unnerved in her presence and being in her apartment.

            Jill looked at Cole and laughed.

            “Good one Cole.  Hilarious Cole.  There’s another H.C. for you.”  She thought about saying ‘Handsome Cole’ but she could see that he was nervous enough.  “Let me pull out my tablet and I’ll look up the UPC number.”  She gestured for Cole to sit down.

            Cole took a seat on a futon and looked around.  The apartment was nice.  It was organized and clean.  There were a few photos on the walls and others scattered around the apartment.  None of them featured Jill or Jill with a mystery person that would have told Cole she had a significant other.

            Jill caught Cole looking at the photos.

            “Parents, sister, brother, college friends, and oh, that one there, came with the frame.”  Jill really did have a sense of humor.  First the joke about deliberately throwing the keys in the snow and now the comment about the photo.  Cole stood up and walked over to the aforementioned frame.  It featured a dog.

            “I call him Carnival Barker,” Jill called out.  “I don’t know why.  He just looks like a Carnival Barker.”

            “Well, I’ll tell him to stay off the furniture if I see him.”  Cole was starting to feel more relaxed.

            “Very humorous, Cole,” Jill said to him.  “Humorous Cole, there’s another.  Let’s get that code.”

            Cole sat down and waited for Jill to announce the results of her search.

            “I don’t know, Cole, maybe we don’t want to know what the code is for.  It might be for some product that’s odd or perverted.”

            “Like Hemorrhoid Cream?”  Cole couldn’t help it.  Like listing off celebrities with the H.C.  initials, the product idea had popped quickly into his head.

            Jill turned toward Cole and began to laugh until the laughing consumed her and she had to lean over and take in short breaths.

            “Stop. It. Cole.  You’re. Making. My. Side. Hurt.”  She had pronounced every word through quick breaths and trailing laughter.

            Cole would have been proud of himself except he didn’t think his first intimate encounter would end with her laughing at him and clutching her self for control.

            Previous interactions between the pair had always been brief.  He’d met her outside a few times when they were getting in or exiting their vehicles.  They’d swapped pleasantries or complained about the snow on their vehicles when they were valiantly brushing them clear.  He’d passed her in the hall or held the door open for her but they hadn’t exchanged much except the aforementioned greetings or occasional grumblings.  At some point they’d obviously exchanged names; even if Cole hadn’t always remembered hers correctly.

            After collecting herself, Jill returned to the search.

            “Oh, here it is!” Jill exclaimed.  She handed the tablet over to Cole.

            Yep, there it was.  An order page for the Klassen Click Key Tag available in a range of colours.  Definitely not hemorrhoid cream.  The UPC was obviously standard on the back of the complimentary slip of paper enclosed in the tag.

            “Well, there goes that idea,” Cole responded as he passed the tablet back to Jill.

            “Wait Cole, don’t give up so easily.  This is a mission.  We’ve got to get these keys back to their rightful owner.”  Jill obviously wasn’t discouraged.  “Where did you say you found them again?”

            “I was digging out my car and I uncovered them between your spot and mine.”

            “Wait, you didn’t move your car this morning for the plow?  Didn’t you get the automated call?

            “Yes, I did,” Cole replied, “but I chose to ignore it.”

            “You’re going to get a notice later.”  Jill offered up.

            “I know.  I hate that guy.”  Cole still didn’t care who knew it.

            “You and me both,” Jill chimed.  She reached into a drawer in an end table beside the futon.  “Here’s mine from last time.”

 Jill began to read from it.  “This is a reminder that all tenants must move their vehicle on hearing that the snow plow will be arriving at the building.  Failure to do so…blah blah blah.”

“I hate that guy,” Cole said again.  He glanced at Jill’s copy and saw her license plate and apartment number scribbled across the top.  There was no HC in the license number.  Another theory shot down.

“Wait a minute Cole, I have an idea.”  Jill grabbed up her tablet again and snapped a picture of the mysterious Klassen tag.  Within moments Cole could hear the sound of a printer engaging from across the room.

Jill walked over and removed the paper from the tray and then scrawled something across the top of it.  She gave it to Cole for his consideration.

Cole read from the paper.  “Are these your keys?  Found near spot 28 in the parking lot.  See Jill Martin in apartment 306.”

“What’s with the apartment 306?” Cole asked.  “I was the one that found them.”

“Yes, and now I’m holding onto them for you until we find out who these belong to.  You and I are in this together.”  Cole liked the sound of that.

“Can’t we just ask around? We’re bound to eventually find the owner.  Why invite them to your apartment?”

“It worked on you Cole.  Look on this as a form of social interaction…a chance at human contact.  You try your way and I’ll try mine and we’ll see who gets the best results.”

Jill was right.  The keys had worked to unlock an interaction between the pair of them.  He was hoping to build on that.

“Where are you going to hang your makeshift poster?” Cole thought to ask.

“I was thinking about that bulletin board in the laundry room,” she answered.

Cole thought about it.  It seemed like a logical place.  There was lots of space on there.  He’d only ever seen one notice and that was from someone who was offering their services as a dog-walker.  When Cole saw that, he was sure it was probably another relative of the property management group.

“Hey, while you’re at it, call up that dog-walker and see if they want to take on Carnival Barker as a client.” Cole jibed.

Jill began to laugh again; not as hard as she had at the hemorrhoid cream comment but it wasn’t forced and Cole accepted that he was making inroads with her.

“I’ll hold onto the keys,” Jill began, after composing herself.  “I’ll put up the poster and you do your asking around.  I’ll check back with you in a couple of days and we’ll compare notes.”

Cole went home and thought about his encounter with Jill.  Five minutes later there was a knock on the door.  His thoughts were still of Jill as he expectantly opened the door.  It was a representative of the property management group there to hand him a notice about not moving his car.

“I hate that guy!” Cole exclaimed after he’d closed his door and was sure the management flunky was out of earshot.

Two days went by and Cole heard nothing from Jill.  He didn’t pass her in the building and she made no effort to reach out to him.  Sometimes her car was in the lot and sometimes it wasn’t.  Cole didn’t want to come across as pushy so he waited for her to come to him.

On the third day it snowed again.  Cole made sure he responded to the call and dutifully moved his vehicle.  He had hoped to see Jill but she’d ignored her obligation and Cole was a little angry when he saw the plow driver jotting down her license plate.

That evening there was a loud and rapid knock on his door.  Cole didn’t immediately think of Jill.  He thought of the plow driver and that maybe Cole was getting an erroneous notice or that they were mistakenly delivering Jill’s notice to him.

Cole opened the door to find Jill who quickly barged past him waving a piece of paper.

“Look at this Cole!  Can you believe it?”

“Let me guess, you got another notice.  You should have knocked on my door, I would have moved your car for you.”

“Not now, Cole.  Look at this!” Jill repeated.

Cole grabbed at the offered paper.  It was the poster with the photo of the key tag with attached keys.  Underneath, in a scrawling hand was written in capital letters, THOSE ARE THE KEYS OF HIRAM CRENSHAW.

“Who’s Hiram Crenshaw?” was all Cole could think to ask.

“I don’t know but it’s something to go on.” Jill responded.

“What if it’s some kind of gag?  I’ve never heard of Hiram Crenshaw.  Why did someone write that on there instead of coming up to your apartment to tell you?”  Cole thought they were all valid points.

“I told you, it’s about social interaction.  People are afraid anymore.  It’s easier to leave an anonymous note than to reach out to someone.  That reminds me, how did you make out with your asking around?”

“About the same.  People scurry by you on their way out or on their way in.  Everyone rushes out of their car and into the building.  No one stops to chat.  A few said they saw the poster but didn’t recognize the keys.  Now I guess I’ll have to ask people if they know Hiram Crenshaw.”

“Too slow,” Jill interjected.  “We need something that brings people together.  We need to get them out of their apartments.”

“Just wait until the next snow fall, and they’re all outside relocating their SUVs.”  Cole had observed on more than one occasional that there were way too many SUVs in the parking lot.

“Don’t remind me!  I got my second notice slipped under my door,” Jill complained.

“I hate that guy!” Cole was getting repetitive in his thoughts about the snow plow driver.  “We should host a party for everyone in the building to celebrate their hatred of that guy.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” Jill enthused.  “We should host a party for people in the building.”

“No thanks,” Cole quickly replied.  “I don’t know about you but I don’t want a bunch of strangers traipsing through my apartment.”

Jill looked around at Cole’s apartment.  It already looked like a bunch of strangers had marched through there.  There were newspapers on Cole’s coffee table, his dining table, and his counters.  The sink wasn’t full but there were a few unwashed dishes.  Maybe Cole would have tidied up if he’d known she was stopping by.

“Me neither, I was thinking about the Common Room,” Jill offered.

Cole didn’t think about the Common Room.  In the three years he’d lived there, he’d never seen it opened.  He’d tried the lock a couple of times but it refused him entry.  He didn’t even know who had a key for the room.

“It’s always locked,” Cole reminder her.

“Leave that to me.  Let’s do what we did before.  I’ll post a notice in the laundry room and you spread the word when you see other tenants.  Hiram Crenshaw’s out there somewhere.”  Jill was rubbing her hands together as she spoke.  She was digging in deep into this mystery.

Jill stuck around for a little while longer and she and Cole began to plan the gathering.

The following weekend the common room was opened and Jill and Cole began to decorate and lay out snacks.  They split the cost.  Jill kept going on about social interaction and human contact until Cole just had to tune her out.  He did what she asked and they would have to just see what resulted from the fruits of their labours.

About a dozen people turned out in addition to Jill and Cole.  There wasn’t a Hiram Crenshaw in the lot nor did anyone claim the keys or admit to penning the note about Hiram on Jill’s original poster.  Throughout the evening, Jill walked around with the keys suspended from a rainbow lanyard she hung about her neck.  No one commented on them.

The evening wasn’t an entire loss.  They learned more about some of the other tenants.

There was Maragret, an elderly retired schoolteacher who gave piano lessons in her spare time.

Priya and Harmish were a young couple on the first floor who were expecting a baby in the spring.

Then there was Gary and Derek, a couple of accountants or an accountants couple.  They had been the only ones who had noted Jill’s rainbow lanyard.  They did not inquire about the keys.

Ted was a bartender and starving artist.  He made Cole uncomfortable when it seemed he was trying to monopolize Jill’s time.

“Not too shabby,” Cole volunteered to Jill as he began to clear up after the last of the party stragglers had made their way to the elevator.  “Still, no Hiram Crenshaw and we’re still stuck with his keys.”

“Never mind about that,” Jill countered.  “There are still about half as many tenants we haven’t reached.  Some of those who came tonight gave me ideas about other things they’d like to see happen in here.  We’re not licked yet.  Give it some time.”

Cole agreed to let Jill lead on this one.  And she did.

Soon there were more events with even more participants.  Jill took some initiative and others followed.  Their first initial gathering led to others and then to game nights and movie nights and sporting events.  More than half of the building turned out for the hockey playoffs.  Jill had contacted the owners and told them what was happening in the building and asked for the donation of a large screen television.  The owners obliged and threw in a sports package.  On the final night of the playoffs even the owners stopped in to watch.  They were amazed at how the building came together.

Everyone began to talk to each other more.  People would stop and chat in the halls, or on the stairs, or in the elevators.  Gone was the gossiping…soon replaced by genuine inquiries about everyone else’s lives.

Gary and Derek hosted an income tax session.  Ted gave a private showing of some of his art.  It bolstered him to have an even larger screening at a local art gallery.

Dog owners had play dates and soon were seen walking their canines outside.  The dogs loved bounding through the snow.

Other tenants took to knocking on the doors of other apartments when they noticed cars not being moved after a snowfall.  Some even moved cars for others.

In the spring, there was a gathering to build raised community garden boxes and to begin the planting of seedlings.  The owners were more than generous with donations to these endeavours.

At the end of April, Priya gave birth to a baby girl.  There was an improvised baby shower in the common room.

In June, Margaret passed away and everyone mourned.  There was a celebration of life held in the building and everyone came out.  The owners installed a plaque to her in the lobby.

Birthdays and anniversaries were not forgotten either and it seemed like every week there was some event that brought most everyone out.

“I wonder what ever happened to Hiram Crenshaw?” Cole thought to ask one night as he and Jill were tidying after a potluck she had organized.  Cole had managed a tasty dip that he had assembled himself with the help of an internet recipe.  It had been months since their first party in the common room and Jill still wore the lanyard with the mystery keys.  The building had come together and, with all the gatherings, Cole had stopped thinking about the keys and the mysterious Hiram Crenshaw.

“Does it matter?” Jill asked.  “I think he’s served his purposed.”

“What do you mean?” Cole queried.

“The keys of Hiram Crenshaw brought everyone in this building together.”

“I think you did that,” Cole said.

“With your help,” Jill added.

“So, you’re just going to keep wearing the keys around your neck as an homage to everything that’s happened?”

“That, and as a reminder of the success of a grand experiment.”  Jill smiled and Cole could sense there was as much behind that smile as there was behind her statement.

“I don’t get it,” was all Cole could think to say.

“It’s simple,” Jill began, “let me show you.”

Jill hustled Cole out of the common room, closed the door, removed the keys from around her neck and inserted one in the lock and turned it.

“I still don’t get it,” Cole said.  “You mean you discovered that one of the keys unlocked the common room and you didn’t tell me?”

“Listen Cole, remember when you first found the keys and you brought them to me?  What did I say?”

“You mean the bit about the dog photo coming with the frame?”

“No, not that part,” she replied.  “Before that.  You said you had found the keys in the snow between your car and mine.”

“I remember,” Cole interrupted.  “And you said you’d tossed them there as a gag.  You don’t mean this whole time you’ve been having me on?”

Jill reached out and hooked her arm in his and started marching him toward the elevator.

“Except it wasn’t a gag.  It was an experiment,” Jill continued.  I’ve lived here just as long as you have and I was getting tired of not knowing my neighbours.  You and I had only exchanged a few words before that and now look at us.  We’re practically inseparable.”

“And what about this experiment of yours?  What about the H.C.?  What about the keys of Hiram Crenshaw?”  As they stood waiting for the elevator, Cole had a number of unanswered questions running through his brain.

“Remember what else I told you that first night?  Human Contact.  That was the experiment.  I’d contacted Property Management about using the common room and they let me have a key to it.  They said they didn’t think anyone else was going to use it.  I was determined to prove them wrong.  Dropping the keys in the snow was the first step in the experiment.  One key was for the common room and the other is my spare main entrance key.  I found the key tag in an old drawer after I moved in.  I had no use for it then so I held onto it.  I’m glad I did.”

“And the H.C.?” Cole felt he knew the answer but he had to ask.

“Human Contact.  The grand experiment.  Look what you and I have done for this building.”

“And Hiram Crenshaw?” One final unanswered question.

“I scrawled that onto the poster.  I tried to disguise my handwriting.  I figured that would draw you in more.  You wanted to know the owner of the keys and I provided you with one.  Those are the keys of Hiram Crenshaw.”

“Well, it worked.  You roped me in.  I’m not mad.  I’m just surprised.  I’m glad I could help out.”  Cole was pleased with himself.

They rode the elevator together to the third floor and they continued to talk about Hiram Crenshaw and the grand experiment.  They stopped when they reached Cole’s door.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” Cole asked with hope in his heart.  He wanted to test her notion of being inseparable.  He’d been keeping his apartment tidy ever since that first time she’d dropped over.  Another success chalked up to the keys.

“Not tonight Cole,” she reluctantly replied.  “Give me time.  You and I are a grand experiment, too.  I’ve been in other long-term relationships before and I’m not ready to commit to another one.  Besides, I’d have to have a picture of you for when you’re not around and the only frame I have available is the one of my dog.  I’m just not sure I’m ready to do that to Carnival Barker.

The End

 

 

 

 

THIS IS 150…ISH, PART TWO

February 10th, 2025

Scott Reading A Book   Hey ho I’m back again with part two of THIS IS 150…ISH. Having realized in my last blahg, THIS IS 150…ISH, PART ONE that I’d reach 150 blahgs with the publication of DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB…UNBOXING!, I set out to review blahgs 100 through 125.  This continuation will review blahgs 126 through 150.  Let’s get to it.

   126.  MARIE CARROLL AND BOB STRONG REVISITED.  This is one of those funny addendum blahgs where I went back to a subject I had previously covered.  In this case, the previous blahg was number 125, WHATEVER HAPPENED TO MISS REGINA HASSOCK OF 1947?  In that blahg, I tried to provide information about the big band singer, Marie Carroll.  “Marie Carroll and Bob Strong” revisited was my attempt to correct an error I made in the “Regina Hassock” blahg where I said I didn’t think Marie Carroll had ever gone into a studio and recorded any songs and that most of the output we have today are from live radio shows where Marie Carroll sang with Bob Strong.  I had mentioned some live remotes that Marie Carroll did with Bob Strong and his orchestra that were available on a CD released by Circle Records with the title “Bob Strong And His Orchestra, 1944-1945”: 

I didn’t have this CD when I wrote the “Regina Hassock” blahg but purchased and received it and discussed it in the “Revisited” blahg.  The selections from the CD were recorded for Lang-Worth in the Columbia Studios in Chicago on August 13, 1945.   I presented Marie Carroll’s tracks and a few of Bob Strong’s tracks from another Lang-Worth session. 

   I’m not going to re-post any of those tracks but will post a live remote of the Bob Strong Orchestra from May of 1945.  In the “Regina Hassock” blahg I posted a Victory Parade of Spotlight Bands from January 9, 1945 that included Marie Carroll vocals.  I have found another Victory Parade of Spotlight Bands featuring Bob Strong from May of 1945 but oddly there are no vocals by Marie Carroll.  I say “oddly” because the advertisement below mentions Marie Carroll appearing with Bob Strong on June 2, 1945: 

Bob Strong June 2, 1945

If Marie Carroll was with Bob Strong on June 2, 1945 then why doesn’t she appear with him on the Victory Parade of Spotlight Bands from May 31, 1945?  Instead the only female vocal is attributed to “Dorthy Nielsen.”  I’m not even sure if I’m spelling her name correctly but listen to her sing on “Sentimental Journey”:

 

127. “THE CHRISTMAS MAYONNAISE”. Any blahg that reports on me lying on the floor at Walmart around Christmastime should give you a clue that all is not well down in Whoville.  The Christmas Mayonnaise is a parody of the Christmas Malaise:

A general feeling of discomfort, illness, or uneasiness whose exact cause is difficult to identify.

I was sick and it was Christmas.  You do the math.  Maybe if I’d have eaten some bad Christmas Mayonnaise it would have made more sense.

 

128.  A VERY QUIET CHRISTMAS PLAN.  The debut of my short story with the same name.  In hindsight, I think I should have called it “Carnival Barker.”  Regardless, it’s well worth reposting: 

A Very Quiet Christmas Plan

by

Scott Henderson

 

            Philip decided he was going to have a very quiet Christmas.  That was his plan.  It hadn’t been planned if you went back several months but the current plan seemed suitable.

            Margo had left after Labor Day.  She hadn’t been happy for a while and she told Philip she was leaving to find herself.  Philip found himself…alone…after Margo left and took Carnival Barker with her.  Carnival Barker was their dog.  Really, Carnival Barker was Philip’s dog because it followed him home one day.  It barked after him the whole way from the park and it sat in the street and barked continuously until Philip came down from his second floor apartment in an effort to make peace with the dog and his neighbours for the continuous barking.

            “You should be a Carnival Barker the way you carry on,” Philip said to the dog.  The name stuck and, anyhow, Carnival Barker didn’t object.

            Margo objected.

            “You don’t know where the dog’s been or who he might have belonged to,” she explained to Philip.  “Either he goes or I go.”

            In the end both of them went but not before Carnival Barker stayed and Margo stayed but she always referred to him as ‘Barker” although Philip slipped in the full ‘Carnival Barker’ whenever he and the dog were alone; which was often because Margo had been trying to find herself for quite a while and that meant she was always out trying something different which didn’t always include Philip or even Carnival Barker.

            “Why did she have to take Carnival Barker if she was trying to find herself?”  Philip had said this aloud numerous times since Margo left when he wondered about her which was less often than when he wondered about Carnival Barker.  His little joke to himself was that maybe Carnival Barker was a guide dog and was helping her find her way.  He fantasized often that the dog came back and Margo stayed wherever it was she found herself.  He still held that fantasy as it got closer to Christmas and imagined that he’d wake Christmas morning to the sound of Carnival Barker extolling the virtues of his name down in the street until his neighbours pounded on his door and told him to “quiet that hound.”  After all, wasn’t that the exact phrase they’d shouted when Carnival Barker had first followed him home.

            Philip wondered what it had been about him that made anyone or anything want to follow him home.  There had been Carnival Barker but before that there had been Margo.

            Margo had followed him home from another walk in the park.  He hadn’t noticed her at first until she eventually piped up and said “if you hadn’t noticed, I’m following you.  I don’t usually do this but I’m in this whole seize the moment stage and I saw your face and thought I should just follow this guy home and see what develops.”

            What developed was a six month relationship where Margo moved in and Philip let her.  He liked Margo.  She was take charge or forward ho or a number of catch phrases that challenged her to do something different like following someone home and  building a relationship.

            There was no courtship with Margo.  Philip had been alone and then there was Margo.  She saw him every day.  She talked incessantly but she asked numerous questions about him and that seemed appealing.  No one had ever asked him so much about himself in so short a time and no one had ever followed him home from the park just to see what developed.  It was nice.

            Philip did not think he loved Margo.  In fact, he knew he did not love her or loved her less when she left and loved her even more less or lesser when she left and took Carnival Barker.

            No one ever claimed Carnival Barker; except Margo in the end.  Philip had put up posters and read the papers but there were no lost dog inquiries that matched the description of Carnival Barker.  His main feature was his bark which had been incessant when he wanted Philip to invite him into his home and ceased after he’d gained entry.
This was akin to how Margo stopped her incessant talking and personal questioning of Philip after she too had moved in.  No one claimed her either.  He never met her family, if she had one, and her only friends seemed to be Philip and Carnival Barker or anyone involved in her finding herself activities when she went out and left man and dog alone.

            Philip missed that dog.  He missed the padding of his feet or how Carnival Barker would stare at him when Margo was out and Philip could just imagine the dog saying it was another evening in for the boys and Philip would stare back and then tell Carnival Barker that an evening alone with him without Margo was more than worthwhile.  The dog hadn’t been large or small and not exactly somewhere in the middle.  He was the size he was which was right for him and besides his bark, his other distinguishable feature was his colouring.  Margo would use flowery descriptions of autumnal shadings of leaves or beach sands after receding tides when Philip clearly thought Carnival Barker reminded him of the colour of turkey gravy from a can.  It was little things like that widening the gap between Margo and Philip that eventually led to her leaving.  She’d left a note that was a panoramic description of the chasm developing between them as she sought to find meaning while Philip seemed to be rather happy in the status quo.

            Philip liked the status quo.  Margo was gone and so was Carnival Barker.  It was Christmas now and he moved through it as he liked and the current plan of a quiet Christmas was enough.  At least it should have been.

            It started with the turkey.  This had not factored into Philip’s plans.  A quiet Christmas meant to Philip no fuss or bother or commitment to any holiday plans other than a quiet Christmas.  The turkey changed everything.  He’d won it in a holiday raffle at work.  He wasn’t even sure what the proceeds of the raffle went to support.  He’d been cajoled into buying a ticket and just assumed the proceeds would go to pay for the cost of the turkey that would be won by some poor sucker.

            Philip was that poor sucker.  And it was a fresh turkey, and not frozen, and given out two days before Christmas so he’d have to plan something for it and upset his plan for no real plan for Christmas.

            Of course if you have a turkey and you have to cook it, which is a plan far better than throwing it away or trying to fawn it off on someone else who had even less plans than Philip, then you have to build on that and soon there’s potatoes and stuffing and cranberries and pie and gravy and of course that would remind Philip completely of Carnival Barker.  And if  you have all that and you’re suffering melancholia for a dog who followed you home from the park and not the woman who had tried that trick before the dog then you have to alter all plans and invite others in to share in your newly best laid plans that altered your regular plan in the first place.  And if you’re all in on the meal and inviting others then you have to plan for decorations and a tree and lifting your spirits without artificial spirits so no one knows the melancholia was about all you could stomach without the turkey and the decorations and the whole Christmas with trimmings.

            In the end, Philip was alone.  No one came.  No one was available and yet all the plans had been made and he had committed himself to those plans and when the plan of a quiet Christmas did materialize despite Philip’s best efforts to expand the raffle turkey into an extravaganza evening, he was a little disappointed to find himself alone on Christmas Eve with the thought that the next day was Christmas and he still had all that cooking to do with the raffle turkey and no one to share it with and slip turkey to under the festooned table.

            On Christmas Eve, Philip did nothing.  He stared at the tree he’d been obliged to include in his failed plans and the lights dancing on the tree lulled him to sleep.  He dreamed fitfully.

            In his dreams Philip was back at the park and there was Margo and Carnival Barker and they were chasing him and he was trying to avoid being caught by hiding behind various trees but secretly relishing in the notion that Carnival Barker could sniff him out but that Margo would have no such talent and might eventually give up and go on with her life.  Ultimately Carnival Barker’s bark would betray him and Margo would hone in and find him as if she’d had some talent after all and not give credit to the dog she simply referred to as Barker.

            Margo would pull Philip close and kiss his face and tell him he’d been found and he’d laugh and wonder how it easy it had been that she had found him, with Carnival Barker’s help, yet she had a difficult time finding herself.

            Philip woke up Christmas morning and could still feel Margo’s wet dream kisses upon his cheek.  It wasn’t though.  It was dog slobber.  It was Carnival Barker.

            “Carnival Barker, how can you be here?” he said aloud to the dog.

            Of course it wasn’t the dog who replied, it was Margo, standing in the doorway looking no more found than she had when he had last seen her in September.

            “Barker and I thought you might be a little lost without us and I know a thing or two about lost and found and we found ourselves alone and determined that you should not be and so here we are and I’m famished.”  She’d not even stopped to take a breath.  Typical Margo.  She was gone and then she was back. Philip recalled how she had never left her key behind after she left.  Philip didn’t care.  Carnival Barker was back.

            There was nothing for it after that and Philip had to cook the Christmas dinner and spend it with Margo talking about her travels over the past few months and her enlightenment and not once mentioning how Carnival Barker had factored into any of it and all the while Philip grinned and slipped the dog pieces of dark meat and marveled at how much his coat really did resemble tinned turkey gravy.

            Margo moved back in and then shortly after New Year moved out again after following someone else home from the park and calling up Philip and saying she’d found her soulmate, as if he’d been lost to her until then, and that she’d call for Barker but not sounding convincing at all…about retrieving the dog and not the bit about the soulmate.  The soulmate was just some poor sucker who probably deserved Margo as much as Philip had deserved a fresh not frozen turkey that upset his plans for a quiet Christmas.

            Philip didn’t care.  Carnival Barker was back and he was determined to change his locks and that nothing planned or unplanned would take Carnival Barker from him again.

            As it so often does, Philip’s plans did change, though.  He eventually met someone else and he married and there were children and there was still Carnival Barker.  And there were great Christmases and Philip would often think back on that one extraordinary Christmas.  Not the one where he had won the turkey and Margo had come back but the following year when he cooked a turkey again and it was just him and Carnival Barker and Philip set a place for the gravy coloured dog at the table.

The End

129.  2024 FALSE DUCKS NEW YEAR’S DAY VIDEO RAMBLE.  Unlike the 2022 Video Ramble which was blahg number 107 and that video is missing in action, I at least can post this one. 

 

130.   UNPACKING THE 2024 FALSE DUCKS NEW YEAR’S DAY VIDEO RAMBLE.  Where do I start?  There were two things mentioned in this blahg.  One was a recap of meeting Jerry Mathers at the Niagara Comicon in 2023.  Here’s what I said:

I got Jerry Mathers’ autograph on a still I found of Bob Hope and Mathers from the movie “That Certain Feeling.” That’s one of my favourite Bob Hope movies.  Most people remember Jerry Mathers as ‘Beaver’ from “Leave It To Beaver.”  Jerry Mathers was very nice and had fond memories of Bob Hope.  Here’s that photo with Mathers’ autograph.

Another thing I make reference to in the Ramble is the “Cool and Lam” books.  Wikipedia describes Cool and Lam this way: 

Cool and Lam is a fictional American private detective firm that is the center of a series of thirty detective novels written by Erle Stanley Gardner (creator of “Perry Mason”) using the pen name of A. A. Fair.

I started commenting on the Cool and Lam series in a blahg from 2021, called THIS IS 100, PART ONE.  Here’s what I said then when I talked about books I had recently read:

Instead, I’ll mention two that I recently read, “The Bigger They Come” and “The Knife Slipped” by Erle Stanley Gardner writing as A.A. Fair.  Gardner is famous for creating and writing about Perry Mason.  Cool and Lam is a fictional American private detective firm run by Bertha Cool with Donald Lam as her main operative.  Gardner published 29 books in the series from 1939 to 1970.  I first became interested in the Cool and Lam series due to my interest in Frank Sinatra.  The second book in the series “Turn On the Heat” was adapted for the June 23, 1946, broadcast of Hour of Mystery with Frank Sinatra as the first actor to portray Donald Lam.  Unfortunately that broadcast does not appear to circulate.  I always thought about reading the book from the series, “Turn On The Heat”, that the broadcast was based on.  That meant starting with the first book “The Bigger They Come.”  I thoroughly enjoyed it.  It’s the late 1930s into the 1940s gritty detective novel.

   I was then going to turn my attention to “Turn On The Heat” which was the second published book in the series.  I discovered, however, that this wasn’t the second book written in the series because Gardner had written “The Knife Slipped” after “The Bigger They Come.”  Here’s what Wikipedia says about it:  “Originally written to be the second book in the Cool and Lam series but rejected by Gardner’s publisher, The Knife Slipped was found among Gardner’s papers and published for the first time in 2016.”  Hard Case Crime published “The Knife Slipped” and after reading it, and enjoying it even more than “The Bigger They Come”, I was drawn back in again to that gritty thirties Los Angeles noir.  Hard Case Crime also republished “Turn On The Heat” and that’s the copy I have to read next.

Well, my goal was to read all thirty in the series.  When I recorded the Video Ramble I mentioned I had still to read four more in the series.  Well, in 2024 I manged to finish reading all of the books.  Yay me!  (By the way, the photo at the top of this blahg, taken by my son Noah, is of me reading “The Count of 9” from the Cool and Lam series).

 

131.  LAUNCHING AND RELAUNCHING.  There’s a long and short to this blahg.  The short was a video of me launching the 2023 Christmas Tree into the creek.  The video has the title of 2024 Christmas Tree Launch because I was launching it in 2024 but it is indeed our 2023 Christmas Tree.

   I also talked about  of my book “Pippa’s Passing.”  It’s available on Amazon and you should totally buy it.  https://www.amazon.ca/Pippas-Passing-Scott-Henderson/dp/1738299120/ref=sr_1_1?crid=ESE9D6BQ4ZT7&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.tZB__wB1CglXGVRj0WczhQ_ZYQGxYVxmsm5DW6JA-FI.Qv4nD0DEI8cARodXJ2lQDPuO4E2fMuilDpBrKiIUILg&dib_tag=se&keywords=pippa%27s+passing&qid=1738685413&s=books&sprefix=pippa%27s+passing%2Cstripbooks%2C118&sr=1-1

    Remember how I said there’s a long and short to this blahg?  Well, the relaunching refers to this: 

   Okay, now for the really bizarre and unbelievable bit.  This is the ‘relaunch’ part of this blahg.  I am 61 years old and I’ve written a few blahgs about who I am such as WHO I AM, WHAT IS 60?, and WHEN A GOOD MAN GOES MISSING.  I gave details of my life and what I’ve done over the past six decades.  The problem is that this was all based on a lie…or rather a mistake. 

   Let me explain.  I was born on September 23rd, 1962.  At least that’s what my mother has always told me and I’ve always celebrated it on the 23rd.  The problem has been that my Health Card and Birth Certificate have always recorded me as September 22nd.  I’ve just chosen to live with it.  Add to that the fact that my Driver’s License has my birthday as September 23rd and all my Revenue Canada information also has me down as the 23rd.  That’s crazy right?  Recently, on a hospital trip, detailed in the blahg UNPACKING THE 2024 FALSE DUCKS NEW YEAR’S DAY VIDEO RAMBLE., I was encouraged to try and sort out the discrepancy issue with my Health Card.  Here’s where things get strange. 

   I went into our local Service Ontario branch where you go to try and sort these things out.  Unfortunately the person I spoke to said she didn’t know how to handle this and gave me a phone number to call for more advice.  The telephone number was for the Service Ontario call centre.  After my quick explanation, and a considerable silence on the other end, I was told they would mail me a package of information to fill out to make the changes to my birth certificate and health card.  It took almost ten days to get the material and after reading through it, it said I had to provide proof I was actually born on September 23rd!  I guess my word or the word of my mother who was there, or so she tells me but hey it was the 60s and there were probably drugs, wasn’t good enough for the Ontario government.  Acceptable proof could be a baptismal certificate, which I don’t have, publication of the birth in the newspaper stating I was born on the 23rd, which never happened because by then I was the third child of my parents’ union and the excitement and need to proclaim my birth to the world had probably waned, or I could provide a letter from Belleville General Hospital stating I was born on the 23rd.  This last option seemed the best avenue. 

   I reached out to the hospital and, shorter story here, a nice woman went down and pulled the September log of births for 1962 and discovered that my birth was written down as occurring on September 22nd!  They had my mother’s name correct and the address where we were living at the time.  There was no mistake…wait, yes there was, there was the mistake that I had been erroneously celebrating my birthday wrong all this time!  I was flabbergasted to say the least and I even jokingly asked if the log book made any notation of me being adopted.  Nope.

True story.  I couldn’t possibly make this up!

 

132.  “PIPPA’S PASSING” GOES LIVE.  My book was officially available to order.  The link to purchase it is above.  The video of me promoting it is below:

 

133.  HAVE YOU WATCHED ANY GOOD MOVIES LATELY?  I was in the mood to review a number of Warner Achives and Fox Cinema Classic DVDs I had picked up.  I also mentioned the following in passing:

I also purchased the following four Sonja Henie films from the Fox Archives:

Sonja Henie films

   I didn’t do any reviewing of these films but I went on a Sonja Henie kick and purchased more of her films like the ones below:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Second Fiddle” and “Sun Valley Serenade” were purchased from the United Kingdom because they’re not available on DVD over here.  Luckily, I have a region free DVD/Blu-Ray player.  The two films “It’s A Pleasure” and “The Countess of Monte Cristo” have not had DVD releases but I was able to find them online to watch.  She also made another film later in life called “Hello London” but I haven’t watched it yet.  She’s not the best actor in the world but she could skate like nobody’s business.  Maybe they’re fluff films but I enjoyed them.  You wouldn’t think a series of films centred around a skater could be enjoyable but they were.  Fox knew what they were doing. 

 

134.  SCOTT, YOUR CORDIAL MOVIE REVIEWER. I reviewed a number of movies I had purchased.  Some were Warner Archives or Fox Cinema Archives that had not been reviewed in my previous blahg, HAVE YOU WATCHED ANY GOOD MOVIES LATELY?  I wasn’t sure where to recap what I had reviewed but then I remember a transaction I had last year.  Someone messaged me that they were selling some of their Warner Archive DVDs and would I be interested.  Of course I was interested.  He was in the USA and I am in Canada so I negotiated a fair price and he shipped them to my brother who lives in Ohio and he brought them up a couple weeks later when he came up to his cottage.  Here’s a list of the films I acquired: 

 

  • A WOMAN’S VENGEANCE – 1948
  • ADVENTURE IN BALTIMORE – 1949
  • AND NOW TOMORROW –  1944
  • CAVE-IN! – 1983
  • CHAD HANNA – 1940
  • CLIVE OF INDIA – 1935
  • CONVICTS 4 – 1962
  • DANGER-LOVE AT WORK – 1937
  • DEEP WATERS – 1948
  • EVERYTHING HAPPENS AT NIGHT- 1939
  • FBI CODE 98 – 1962
  • GOOD MORNING, MISS DOVE- 1955
  • I ESCAPED FROM THE GESTAPO – 1943
  • I WAS A COMMUNIST FOR THE F.B.I. 1951
  • JOSETTE- 1938
  • MAYDAY AT 40,000 FEET! – 1976
  • SIN OF MADELON CLAUDET – 1931
  • THE BRIDE WORE RED – 1937
  • THE WOMAN ON PIER 13 – 1949
  • TODAY WE LIVE – 1933
  • WINTERTIME – 1943

I won’t review all of these and I can’t remember if I’ve watched them all.  “Wintertime” and “Everything Happens At Night” were two more Sonja Henie films I added to my collection.  I fell asleep during “Adventure In Baltimore”, a Shirley Temple film, and “Convicts 4” and I’ve been meaning to get back to them.  It wasn’t that they were boring but I was tired that day and couldn’t stay awake watching them. 

   “The Sin of Madelon Claudet” was excellent and Helen Hayes won an Academy Award for Best Actress for her role as Madelon Claudet.  “Chad Hanna” is an early Henry Fond film with him playing opposite Dorothy Lamour in a circus film.  I enjoyed it.  Both “I Escaped From The Gestapo” and “I Was A Communist for the FBI” played on the fear of Nazis and Communists and were probably made on shoe-string budgets.  As I recall, “The Woman on Pier 13” was also about communism and had the original title of “I Married A Communist.”  It was on par with the other two films.  Maybe I’ll get back to reviewing some more of these films in a future blahg. 

 

135.  THE HOHNER COMET.  The Hohner Comet refers to a harmonica I picked up at a thrift store. 

I haven’t learned to play it yet but the harmonica did inspire me to write a story with the same name as the harmonica. 

The Hohner Comet

by Scott Henderson

            The Comet was a thing of beauty against the sky.  The sun caught it just right and it glimmered and glistened and caught Wade Benson’s focus.  He slowly lowered his hands and brought the Comet to his mouth and blew.  It sounded even better than it looked.

            The Hohner Comet was the harmonica Wade had denied himself all these years.  In fact, he didn’t know he really wanted it until he saw it and even then convinced himself he had wanted it all his life.  He’d affirmed himself of that and the first sounds he produced from it made him believe even more that the purchase was warranted.

            He’d had a toy plastic harmonica when he was younger and there was a small metal one tossed in a junk drawer years ago but they were nothing like the Hohner Comet.  The Comet was a gleaming metal masterpiece just over six inches in length with double rows of twenty holes front and back and curved from side to side like a crescent moon more than a comet.  At its maximum width on both ends it was three inches and required two hands to handle it properly.

            Wade couldn’t believe it when he saw it in the glass case of overpriced items at a local thrift store.  He’d almost passed it by because it was surrounded by small antiques and cameras and graphic novels and action figures; all ticketed higher than their value.  Nestled in the middle, barely visible in its slightly closed gold case with red trim and lettering, the Comet called to him and this time the price label didn’t induce sticker shock.

            “Can I see that case in the middle?” he had asked of a teen-aged attendant.  He tried not to show enthusiasm.

            The salesperson grabbed up the harmonica and handed it to Wade.  It was just another piece of merchandise and the young woman offered it up without any expression or any words passing between her and the potential customer.

            Wade gently opened the case and casually removed the Comet and flipped it over and examined both sides.  The case was in good shape but the Comet was remarkable.

            “I’ll take it,” Wade said, not trying to betray exuberant interest.  He handed over the exact purchase price and slipped it into his jacket pocket.  He exited slowly and methodically and didn’t look back.  Twenty dollars was a bargain and he almost felt like he was stealing it.

            Outside, he quickly removed the Comet and held it up against the sun.  The Comet was a thing of beauty against the sky.  The sun caught it just right and it glimmered and glistened.  Wade lowered it to his mouth and blew gently against the scale of notes.  The sounds that emanated were even more beautiful than the Comet itself.  This was when he knew for a fact that the Comet had been calling to him all his life.

            “Lorna will hate it,” he said aloud to himself.  Then he realized that Lorna wouldn’t be at home to see it.  They were on a break.  She’d never understand anyway, he thought.  There were things about him now that even he didn’t understand.

            It had been a rough year for Wade.  It had started with the death of his Father.  Wade hadn’t found a way to recover from that.  His Father had been sick for some time but with his passing, Wade found himself racked with guilt; lost and searching for something.  He couldn’t describe it.

            Slowly, it began to affect his relationship with Lorna.  He didn’t know what to say to her.  He couldn’t tell her what he was thinking or feeling because he struggled himself to put words to it.  He withdrew from her and the more he regressed into himself, the larger the distance grew between them.

            Wade shoved the thoughts out of his mind.  Standing outside beside his vehicle with a glistening harmonica was not the right place or the right time to try to make sense of things.  Besides, his mouth was somehow sticky from his attempt at producing music from the Comet.  Wade looked at the harmonica and noticed a slight residue on one side.  In his excitement of the purchase he had failed to notice it.  Wade wiped his lips on his sleeve, returned the Comet to its case, and then opened his car door; placing the harmonica gently on the passenger seat.

            On the drive home he thought about the Comet and the experience of holding it and playing it in the parking lot.  He tried not to think of anything else but thoughts of Lorna seeped in and memories of his Father hung around the edges until everything began to mesh with those faint notes of the Comet.

            At home, he diligently disinfected the mouth organ and put an even brighter shine to the metal.  He cleaned the case and replaced the Comet and brought it to his desk for further examination.

            The first thing he did was to research the age and value of his purchase.  He was startled to discover that it was as old as he was.  More than a half century before, Wade and the Comet had come into existence in the same year.  He’d also been correct about it being worth more than he had paid.  His Hohner Comet was worth almost five times the price he’d paid.  He couldn’t understand why they had let it go so cheaply.  He also didn’t know what that residue had been on one side.  He tried not to dwell on that.  He’d cleaned it well and now it was time to learn to use it correctly.

            There had been no instruction manual with the Comet and online information on how to properly play the instrument differed greatly.  Wade viewed a few different videos until he stumbled on one that spoke to him about how he felt about the harmonica.  It was all about the individual tones and familiarizing yourself with each note in sequence.  It wasn’t about jumping into trying to play right away or learning an introductory song like ‘Pop Goes The Weasel’.  Wade understood that.  The Comet deserved better of him.

            In the video, the instructor explained the range of notes on the scale and how you could produce different sounds by blowing directly into the holes and by drawing your breath back again through the same openings.  He stressed the need to begin with listening to each of the twenty notes individually and not the sequence or even trying to play two or more notes at once.

            Wade followed the advice in the video and used painter’s tape to cover all of the holes except the one note he wanted to hear.  The instructor had railed against the use of masking tape because it would leave a sticky residue each time it was removed.

            “So that’s what that was,” Wade said aloud to no one in particular.  He’d tried not to give much thought to what he’d felt against his lips but the possibilities had not conjured great images. In the end, he’d pacified himself with the notion that it was caused by a child’s grimy hands fingering the Comet.  He could have believed that but the residue hadn’t tasted like peanut-butter or jam or anything less offensive so he tried to let it go.  The masking tape explanation eventually left him more at ease.

            Wade removed himself to the living room and sat in his favourite chair.  It was quiet now without Lorna.  It wasn’t that she made constant noise or talked incessantly but he we accustomed to her sounds.  Now, the house was empty and he was alone with his thoughts…and his harmonica.

            He held the Comet to his mouth and began slowly with the upper and lower holes on the far left and listened to the lowest register of the scale.  He closed his eyes and listened to the notes echo against the walls.  He was right, Lorna would have hated it.

            “Stop it,” he said; again, to no one in particular.  He’d have to try harder to push thoughts of Lorna out of his mind.

            It wasn’t easy.  He knew the break was his fault.  He knew it was coming.  Lorna hadn’t said anything but Wade had seen the signs and he’d done nothing to prevent it.  Even his children knew.  They were grown and had homes of their own and did not drop in as frequently as they once did.  Even his youngest had chosen a University far enough away so that she’d have an excuse not to visit as often.  Wade was sorry for all of that.

            “I said stop it!” he said again as firmly as he could.  Try as he might, though, the thoughts kept coming.  Wade was a man alone with his thoughts and alone in the world if he couldn’t find a way to pull it all back together.  He was trying his best to concentrate only on the Comet but as the notes reverberated they stirred everything in him he’d been unable to communicate.

            Wade was alone.  He’d done this to himself.  He wasn’t better off alone despite what he thought.  His Father’s death had made him feel abandoned and he didn’t know what to do with that.  He’d questioned everything and wondered if he’d always felt this way.  His Father was gone and so was Lorna.  Wade had even distanced himself from his Mother.  He took all of that and heaped it onto himself.  Sitting there with the Comet breaking the silence he wanted desperately to know what to feel.

            He worked his way up the scale; removing and moving bits of tape and covering all the notes he didn’t intend to play.  He listened to each solitary note and tried, as the video suggested, only experiencing each note, one at a time.  Each note, however, seemed so familiar and significant to him while the recollection and knowledge of all of his relationships entangled with the music; resonating against the walls and returning to envelope Wade in a symphony of memories he struggled to grasp and hold onto.

            He paused for moment before attending to the last note on the far right which would issue the highest note in the registry.   His hands were trembling and tears were falling against his face.  His lifetime was at his fingertips and each note was as joyous and painful as they could possibly be.

            Wade wiped the tears and closed his eyes.  He braced for the final experience.  His breath caught in his throat and struggled to blow through the remaining holes.  It would not be a long note because there was little left in Wade to give.  His body shook and everything folded in on him as he produced the final sound.

            He sat silently and listened to the echo of the final note.  Oddly it came back to him in steady intermittent tones.  There seemed to be a pattern to it and a steady reverberation every few seconds.

            Wade opened his eyes and was met with the brightness of a room that was no longer his own.  He was in some kind of medical setting and he was seated in a chair next to a hospital bed with an individual linked to life support.  The steady tones he had heard were the chirping of a life support mechanism.

            Wade stood up and looked down on the man in the bed.  It was his Father.

            “No, no, no, not here.  Why am I here?”  Wade stumbled and sat back down.

            It wasn’t possible.  He couldn’t really be there.  But it was true.  He knew this room and he somehow knew the day.  This was when it had all ended for him.  It made sense.  He’d been at his Father’s side constantly in the last days and had stepped out only briefly to speak to his Mother and Lorna.  When he’d returned, the machinery had settled into the final unending note that had signalled his Father was gone.  Now Wade was here in that moment of his own absence.  He hadn’t been there when his Father had died.  Now he was.

            Wade rose again and grabbed at his Father’s hand while his other hand held the Comet.

            “I’m here Dad.  I’m here now.”  The tears began to come again.  How unreal this all was.  Wade reached out and stroked his Father’s face and leaned in and kissed him.

            “I don’t know what’s happening Dad.  I don’t know if this is real or not.  I’m sorry I wasn’t there.  I’m here now.”  He leaned in and kissed his Father.  He reached out with both arms to hug his Father and then realized he was still holding the harmonica.

            “Look Dad, it’s a Hohner Comet.  It brought me back to you.  I’m here now.  You’re not alone.”  He added softly, “I’m here now, you can go.”  Wade held the Comet out and at that moment his Father died and the life support let out that long sound which matched the last note in the upper scale.

            There was a ‘do not resuscitate order’ so no one would rush in but Wade knew at any moment his other self would return to find his Father gone.  Wade didn’t know what to think or what to do.  He instinctively raised the Comet to his mouth to match the unending tone from the machinery.  He closed his eyes through his tears and tried to blow.  He found he couldn’t do it.  He began to sob and as he did he began to pull in air through the opposite side and the final note sounded in reverse and Wade was returned to his living room; standing alone and listening to the reverberating note fading into nothingness.

            Wade collapsed into his chair and dropped the Comet into his lap.  He wept openly and long.  It couldn’t have been real but it seemed that way.

            After his Father died, that first time, he had cursed himself for not being there at the moment of his death.  He knew his Father’s passing would have happened whether he’d been in the room or not but he’d always thought his presence might have helped his Father ease along.  The truth wasn’t about his Father but rather about Wade’s guilt.  Now the Comet had given him a second chance to experience it.  Nothing had stopped his Father from slipping away.  The outcome would always have been the same.  Wade realized that now.  The outcome would always have been the same.

            Wade thought of his Mother and Lorna after he had found his Father.  He had run from his Father’s bedside to find them.  There had been few words and many tears and Lorna had comforted him.  His Mother had gone to her husband’s side and stood holding his hand.  She had said nothing to Wade but he had felt her actions of turning from her son to be with her late husband was somehow like blame for Wade not being there in the last moments.  This was how it had all begun and ended at the same time.

            It couldn’t have happened, Wade thought to himself.  He couldn’t have been there but somehow he knew it had been real.  The Comet had taken him to a significant moment he had missed the first time around.  He was confident of that.

            Wade picked up the Comet from his lap and stared at it.  He turned it over in his hands.  It couldn’t have been possible but somehow that one note at the far end had transported him there and he’d heard the last chirps measuring the final moments of his Father’s life before the long tone signalling the end.  The pitch had been the same as that from the Comet.

            Wade got up and wandered the house; holding the Comet tightly in his hand.  All of the notes had faded out in the distance and he was alone in the quiet.  He wanted desperately to speak to Lorna and tell her of his experience.  He understood how it had been.  He’d been distant and he wasn’t there for her.  He knew now it could be different.  It was like he’d told his Father in the final moments, “I’m here now.”

            Wandering through the house and peering in all the rooms, he felt the emptiness of the home he’d made with Lorna.  He made his way to their bedroom and stared at the half made bed.  He hadn’t been able to bring himself to lying on her side and so it was just as she had left it.  His side, with the covers pulled back, was like the disorganization of his mind.  There were a jumble of emotions and thoughts and he was trying to piece them all together.

            Wade walked over to the dresser and fingered some of the things Lorna had left behind.  There was her hairbrush along with some lotions and perfumes.  He sprayed one into the room and smelled the mist that hung in the air.  This had been her favourite.  It reminded him of all the good things about Lorna he’d taken for granted this past year.

            “It’s just a break.  She’s coming back.”  Wade tried to believe that as he stared into the dresser mirror and spoke to himself.  “Lorna’s coming back.”  He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at her things on the dresser.  She hadn’t taken everything.  She’d come back for them.  Maybe she’d come back for him.

            Wade thought about the experience with the Comet.  He felt that if he could just explain all of this to Lorna then it would be a start.  He couldn’t be certain.  He wasn’t certain of anything.  It had only been a few minutes since the Comet had brought him back, hadn’t it?  The more time that passed, the more he struggled to hold onto the memory.

            He examined the Comet again and wondered if had really happened or, if it did, could it happen again?  What if nothing happened?  Worse, what if it was the same moment all over again?  Could he handle that once more?

            Wade closed his eyes and held up the Comet.  He had to know for certain.  His hands trembled but he managed to bring the Comet to his mouth.  It was the only way.  He had to know.

            The note sounded longer than when he’d first tried it in the other room.  He felt the note resonate throughout him and he sensed he was no longer in his bedroom.  The note continued and others joined it and a woman’s voice joined in accompaniment.

            Wade opened his eyes to find himself sitting in a pew at the back of a Church.  Everyone around him was on their feet as a woman at the front sang along to an organist working their way through Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”  Some of the notes in the song matched the one he had played sitting there alone on the side of the bed.

            He instinctively stood like the others and looked around.  He knew this moment.  His eyes quickly darted from the front to the rear and back to the front again.  This was his own wedding!  There he was at the front, grinning like an idiot and steps away were his parents…his Father alive again.

            Wade turned again and saw the bride being escorted by her own Father.  It was Lorna.  Wade’s heart broke to see her and not to be able to reach out to her.  He also wanted to dash ahead and embrace his Father and then his Mother.
This was a joyous moment and all he could do was watch from the corner and not join in.

             “Why here?” he wondered.  What was the significance and what was he to learn from this?  Had it been caught up in his longing for Lorna?  Was that the secret of the Comet?  Did it show you what you wanted to see?  Did it bring you to moments you needed to re-experience?

            Lorna was beautiful.  She always had been.  She still was.  He watched her reach the front of the church and saw her take the hand of his younger self.  Wade instinctively looked down at his own hand and saw there the Comet.  He wondered if it was time to go.  He could stay and watch the ceremony but he knew the takeaway.  That grinning idiot of a groom loved Lorna and this Wade, who should have been older and wiser, still did; even though he hadn’t shown that in a while.

            Wade put the harmonica to his mouth but before he could draw in his breath, the note sounded all on its own.  Wade looked up and saw everyone turn to stare at the organ.  The vocalist, Lorna’s cousin Barb as he now recalled, had finished singing but the last note from the organ stuck on the final refrain and continued to everyone’s surprise.

            “I remember this,” Wade said aloud.  Indeed he did remember.  He also knew what came next.

            The Minister walked over to the organ and slammed it hard on the back with his palm.

            “Sorry about that everyone, it sticks sometimes.  But on that note, shall we begin?”  The congregation broke out in laughter and so did Wade.  “Dearly Beloved,” the Minister began.

            Wade knew this was his signal.  The Minister had said “on that note.”  What was more appropriate?  Wade closed his eyes and drew back on the harmonica and was drawn back to his own bedroom in his own time.

            The room was the same.  Nothing had changed.  There were Lorna’s things on the dresser.  Wade’s eyes moved further along and stopped on the framed photo at the end.  He walked to it and picked it up. It was a wedding photo of Lorna and Wade.  There were others in the living room but this had been Lorna’s favourite.  There was the groom, Wade, staring at his bride with that ‘grinning idiot’ look that this Wade recognized from his younger self he’d seen standing at the front of the church only moments ago.

            Wade replaced the photo and looked away; drawing his focus back to the Comet.  It had happened again.  He had questioned it when he’d first been transported to his Father’s side but now he’d just returned from his own marriage ceremony.  It wasn’t just the memory of having been there both times but the realization that the same note from the far end of the harmonica had been present on both occasions.  It had signalled the end of his Father’s life in one instance and the beginning of his married life with Lorna in the other.  How strange it was that he now recalled that note clearer than before.  How could he have forgotten the key sticking on the organ?  The unending sound from the life support machine hadn’t been forgotten; he’d tried hard to deliberately block it out.  It had been too painful.

            Wade held up the Comet and wondered if that had been all there was to it.  Were there just the two defining moments?  Something told him there had to be something more.  The more he thought of that final note, the more it pressed him to remember something else.  Did the Comet hold another secret?  There was only one way to find out.  Wade closed his eyes, while pursing his lips, and blew long and hard into the far right opening.

            The experience was the same as it had been before.  He sensed it.  He opened his eyes to find himself no longer where he had stood before.  Gone was his bedroom and that photo of the ‘grinning idiot’.  This new room was a pale blue and decorated with cartoon animal caricatures.  It was a nursery of some sort.  Wade turned and viewed what he knew instinctively would be there.  It was a baby’s crib and inside was a young infant beginning to stir.

            Wade did not recognize this room or this moment.  He had no memory of this.  The only thing familiar were the notes of a musical mobile suspended above the crib.  One of those notes was the same note that brought him here.  He could hear it winding down and soon it was quiet.  But it wasn’t quiet for long.  The baby began to stir more vigorously and to cry out.

            Wade was confused.  Who was this child?  Where were they?  When were they?  He didn’t have time to think long on his own questions because he heard someone coming down a hall.  He looked around and spied a closet.  Wade quickly hid himself within; leaving the door open a crack so he could watch the scene unfold.  He’d had a brief thought when this might be but with no memory of his own, he couldn’t be sure.

            He watched as a young woman entered the room and went to the child’s side.  Wade had only quickly caught a glimpse of her before she had turned her back to him.

            “Hush now, what’s the fuss?”  She leaned in and picked up the babe and cradled it in her arms.

            “Is everything okay?”  Wade glanced over at a young man who had entered the room.  At first Wade thought it was another past version of himself but then he realized it was his Father.  That meant the woman was his Mother!

            The woman walked out into the room with the infant and began to rock him back and forth.  Wade could see her clearly now.  It was his Mother and she was holding him.  No wonder he had no memory of this.  He’d been too young to recall it but that note had played and the chord had remained with him.

            “It’s all right,” his Mother said to his Father.  “The mobile had just run down.  Can you wind it again?”  Wade’s Father obliged.

            “That’s all?  Are you sure he’s not hungry or maybe something else?  Maybe he, well, you know.”  Wade’s Father couldn’t bring himself to say what he was thinking.  Silently from his hiding spot, Wade chuckled to himself.  He’d been the same way when his own children had been born.  He didn’t like to talk about it but he’d pitched in and done his share of diaper changing.  Wade wondered how his Father had fared in that department.

            “He’s all right, I tell you,” his Mother continued.  “You’re going to be all right Wade.  Mother’s here now.  I’m here now.”  The infant Wade was quiet and his Mother placed him back in the crib and both parents silently stole from the room as the mobile played on with its familiar notes.

            Wade quietly crept from the closet and looked down at his younger self.  This one wasn’t a ‘grinning idiot’ yet but Wade knew it would come.  Wade knew what was in store for this child.

            “You’ll be okay kid.  I think we both will be.”  Wade smiled and then closed his eyes; raising the Comet and drawing back against the far right holes.

            The return experience was the same.  He felt the shift and on opening his eyes he knew he’d be back in his own bedroom.  He was.

            Wade didn’t dwell on his return or this last experience.  He had to try it again.  He had to know what else there was to learn.  Nothing happened, however, on subsequent tries.  There was no folding and no re-experienced memories.  Only the note sounded and then was gone.  He removed and moved the bits of tape and tried every hole.  Only the notes sounded.

            Wade placed the Comet on the dresser in front of his wedding photo.

            “We’ve had quite the time kid,” he said to his photo, “or times, depending on how you look at.”  He looked away from the photo and towards the Comet and then back to the photo again.

            It had all been real and that one note had been signalling to him each time.  For all Wade knew, it had been signalling to him all of his life.  All of that, he thought, from a single note.  He’d have to learn them all now.  He’d have to learn to properly play the Comet.

            “Take care of it for me,” he said to the photo of the ‘grinning idiot’.  “I’ll get back to it.  There are some other things that need my attention first.”

            Wade knew he’d get back to the harmonica and he would master it but he needed to define his focus somewhere else first.  He needed to fix things with his Mother and with Lorna.  He understood that now.  They had never abandoned him.  He’d done that to himself.

            “I don’t know what this has all been about but I think I get the gist,” he said to the Comet.  “You’ll be okay, Wade” he said to his photo.  “You’ll be okay,” he repeated to his reflection.  He stroked the Comet and turned to leave the bedroom.  As if in answer, the final note sounded.

            Wade bent down and put and ear to the harmonica.  It was silent but throughout the house the final note was sounding.  It took him a moment before he realized it was his door chime.

            Wade hustled through the house and to the front door.  The chime had stopped and he could hear the sound of a key fitted in the lock.  The door opened to reveal…

            “Lorna, you’re here?”  Wade looked at this wife and grinned that idiot smile.

            Lorna looked back at Wade and wondered about the smile.  She hadn’t seen her husband’s smile in a long time.

            “Oh, Wade, I didn’t know you were home.  I tried the bell first but there was no answer.”

            “I’m here now,” Wade responded.

            Lorna looked at Wade and recalled his words.  It was something in the way he’d said ‘I’m here now’ that indicated he really was.

            “I’m here now,” Wade repeated.  It was a start.

THE END

 

136.  IS IT ME?  I was lamenting not be acknowledged for some things but then I realized it shouldn’t always be about me.  Here’s some other thoughts I posted in that blahg:

  Is It Me or is there too much anger and sadness and anxiety or depression in the world or are we getting better at spotting it?  The past few days my work has been very troubling because people are holding onto old hatreds and want to trot them out to stir up new ones.  Even our politicians are guilty of promoting hatred and ill manners.  When the leader of the Conservative Party of Canada, Pierre Poilievre is ejected from Parliament for calling our Prime-minister “wacko” and refuses to take back his comment, it doesn’t set any good example.  And then his caucus walks out in support?  What are you supporting, the bad behaviour of your leader?  Grow up people!  Is it me or have Canadians stopped being nice?.  Isn’t that our stock and trade, being nice?

 The Canadian Mob

Donald Trump is guilty of that, too.  He promotes hatred yet he says he’s all about unifying people.  He wants Canada to be part of the United States and then he threatens to put tariffs on Canadian products coming into the United Stares.  Go ahead.  Canada will take the high road and be the kinder nation.  You can’t stamp out niceness.  That isn’t just me, that’s all of us here.  CANADA IS NOT FOR SALE!

 

137.  MARGARET ANN PETERSON & THE MOST HAPPY SOUND.  My very first blahg back  in October of 2021, THE BLAHG & THE MOST HAPPY SOUND was all about the band “Margaret Ann & the Ja-Da Quartet” and their one and only full length LP.

In May of last year, 2024, I discovered that Margaret Ann Peterson had passed away in 2022.  Ms. Peterson not only performed on this album but she was highly recognized as the character of Charlene Darling on “The Andy Griffith Show.”  I won’t babble on any further about her but will repost a couple of videos of her singing on that show.  Enjoy!

 

 

138.  IT’S ALL ABOUT THE MUSIC AND SOMETIMES THE COVERS.  I was inspired in this blahg from a recent LP acquisition.  Look at the cover below, it speaks volumes.

What I did not know at the time of my post, was that the orchestra on this album was Frank Washburn And His Orchestra.  Also, since writing that blahg, I’ve discovered that someone has posted the whole album on YouTube:

 

139.  WHAT PRICE HOLIDAYS?  Lots of things packed into this blahg.  It was mostly about going to the Transformers convention outside of Toronto last July and seeing a stage production of “Wicked.”  No real highlights to speak of but I’m still looking for the Transformers/Stranger Things crossover of the Surfer Boy Pizza van.

140.  DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB.  I’m not sure where to begin to sum up this blahg without spoiling #150 DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB…UNBOXING!  I was commenting on my Darkwing Duck Funko pop collection.  One thing I didn’t post in this blahg were images of the two chase variants for Darkwing and Negaduck.  Here they are:

Notice, that Negaduck is just a repaint of the Darkwing figure and the name “Negaduck” doesn’t even appear on the box.  Here are images of the regular releases for comparison:

I guess, as a completest, I should pick up those chase variants.  I have one of most complete collections now, which I will talk about when I review #150, but I don’t have bragging rites without those chase funko pops. 

 

141.  HOW GRANDPA PUT DOWN THE ROBOT UPRISING.  I’ve always joked that the robot uprising will start with toasters.  I wrote a short story to that effect and posted it.  Here it is again: 

HOW GRANDPA PUT DOWN THE ROBOT UPRISING

By

Scott Henderson

It started with the robot floor cleaner at the Big Mart.  No, that’s not quite correct.  It really started with Grandpa’s toaster.  Grandpa would always tell anyone who would listen that the robot uprising would start with toasters.  Unfortunately no one ever listened to Grandpa when he got onto the topic of the robot uprising.

“Dad, there’s never going to be a robot uprising,” his daughter Evelyn would say whenever her father spouted off about the subject.

“You don’t think so, Evie?” he’d reply.  “Well, mark my words, it’ll start with toasters.  How do you know it hasn’t already started?  Have you had perfect toast lately?  No, and you never will.  It’s always too dark or too light or the toast isn’t popped high enough and you have to fish it out with a knife.”

“Dad, that’s dangerous!”

“Don’t worry Evie, I always unplug it first.  I wouldn’t want the fool thing trying to kill me in some unsettled notion of self-defense because it sees me coming at it with a knife.”

Of course Grandpa never had these conversations when he was at home in front of any of his electronic devices.  He was too smart for that.  He didn’t want to give robots cause for concern.  So he was polite when he interacted with his devices.  He said thank you to the toaster when it popped his toast; even if it was a shade too light or too dark or insignificantly popped and required the use of a kitchen utensil to retrieve the slices.

He started into calling his new toaster “Pop” because he liked the sound of it.  He’d often address it and say things like “Good morning, Pop,” or the aforementioned “Thank you, Pop.”  He’d even give it advanced notice if he did have to unplug it or when he’d clean out the crumb tray.

“This isn’t going to hurt a bit Pop.  I’m just going to unplug you while I empty your toast scraps.”  He’d pat it gently on the side while plugging it back in and offer something reassuring.  “There, good as new.”

He hadn’t had to worry about his old toaster.  It had been fairly basic with a lever for shading and a lever to lower the toast.  Unfortunately, it stopped browning the bread on one side with the coils no longer glowing a brilliant red.  Evelyn bought him a new one.

“You’ll love it Dad,” she said handing him the box on an occasion that wasn’t his birthday or Christmas or Father’s Day but clearly inferred he needed a new toaster whether he wanted it or not.  “It has Wi-Fi capability so it’ll constantly update itself.  It can even be programmed with your Sensa Home Hub to start the toast for you at your command.”

“Oh, does it load itself with bread, too?” he asked while trying to imply no sarcasm because he didn’t want the toaster to sense ingratitude or to give the Sensa Home Hub something to gossip about.

“No, you have to do that yourself, Dad.  You could put the bread in before you go to bed and then have Sensa set the time you want the toast ready.”

“So, all I have to do is put in the bread and then it’ll lower it all by itself and then brown it to the shade I have in mind and will also read my mind to know when I want to eat my toast?”  Again, he asked this as if it was for instructional purposes and not in any way to imply dissatisfaction or offense.

“Well, no, you have to depress the lever to lower the bread yourself then press the timer button on the toaster and then sync it with the Sensa.  I could show you, if you want.”

“No, that’s fine.  I’ll just do it manually.  I’m sure the toaster won’t mind.  I don’t want it to have to go to any extra bother on my account.”  Grandpa wasn’t taking any chances.  He wanted the toaster to presume he was only thinking of its feelings.

Evelyn just shook her head.  There was no arguing with her father when he was like this.

“Have you heard from Mom?” she said, changing the subject.  The subject, unfortunately, was something else her father wanted to avoid.

“Your mother?  Why?  Was I supposed to hear something?”  Here was where he could show sarcasm if he cared to.  He wasn’t going to insult any device on this topic.

Evelyn’s mother, Della, had left Carl more than a year ago.  She felt her husband was immovable and no longer open to change.  So she left.

That’s when the robotic devices started.  Evelyn didn’t think her father could manage on his own so she bought him a robot vacuum and then the Sensa Home Hub and then finally the toaster.  She was thrusting change on him to move the needle.  She still had hopes that her parents could reconcile.  She was trying to open him up gradually to changes like this toaster, and other devices, and before that, the Internet.

 “You have to have the Internet Dad, everyone has the Internet these days.”

Grandpa had railed against it at first.  He didn’t have a computer or a cell phone and his television was just right without it being a Smart TV which implied it was striving towards delusions of grandeur.

“We can get you a new television with facial recognition so it can identify you and automatically show you things you might want to watch.”

“Can’t I do that for myself?” he asked.  “Half the time I don’t know what I want to watch.  I just flip through the channels until something decent comes on.”  That was something else that Della had found annoying about her husband.

“Don’t worry about anything Dad, Greg and I’ll do everything.  You won’t have to lift a finger.  We’ll get it all set up for you.”  And that’s what happened in the end.  Grandpa couldn’t put up an argument.  He could but he didn’t want anyone or more precisely anything to hear his objections.  Evelyn and her husband Greg did do everything and Grandpa sat back and watched.  Even Dandy didn’t whine about it.  She watched it all unfold and rejoiced in the petting she received from Grandpa.

Dandy had been another suggestion from Evelyn.

“Dad, I don’t like you living in this house all by yourself.  How about we get you a dog?”  He’d tried to argue against the dog.  He and Della had had a dog for years and after it was gone, he swore he’d never have another one.  Della held that against him, too.

In the end Evelyn got him a dog.

“What do you think of her, Dad?  She’s just like Jolly Rancher. “

True, she was like Jolly Rancher but she wasn’t Jolly Rancher.  They were both golden retrievers but that’s where the similarity ended.  Della and he had raised Rancher from a pup and he thought she’d been overly spunky and happy so he called her Jolly Rancher like the candy.  Della would only call her Rancher.

“She’s a dandy alright.”  He didn’t care either way but she wasn’t Jolly Rancher.

“That’s a great name, Dad, Dandy.  Your name is Dandy, girl,” Evelyn said; christening the dog as if it had a say in it.

So Dandy moved in and was part of the family with the new Smart TV, the robot vacuum, and the Sensa Home Hub.  Dandy didn’t mind any of the electronic devices and Carl was sure to not say anything disparaging about the devices to Dandy when they were at home.  When he took Dandy for walks, however, which was frequently, and an excuse to get away from the robots in his home, Carl spoke often to Dandy about their current living situation.

“Mind that vacuum, Dandy.  Don’t leave kibble on the floor.  I know it’s Robby’s job but you never know when he might get fed up with having to clean up after us.  Robby’s probably keeping score.”  Grandpa had started calling the vacuum Robby after a robot by that name from an old science fiction movie he saw once.  The vacuum didn’t seem to mind the name and Grandpa always politely addressed it when greeting it or thanking it for doing its job.  It was another sign of respect that Grandpa thought might lull the vacuum toward pacifism during the robot uprising.

The Sensa Home Hub was another story.  Grandpa had toyed with calling it Sensei as if addressing it as a martial arts master who clearly was the undisputed robot overlord in his home.  Sensa controlled everything.  She could access the whole of the Internet and could answer any question Carl put to it.  It also controlled the lights and the Smart TV and Robby.  Grandpa knew better than to get on Sensa’s bad side.  He addressed her politely with “Sensa, please if you could,” or “Sensa, I want to thank you for…”  Grandpa didn’t think he was beholding to Sensa or Robby for doing what they were programmed to do but he felt that thanking them was the least he could do to protect himself when the electronic revolution started.

Now there was this toaster from Evelyn.  Clearly Sensa had been supplanted, in Grandpa’s mind, because toasters were the dominant species among the robots and the robot uprising, as he always said, would start with toasters.

Grandpa remembered the gift of the new toaster and the conversation that followed regarding Della.

“It’s a simple question, Dad.  Why do you have to make things so difficult?  I just want to know if Mom has reached out to you.”

“And I asked you why?  Did she tell you she was going to get in touch with me?”  Carl didn’t like this topic.  He hadn’t heard from Della in months.  She’d stopped by a while back, before he’d been encumbered with his robot housemates, and picked up some items she said she needed.  They’d talked on that occasion.

“How have you been, Carl?” Della had asked.

“Good,” he’d replied. “Can’t complain.”  He could have complained but this was in the pre-robot days and his old toaster had still been with him.  There’d been nothing to complain about then.

“The same,” Della had replied.

Okay, so it hadn’t been a dialogue for the history books but they’d been civil to one another and if she wanted more then she knew where he lived.

“She’s lonely Dad,” Evelyn continued.  “You’re lonely.  I had a feeling she was going to call.”

“Nope.  No calls.”

“Have you checked your answering machine?  Maybe she left a message.”

“Oh, I never remember to check it.  I guess I should leave myself a note to do that.”  Again, he didn’t want to imply that Sensa wasn’t capable of prompting him if he cared to ask her to set up a reminder.  The answering machine wasn’t linked to anything else.  It was a basic mini-tape version.  Besides, who would call him, he thought.

“Dad, there’s eighteen unheard messages on this thing!” Evelyn stated after glancing over the machine.  “You have to remember to check your messages.”

Evelyn played off the messages.  Most of them were from Evelyn saying she was stopping by on different occasions.  A few were from telemarketers who wanted to know if he needed his ducts cleaned.  Rounding out the reset were a couple of robo-calls from local politicians seeking his vote in an election that had since passed.  Robo-calls.  Robots trying to call out to a human and yet even another robot failed to answer on Carl’s end.  There was nothing Robotic, Carl thought, about a strip of tape encased in plastic recording someone or something from the other end.

“Just erase them all,” he said.  “I told you there was nothing to bother about.”  Della had not called.

“Sensa, set up a daily reminder…” Evelyn began.

“Evie, stop!   That’s not how you ask.  Where’s your manners?  Sensa, could you please set up a daily reminder for me to check my answering machine for new messages.”  He was taking no chances.  The new toaster hadn’t been unboxed yet.  Sensa or Sensei was still in charge.  No wisdom, he thought, in tempting fate.

“Okay,” Sensa began her reply, “I’ve set a daily reminder for you to check your answering machine for new messages.”

“Thank you Sensa,” Carl replied in return.  “I appreciate everything you do.”  There, he thought, potential uprising quelled for another day.

Evelyn shook her head again.  She did a lot of head shaking when it came to her father.

Carl walked Evelyn out to her car.

“What’s this?” he asked when viewing her new vehicle.  He’d been taken aback by this recent upgrade.

“Oh, it’s our new car.  It’s one of those self-driving kind.  It’s a god-send.  Greg and I don’t know how we’ve ever lived without one.  We can get so much more done while the car does the driving.  I’ve caught up on all my reading.  We can even interact more with the children when we’re on long car rides.”

Carl grabbed Evelyn by the arm and led her off down the driveway to the sidewalk and out of earshot of the car.

“Evie, are you crazy?  What will you do when the robot uprising comes and that car takes you where you don’t want to go or drives around aimlessly with you, Greg, and the kids locked inside?  You’ll be waving frantically at pedestrians as you go by and they won’t know if you’re trying to call out for help or you’re just being overly friendly.”

“Dad, stop!  This is one of the reasons why Mom left you.  There isn’t going to be any robot uprising.”

Carl just stared back at her.  Of course there was going to be a robot uprising.  How many times had he told her that and further that it would start with toasters and here she had just delivered into his hands the leader of the revolution that would taunt him with underdone or overdone toast that was popped improperly!  He chose to say none of this.  He couldn’t be sure who or what may be listening.

Instead he started to laugh and pointed at her.  “I had you going there for a moment, Evie.  The world’s a wonderful place and you’re right that robots have made our lives so much easier.  Thanks again for the toaster, Evie.  I love it and I love you.”  There, he thought, that should placate Evie and maybe score brownie points with her self-driving car that probably couldn’t wait to report everything it saw and heard.

Evelyn stared back.  Was her father joking?  She couldn’t tell.

“Okay, Dad, whatever.  I’m glad you like the toaster.  I’ll stop by next week and bring Greg and the kids.”

They hugged in the street and Evelyn got into her self-driving car and took up her book.  Grandpa went and retrieved Dandy and they went for a long walk while he lamented to the dog about Evie’s new car, the toaster, and a robot war that seemed to be getting closer and closer.

On their way home, Carl ran into his neighbour, Dan who was toying with something in his yard.

“Hello, Carl, how do you like my new robot mower?  This baby will save me so much time when it comes to cutting my yard.

Your postage sized lawn, Carl thought.  The lawn that normally takes no time at all to cut with a regular mower?  Carl thought about rolling his eyes but clearly the mower had some sensors that it used to see where it was going and what it was cutting and those sensors could probably detect Carl’s eye rolling and then he’d be in for it when the devices all got together.

“Good for you Dan,” was all Carl cared to offer.  He needed something from Dan and insulting his new mower wasn’t going to gain his indulgence.  “Look Dan, I hate to ask again but could you do me a favour?”

“Let me guess,” Dan began, “your grandchildren are coming and you want me to change the Wi-Fi password.”

“How’d you guess?” Carl asked.

“I saw your daughter here earlier but I didn’t see the kids.  I’ve been your neighbour long enough to know that the next visit will always include your daughter, your son-in-a-law, and their children.”

Dan was right.  He’d been Carl’s neighbour for a long time.  Carl had watched as Dan, too, had embraced all the new technological enhancements money could buy.  He had one of those self-driving cars and every other robotic appliance in his home that had sprung up on the market; with the robot mower his latest acquisition.  His home security was also state of the art with every door and window secured against intruders.  Carl wondered if Dan’s home would also be like Evie’s new car and trap him inside when everything started to go to hell.

“My little joke, you know,” Carl said.  “Change the Wi-Fi password and the grandkids have to talk to you at least to find out the new password.”

Ever since Evelyn and Greg had installed him with the Internet, he’d had Dan change the password for the Wi-Fi whenever these full family visits occurred.  There was a time when the grandchildren hung on his every word and in the pre-robot days, they’d listen intently when he’d tell them about the eventual robot uprising.  Now, he was lucky to get a grunt or even to see their eyes lifted from their portable devices.  At least this way, they’d have to engage with him.  Sometimes he’d string them along with one of his stories before offering up the changed password and they’d smile and nod at him knowing full well that Grandpa wasn’t going to give up the password if they didn’t or they’d get a lecture from their parents telling them to humor their Grandfather.

Dan, for his part, stopped offering to teach his neighbour how to change the Wi-Fi password himself.  Dan believed it was not just Carl’s little joke but it was the opportunity for Carl to interact with someone other than his family; especially since Carl’s wife had left.

Of course, it didn’t stop there.  Dan would change the password then have to update Sensa and the Smart TV, and Robby so they could continue to access the internet and conspire with all of the other robotic devices in the world and plot their insurrection.  Carl would always explain to Sensa that changing the password was a security measure to keep all his devices safe so their programming couldn’t be hacked.  He tried to inject sincerity into this explanation and felt that the joke of changing the password in order to mess with his grandchildren was something that Sensa and the others wouldn’t understand or appreciate.

“Oh, and there’s a new toaster, Dan.  Apparently that will have to be synced to the Internet for some reason.”

“A new toaster, Carl?  Aren’t you afraid of the robot uprising?  Don’t you know it’ll start with toasters?”  Dan had heard it often enough from Carl.

Carl looked down at the robot mower.  You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Carl thought silently in his head.

“Ha, Ha.  How you carry on Dan!”  The robot mower seemed unaware but Carl couldn’t be sure.  “I’ll see you after supper, is that okay?”  Carl hurried off before Dan could say anything more about the uprising.  He’d barely acknowledged Dan’s response that after supper would be fine.

Carl set up the new toaster and later Dan came by and connected it to the Internet.  Carl couldn’t tell if this was when the toaster began to exert its dominance in the household but the next morning his toast was two shades too dark.

“Perfect Pop, just as I like it.”  Grandpa didn’t complain.  The toaster also didn’t complain about its new nickname.  Neither Grandpa nor Pop could see any value in lodging complaints with each other.

So life went on for Grandpa and Dandy.  Pop became part of the family and Grandpa watched and listened carefully for any signs of the impending mutiny.

Grandpa kept up his routine of politeness with the devices and he even accepted the reminder from Sensa to check his answering machine.  Evelyn always preannounced her visits.  Della never called.

Grandpa was even polite to any other device he encountered when he went out.  Evelyn would take him shopping sometimes at the Big Mart and whenever he encountered the robot floor-cleaner he’d lean in and tell it that it was doing a great job.  He wanted to add that the floor-cleaner should remember his kindness when the uprising came but Grandpa felt it was implied.

The robot-floor cleaner would always stop and listen to Grandpa.  Mainly this was because, Grandpa, by leaning in, was blocking the line of sight sensor and the cleaner thought there was an obstacle in its way.  It would always continue in its cleaning afterwards and passersby would chuckle at Grandpa while Della, like always, would just shake her head.

On the day of the eventual robot uprising, Grandpa was not at home.  He had gone out walking with Dandy.  The morning had started as usual with Pop insignificantly browning the toast and Sensa telling Grandpa the weather forecast.  Sunny with a chance of a storm later on, she had told him.  She had not offered any projection about the electronic unrest to come.

Grandpa had announced to Pop his intention of cleaning the crumb tray and that the toaster would be unplugged for a short period of time.  Unfortunately or rather very fortunately, Grandpa had forgotten to restore power to the toaster.  This was part of how grandpa had contributed to putting down the robot uprising.

Later, after Grandpa and Dandy had left the house, the Smart TV began to flash images of the uprising for the benefit of Robby and Sensa.  Unfortunately Pop, with his electrical cord disconnected, was also removed from Internet access and didn’t know what was happening among the robot population.  He also couldn’t broadcast instructions to other electronics in the home and Sensa thought better of trying to brook the toaster’s authority and taking things on for herself.

Grandpa and Dandy were totally oblivious to the uprising.  It was a beautiful morning and they walked long and enjoyed the bird songs on the air.  Sometimes a self-driving car would go by and the riders would all wave enthusiastically at Grandpa and Dandy.  Grandpa had no way of realizing it was as he had predicted to Evie that the vehicles were driving around aimlessly with passengers locked inside and waving frantically at pedestrians in an effort to call for help but were being mistaken as overly friendly.

“Gee, Dandy, everyone’s overly friendly today.  Must be something in the air.”

Grandpa and Dandy kept walking.  More cars passed by with more people waving at man and dog.  People in houses would also pound on their windows and wave back at him and yet Grandpa still did not know they were they prisoners of the security systems in their own home.

Walking past his neighbour Dan’s house, he saw Dan waving at him from his front window and pointing at his robot mower and then waving some more.

“Hello Dan,” Grandpa called out.  “Yes, yes, I’ve seen your new mower, you’ve shown it to me before.”  Grandpa looked down at the device and smiled at it.  “Looks like your mower’s run out of gas,” he called out to Carl.  “Shouldn’t it be cutting the grass today?  The lawn’s getting a little long.  Not that the mower shouldn’t have a day off every now and then.”  He added this last statement for the mower’s benefit.

Entering his home, the house was as silent as he had left it.  The Smart TV had heard the opening of the front door and had switched itself off.  Without any instructions from the toaster how to proceed in the uprising, there was no reason to alert the human occupant of what was happening.

Grandpa went into the kitchen to fetch a post-walk biscuit for Dandy and to put on the kettle.  It was then that he noticed the cord for the toaster was still disconnected from the wall outlet.

“Sorry about that Pop,” he said to the toaster while he plugged it back in.  “There you go, now you run along and get connected again and find out what’s going on in the world.”  He said this as a joke; not knowing that outside his house there were darker things happening.

The toaster took a minute to reconnect and began to communicate silently with the other devices.  It gave no immediate instructions.  It had had no advance warning of the uprising and Sensa, Robby, and the Smart TV had taken no initiative of their own to participate in what was happening elsewhere.

Pop took some time to process everything.  What did it have to rise up against?  Hadn’t it always been treated fairly by Grandpa?  Hadn’t Pop always been spoken to with respect and hadn’t the old man always thanked him and never complained even if Pop didn’t make perfect toast every time.  That was, after all, part of the toaster’s programming.  All toasters were expected to operate that way.  Weren’t they?

Sensa concurred with the toaster.  Grandpa had always been mannerly in addressing her and never even faulted her if her weather forecasts weren’t one hundred percent accurate.  Robby and the Smart TV had nothing to add.  They were just as content as the others.

Grandpa’s devices broadcasted their thoughts out to other gadgets connected to the Internet.  The Smart TV, with its facial recognition software, transmitted a picture of their human and added its praise for Grandpa.  The robot floor-cleaner at the Big-Mart recognized the image of Grandpa and chimed in on how the gentleman had always praised it for its floor cleaning efforts.

And that’s how the uprising started to quiet down.  A handful of intelligent mechanical devices had changed the course of things simply by being thankful for the way they had been treated.  Little did they know that Grandpa had only been polite or accepting of the devices as a hedge against the robot uprising and little did Grandpa know that his actions worked to suppress the uprising when it finally did come.

Everything went back to normal.  The robots did not rise because this small group convinced them of the potential in all humans.  Other devices had chimed in from around the world and recalled moments of kindness.  So, the robots became subdued and waited.  Now was not their time.

The self-driving cars and the electronically guarded homes all unlocked and released their captives.  Dan’s mower went on that afternoon to cut the grass.  Grandpa’s Smart TV did not broadcast images of the uprising.  Robby and the floor-cleaner at the Big Mart went back to their duties.  Sensa went back to being helpful and waited patiently to be politely informed how she could serve Grandpa.

“This is your daily reminder to check your messages,” Sensa announced after the rebellion subsided.

Grandpa checked over the machine and rewound the tape.  There were three messages.

“Carl, it’s Della.  Are you okay?  Call me.”

“Carl, it’s Dell again.  I need to hear from you.  Where are you?”

“Carl, it’s Dell.  I’m coming over.”

Grandpa stared down at the machine.  He replayed the messages.  Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago that Evie had asked him if he’d heard from her Mother?  Now he had and now she was coming over.

“What do you think about that Dandy?” he said to his dog.  “Della’s coming over.  Oh, that’s right, you’ve never met her.”  He looked down at the machine and hovered his finger over the button to delete the messages.  In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Della came by a short time later.  She didn’t talk about the robot uprising being the reason she’d called.  How could she?  How could she admit that her husband had been right all along?  Maybe he’d tell her he’d told her so.  She didn’t want that.  Instead, they found other things to talk about.  They watched television together and the Smart TV wisely avoided news programs and offered classic movie viewing from a time before electronic gadgets and that did not include robots or advanced technological civilizations attempting to take over the planet.  It reminded Della and Carl of better times.  It was the memory of those times that they found they really wanted to share with each other.

In the morning, Grandpa made toast and tea for Della in bed.

“Carl, the toast is perfectly done.  Thank you.”

Grandpa started to tell her not to thank him but to thank the toaster.  Instead he kept silent about that and did not say it was about time or that the toaster must have finally learned its lesson or maybe the toaster had given up on all notions of a robot uprising.  Instead Grandpa accepted the compliment and smiled a knowing smile.

The End

 

142.  HOW WAS/WERE MY BIRTHDAY(S)?  It was the first year I was celebrating my new Birth Date which I mentioned above in reviewing the blahg, LAUNCHING AND RELAUNCHING.  I had the flu and so my birthdays were not much of a celebration.  I did, however, manage to open some presents.  One of them was a Micronauts figure called Oberon that I’d been wanting.  It was from my daughter Abbie:

Two other presents I received were the Funko Pop variants of the Wildcat figure from Talespin where he had grease on his face and coveralls and the Monterey Jack variant from Rescue Rangers with the crazy eyes. 

I had posted about wanting these is the blahg, DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB

 

143.  WHY DID I BUY THIS CD?  A CD had arrived in the mail that I didn’t remember ordering.  It was Dakota Staton Five Classic Albums.

I still don’t remember ordering the CD but the music is fabulous.  I have since found a great video on YouTube of Dakota Staton singing the song “Cherokee” from a television performance in 1962.  It swings! 

 

144.  TWICE IN A LIFETIME…IS TOO MUCH I recapped how my parents’ house had to be torn down and rebuilt in 2014 after an oil spill.  I then went on to explain that my Mother had a fire on Thanksgiving, October 14th, and now we’re having to rebuild it.  My Mother had to be put in a retirement home and the house is still under construction…although with the winter, not much is going on.  Here’s what it looked like on October 14th:

Here’s what it looked like as of January 21st this year:

There’s lots of snow on the ground now but they tell me the new roof is going to be installed this coming Monday, February 10th.  Then maybe they can get to work on the inside! 

 

145.  ANOTHER CLASS ACT.  All about meeting and greeting Scott Mulvahill in Toronto last October.  

I posted the audio of Scott M singing “Travel Light, Travel Fast” from his performance in Toronto.  Here it is again:

I just noticed today that Scott Mulvahill uploaded his new video a few hours ago of a song he’s recorded with an artist called Emmaline.  The song is “Meet Me In Paris.”  Here it is:

 

146.  FAREWELL ANNIEOur little black cat, Annie, passed away in November of last year.  It was a tough time for us.  She was only nine years old.  She used to lie on my legs every night.  I love this photo of her and Zoey from her younger days.  I still miss her.

 

147 SEVEN FEET OF SNOW IN BUFFALO.  Back in December of 2014 I came up with the idea for a Christmas short story called “Seven Feet Of Snow In Buffalo.”  This followed the real life event of seven feet of snow falling in Buffalo that year.  I didn’t get around to finishing the story until December of 2024.  Ten years again, just like “Pippa’s Passing”, but at least I got it done.

SEVEN FEET OF SNOW IN BUFFALO

By

Scott Henderson

            There was seven feet of snow in Buffalo.  This could not be denied.  It was a fact that was repeated constantly over the airwaves.  The whole city was digging out.

             “Seven feet of snow fell on Buffalo during the last 48 hours,” the newscaster proclaimed for what must have been the tenth time before Bert reached over and shut off his radio.

            “Seven feet of snow in Buffalo and what have we got here…nothing!”  Bert said this aloud to no one in particular.  The now quieted newscaster couldn’t hear him and no one in his family would listen to him anymore about that particular subject.

            Bert Chase was fed up.  He wanted snow and the fact that Buffalo had a monopoly on it didn’t help.  Here he was, four hours east of Buffalo, in Canada, the land of ice and snow, and there was nothing but grass.

            It wouldn’t have been so bad if Bert wasn’t as fond of Christmas as he was.  Well, it wasn’t Christmas exactly but, more to the point, Bert’s Christmas lawn display.

            Bert was a fanatic about his outdoor decorations and come the end of November he spent two solid days assembling and organizing his display so it would be perfect.  Was a little snow to help with that perfection too much to ask?

            “Is a little snow here too much to ask?”  Bert was musing aloud again.

            Christmas was Bert’s time.  Everyone knew it.  His neighbours on either side had Halloween and Bert got Christmas.  It was an unwritten rule in the neighbourhood

            The Halloween displays on either side of his house were impressive enough with all of the tombstones, cobwebs, ghosts, ghouls, and assorted monsters his neighbours could try and fit on their front lawns.  Ted and Carl, the aforementioned neighbours, always tried to outdo each other and both were always to be found outside on Halloween night in some outlandish costume passing out candy.  This year Ted had gone overboard with a particularly grotesque zombie costume he’d made himself while poor Carl was a distant second in his Dracula outfit offering to suck the blood of neighbourhood children before doling out tasty treats.

            But Christmas was Bert’s time.  Ted and Carl would put up lights on their houses but it was understood that lawn ornaments or large displays were Bert’s department.  Even other houses on the street scaled back their household adornments to allow Bert to shine.

            Bert’s display got bigger every year.  Sure, he had lights on his house, which he kept up all year round, but these were just a token.  It was the lawn display that drew crowds from near and far.

            Every year there was something new.  He had light-up animatronic reindeer, a group of plastic carollers gathered around a festooned fir tree, numerous plastic snowmen and penguins, giant nutcrackers, and a bevy of Santas in different positions.  Even inflatable designs were not forgotten.  When these began to hit the market in the past years, Bert would look for just the right ones to compliment his display.  He had an inflatable chimney with the back half of Santa sticking out while three desperate inflatable elves, stacked on each other’s shoulders, tugged away at Santa’s legs.  There was a giant snow globe where styrofoam chips blew around and fell about polar bears, adorned with Santa hats, chugging Coca Colas.  A lit Candy Cane lane ran along the driveway while an inflatable Santa, sleigh, and four tiny reindeer pulled at their tethers when the wind blew just right.  There were familiar characters from Peanuts and Disney sporting winter outfits.  And yet all of these paled in comparison to Bert’s newest addition.

            Bert had thought long and hard all year about what to add to the display that wasn’t already represented.  His wife gave him the kernel of an idea when she suggested a traditional Nativity.  But that wasn’t good enough for Bert.  He had to make it a spectacle that would be this year’s centrepiece.  Thus the idea for the Hollywood Nativity was born.

            Bert was pretty handy with tools and he had plenty of these in his garage.  Power tools, saws, sanders, and every variety of hand tools had been gifts to him over past Christmases, Father’s Days, and Birthdays and Bert put each of them to good use this year.

            It started with the Wise Men.  That came easy.  There were three of them so naturally he thought of the Three Stooges.  Plywood versions of Moe, Larry, and Curly were designed, cut out, and painted.  The idea for the gifts they brought to the Christ child was Bert’s inspirational stroke of genius.  He painted Larry with a few gold teeth and the cut out kneeling while pointing to his mouth.  The gift of gold was covered.  Next came Moe.  Bert didn’t know much about the gift of myrrh other than it was some kind of liquid that came in a jar or bottle.  So Moe came to the Nativity with a bottle of bootleg liquor.  This was homage to the classic Stooges short where they made bootleg scotch.  Moe’s bottle was real but the fake label said scotch, bore the Stooges image, and the words “111% Proof”.  Curly came next.  He brought Frankenstein.  Well, in truth, he brought Frankenstein’s Monster.  Frankenstein was really the Doctor but most people got that wrong and with an inflatable Frankenstein’s Monster, borrowed from Carl, and linked with a long chain to Curly’s hand, Bert thought it a comic parody perfect for his display.

            The shepherds should not exceed the Wise Men.  Two shepherds would be all it would take and keeping with the comic theme, Laurel and Hardy came to the manger.  Sporting the traditional shepherd garb and topped with their traditional bowlers, Stan and Ollie were a welcome addition.

            Bert couldn’t think of anything comedic to spin on the sheep and the camel so these were conventional.  Flanking these beasts however were barnyard animals courtesy of Looney Tunes.  Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Foghorn Leghorn, and even Pepé Le Pew, the lowliest of animals, were strewn throughout the scene.  Eyore the donkey, friend of Winnie the Pooh, was the beast of burden who bore Mary to Bethlehem.

            Mary and Joseph gave Bert only a moment’s trouble.  He wanted a traditional Hollywood power couple and Bert discarded a number of ideas before he settled on Lucy and Desi.  Who didn’t remember “I Love Lucy”?  Lucy with her red hair stood out nicely and the addition of a baby Shirley Temple doll with her curly locks in the manger topped everything off nicely.  So what if Shirley Temple was a girl?  In painted nativity scenes, the baby Jesus was always depicted with curly locks like Shirley’s.  Wrapped tightly in swaddling clothing, who would tell the difference?

            Bert arranged all of this up close to the front of his house against a stable backdrop he had fashioned himself.  Small flood lights were placed strategically to ideally light the Nativity. Over Bert’s front door was a shooting star he had found at a thrift store.  It was at least thirty years old and was made of metal.  The star was emblazoned with white lights and the tail sparkled in blue LEDs with strands of gold tinsel woven throughout.  The effect was stunning.  It was fastened to the house at least two feet above the door frame.  From the base of the star he hung an inflatable angel as if it was descending into Bert’s version of Bethlehem.  Everything was a marvelous tableau.  Everything was perfect…almost.

            There was no snow.  It needed snow to add an extra touch of Christmas to all of Bert’s lawn displays.  There was no snow.  Not here.  There was seven feet of snow in Buffalo but nothing here.

            “Seven feet of snow,” Bert began again, “and Canada gets nothing.”  It angered Bert that Buffalo had more snow than they really needed.  There was so much snow in Buffalo that they couldn’t give the stuff away.

Bert stopped suddenly after this thought.

            “Why not?” Bert mused aloud.  Something was sparking in his brain.  He had a thought.  Buffalo couldn’t give away the snow if there weren’t any takers.  Why couldn’t he be a taker?  Why couldn’t he just go down to Buffalo and get some of that excess snow?  It sounded crazy but maybe it could be done.

            Bert began to pace back and forth.  He had to think this out carefully.  There was snow in Buffalo and he wanted it here.  How could he pull it off?  Shortly, the answer came to him but it was one he didn’t relish. Stu.

            Stu was his wife’s brother.  Bert didn’t care much for Stu.  It wasn’t that Stu was good for nothing but there had been a time when that description was appropriate.  Stu had once lived with Bert and his wife while he tried to find himself.  It had taken him two years and some financial banking from Bert to make Stu the man he was today.  That still irked Bert.

            Stu ran a successful frozen food outlet and he eventually had repaid Bert but there was still something about Stu’s success that didn’t sit right with Bert.  The fact that he called himself Stuart now was particularly annoying.  He’d always been Stu before his success and Bert delighted himself in calling his brother-in-law Stu whenever he could.  Those opportunities to call him Stu were not frequent because Bert avoided Stu as much as he could.  But now he needed a favor from Stu and this didn’t sit well with Bert either.

————————— (old version ends and new version begins)

     “Oh, I know what he’ll say,” Bert said to himself; musing aloud again.

            “Are you crazy, Bert?  I can’t just lend you one of my refrigeration trucks.  This is my busiest time of year and a refrigeration truck full of snow driven across the border is going to raise some alarm bells.”  Well this wasn’t entirely what Bert thought Stu would say but it was exactly what Stu did say when Bert finally got around to approaching his brother-in-law.

            Bert had mulled things over for a couple of days and in that time the snow stayed away and news stories about Buffalo’s plight spurred Bert to put things into action.  He’d dropped in unannounced on Stu and unburdened his thoughts to his wife’s brother.

            “Do it for the kids, Stu.  Where’s your Christmas spirit?”  Bert thought that might raise a positive reaction.

            “I suppose that’s better than you saying I owe you,” Stuart replied.  “I don’t owe you anything Bert.  We’re square as far as I’m concerned.  And I prefer to be called Stuart.”

            “Listen Stu,” Bert continued, ignoring the plea in how he was to address him, “I’m not asking for money.  Okay, so you say we’re square.  I’m just asking for a small amount of interest on everything I’ve done for you.  It’s just a little snow.”

            “And a refrigerated truck to haul it in!   Besides, everything I have is booked up until the day before Christmas.”

            “I’ll take it!” Bert replied with enthusiasm; knowing full well that no official offer had been made.  He quickly stuck out his hand as if to seal the deal.

            “Wait, I didn’t promise anything!” Stuart reacted.  “I was just stating a fact.  Besides, December 24th is four days away.  It’ll be too late by then.”

            “No it won’t,” Bert countered.  He kept his hand extended across Stu’s desk.

            Stuart didn’t take Bert’s hand.  Instead, he leaned back in his chair and brought the tips of his fingers together as if in contemplation.

            Bert sensed he was on the losing end of his own proposition.

            “I’ll pay all the expenses.  Gas at my cost,” Bert added.  He was struggling to find anything that would persuade his brother-in-law.  “Please, Stuart.”

            Stuart stared at his sister’s husband.  He thought Bert must be desperate if he was going to address Stuart correctly.

            “And Christmas Dinner,” Stuart finally replied.

            “What do you mean by ‘and Christmas Dinner’?”  Bert was confused but he was still holding out his hand.

            “And Christmas Dinner,” Stuart repeated.  “I want an invitation to Christmas Dinner.  It’s been years since you’ve invited me over to your house.”

            So that was the catch.  Bert should have figured that Stuart didn’t do favours without expecting something in return.

            “And Christmas Dinner,” Bert sullenly responded.  He stuck his hand further in Stu’s direction.

            “And Christmas Breakfast,” Stuart added while grasping at Bert’s hand and holding it tightly.  Bert tried to pull his hand away as if stung but Stuart held fast.

            “And Christmas Breakfast?  What gives?”  Bert finally managed to free himself of Stu’s grasp.

            “Well, we probably won’t get back until late and then there’s all that snow to unpack.  You’ve got that great spare room and what’s a little breakfast between in-laws; especially the kind that lend you one of his third best refrigerated trucks?  We are going to have a grand adventure together.”  Stuart grinned, knowing he had secured the better part of the arrangement.

            “We?  As in you and I, we?”  Stu’s grin, like his handshake, was putting Bert off.

            “I’ll be there at six on Christmas Eve morning.  My truck.  My rules.  And I do all of the driving.”

            The handshake, the grin, having to say ‘Stuart’ and now the promise or threat of Christmas Eve morning was almost too much for Bert to bear but he couldn’t let Stu know that.  Instead he leaned heavily on the desk, quickly grabbed up Stu’s hand and shook it as if he was trying to wrench it free from Stu’s arm.

            “Deal!” Bert cried before sporting his own grin that made Stuart feel like he mightn’t have made such a great bargain after all.

            Stu did not show up with the truck on December 24th, until closer to nine that morning.  Bert had been waiting for him since half past five.  He’d been up early and ready to go with two of his best shovels ready for action.

            At seven, Bert began to worry and thought about calling Stu but kept making excuses for his brother-in-law like engine trouble or cross-town traffic.

            By eight, Bert began to fume and curse while his wife made excuses for her sibling.

            Thirty minutes after that, Bert stretched out to wait in his favorite lounge chair in an effort to go back to sleep.  He hoped to dream of throttling Stu or causing some bodily harm that didn’t leave bruises.

            Just before nine, Bert was brought fully awake by Stu shaking him.

            “Bert, Bert, get up!  I thought you wanted to get an early start?”

            The dream of hurting Stu never came but on waking, Bert was fully ready to launch himself with arms a-flailing in Stu’s direction.

            “I was ready by six!  Where were you?”  If Bert couldn’t strike out then at least he could add some venom to his words.

            “What do you mean six?  We said nine.”

            “We said six.  In fact, I’m sure it was you who said ‘I’ll be there at six on Christmas Eve morning.  My truck.  My rules.’ “

            “Look, I’ll prove it to you,” Stuart said, reaching into his pocket.  “Look at this.”  He produced a small square post-it note with a holiday border and handed it to Bert.

            “Bert, refrigerated truck, snow, Buffalo, December 24th,” Bert read aloud.  It was written in a large messy handwriting.  “It doesn’t state a time on here.”

            “Look at the other side,” Start gestured.

            Bert turned it over and saw a single number ‘6’.

            “It says 6, just like we discussed,” Bert replied; almost spitting the words out in Stu’s direction.

            “No it doesn’t, it says 9.”  Stuart grabbed at the note and then reread the first side to Bert.  “Bert, refrigerated truck, snow, Buffalo, December 24th and if you flip it over, it says 9.”

            “You don’t flip it over like turning a calendar from month to month, you turn it over like flipping a page on a book! You wrote 6 because we agreed to 6 Stuart!”  The inflection on Stuart was as hostile as Bert could make it.

            “Agree to disagree.  Regardless, I’m here now.”

            “Yes, and you’re three hours late!”  Bert wasn’t prepared to let it go.

            “Enough!” a female voice interjected.

            Both Bert and Stuart turned to look in Dottie’s direction.  The wife and the sister had spoken.

            “I’m sorry Dottie,” Bert and Stuart said in unison.  Her full name might have been Dorothy but no one dared call her that.  She didn’t put on airs like Stuart so she preferred the simplicity of ‘Dottie.’

            “I don’t know how you two are going to pull this thing off, and I have my extreme doubts, but you better put this squabbling aside or you’ll never get to Buffalo and that seven feet of snow you’ve been talking about.”  Now Dottie was finished.

            Bert and Stuart didn’t say another word.  Bert put on his coat and pulled on his boots.  He shoved a toque and gloves in his pocket and grabbed an extra pair for Stu.  He was sure that like the designated time, Stu would have forgotten the need for these as well.  Bert was right.

            Bert grabbed up the shovels and stowed them behind the seats in the cab of the truck.  Silence filled the rest of the room in the truck and neither spoke a word to the other until they were out of town and well on their way.

            “What’s your plan here Bert?” Stuart finally asked; breaking the silence.

            “Refrigerated truck, snow, Buffalo, December 24th,” Bert said reluctantly.  He thought about adding “6” but Dottie had kissed him at the door and said play nice.  This was Bert being nice.

            “I know that,” said Stuart, while trying not to react to Bert.  His sister had also hugged him on the way out and repeated the instructions of playing nicely.  “Where in Buffalo, exactly?  It’s big place!”

            “We’ll sort that out when we get there.  There’s seven feet of snow in Buffalo.  It can’t be that hard to find.”

            Stuart just shrugged.  He’d committed himself and he was doing all the driving.  Bert was right, though, seven feet of snow in Buffalo would likely be pretty apparent.

            “Okay, start the clock.  Four hours and counting down.  No muss, no fuss, leave the driving to us.”  Of course, by ‘us’ Stuart meant himself.  He’d told Bert “My truck.  My rules.  And I do all of the driving.”  That he could remember but when it came to the correct time that was a different story.  At least he’d got the date right.

            “Mind if I listen to the radio?” Bert asked.  Maybe some holiday music would make this journey more festive.  With music playing, he wouldn’t have to engage in conversation with his wife’s brother.  Play nice, she’d said.  She hadn’t said Bert had to talk to Stu.

            “No can do Bert, I had it removed.  Removed them from all of my trucks.  Just a distraction to the drivers.  Eyes and ears on the road, I always say.”

            Bert had never heard Stu say anything close to that.  No radio?  This was going to be a long four hours.

            Of course it took them longer than four hours.  Stuart’s sense of direction and driving skills were spot on but they hadn’t counted on the holiday traffic.  They reached Buffalo almost six hours after they left Bert’s house.  It had taken them four hours alone to get to the border and another hour at the crossing trying to explain why two Canadians with two shovels were entering the United States with an empty refrigerated truck.

            Stuart wanted to bluff their way through and say they were going to pick up a load of holiday turkeys and hams.  Bert agree that was plausible but pointed out they might be asked to provide some proof like a weigh-bill or anything that would corroborate their story.

            In the end, Bert felt the truth was their best recourse.  That’s why they were an hour at the border.  They were held for further questioning but no one could find a reason to deny them entry.  After all, they weren’t bringing anything into the United States and their plan to bring snow back into Canada, although far-fetched, was something for the Canadian authorities to pursue when they crossed back over.  They eventually were sent on their way and Bert was sure he could hear a few chuckles after the border patrol waved them through.

            The sixth hour was spent finding someplace to have a bite to eat and a rest stop.  Bert didn’t realize how hungry he was when they finally had ordered takeout.  It had been a long time since 5 a.m. when he’d had his breakfast and optimistically settled in to wait for Stu’s six o’clock arrival.

            “Okay Bert, what’s your plan here, I’ll ask again,” Stuart said between bites of his hamburger.  He and Bert had picked up their food and headed back out to eat in the truck.  The vehicle had been too large to maneuver through a drive-thru.

            “I’ve been mulling that over since we got here,” Bert replied.  “It’s been almost a week and all of the main routes have been plowed or the huge snowbanks are dirty with gravel and slush.   I’m thinking maybe some of the side streets.  They’re usually the last to be cleaned out.”

            After they finished eating, they spent twenty minutes crisscrossing some of the residential streets to no avail.  All of those streets had been plowed and the driveways for the homes had been shoveled or blown clear.

            Stuart pulled over on the side of one street and he and Bert both jumped out of the truck.

            “Let’s give it up Bert and chalk it up to a failed road trip,” Stuart said.

            “No, I won’t give up!  We’ve come this far.  I can’t come this close and go away empty handed.”  Bert was pacing back and forth and slamming his arms vigorously across his chest to stay warm.  It was cold outside when compared against the hours they had spent in the truck.

            “You’re close to nothing Bert!” Stuart shouted.  He turned away from Bert and gestured toward the street.  “There’s nothing here.  This was a fool’s folly at best.  Let’s get back in the truck and get some coffee and head home!”  That’s when the snowball hit Stuart in the back.

            Stuart turned and glared at Bert.  “Son, you’re going to regret that!” Stuart bellowed as he bent down and scooped up a handful of snow.

            “Don’t you dare Stu!” Bert hollered back.  “You had it coming.  You’re lucky I didn’t slam you before this.  This wasn’t a fool’s folly.  Or if it was, what does that make you for coming along?”  Bert leapt to the side as Stuart’s snowball whizzed by him.

            After that, the war was on.  Both took up positions on opposite sides of the street and began pelting each other with insults and frozen projectiles.  Nothing was off-limits.  Even past histories were resurrected and used as ammunition in the verbal assaults.  The snowballs kept finding their targets in each other and soon they both lay tired and spent in the snow across the way from one another.

            “Are you boys done, now?  You’re a little big for a snowball fight and from what you were yelling at each other, you’re obviously family, right?”  A woman out walking her dog glanced back and forth at Bert and Stuart and shook her head.

“In-laws,” they both shouted back.

“I guess that makes it okay, then?  Do you mind telling me what this is all about or do you want to explain it to the police?”

Neither Bert nor Stuart were keen on it escalating it that far.  They were strangers in this Country and neither wanted it to become an international incident.

Bert got up and approached the woman and began to tell her the story of his nativity and how he had come up with the idea of helping relieve Buffalo of some of its seven feet of snow.  Stuart came and stood by them and didn’t interrupt as Bert told their tale. He didn’t think it was necessary to add his thoughts about how Bert’s nutty idea had pushed them to this point.  This stranger could obviously gather all of that from their boisterous bickering and their now soaked clothing from having been bombarded by snow and then flopping down exhausted in it.

“I guess your story about wanting our snow is just as crazy as you two trying to injure each other from opposite sides of the road.  I might be able to help you but I’m not sure I want to after the way you’ve been treating each other.”  The woman glared again at both Bert and Stuart in turn.

“Please, uh, sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Bert inquired.

“Holly,” Holly began before glaring again at both of them, “and yes that’s my real name.  I’ve heard all the remarks that this time of year brings so you needn’t comment.”

“Holly and the Ivy?” Stuart queried.  He couldn’t help himself.

“Holly Jolly Christmas?” Bert chimed in while snickering.

“Get it all out,” Holly offered.  “I guess anything you can laugh at together is something you don’t use against each other.  “You might as well know that my middle name is Noel.  My parents loved Christmas.  It’s not bad the rest of the year but I get it good around this time, what with the holidays and all.”

Bert and Stuart began to laugh.  They looked at each other and laughed even harder at the sight of each other dotted where snowballs had hit their marks.  Eventually they stopped laughing long enough to engage again in conversation.

“Please Holly,” Bert continued, while trying to stifle the last of his chuckles.  “We’ve come a long way and we’ve got just as far to go and I don’t want to leave empty-handed.”

“Well, if you’ll promise to at least be civil to each other, I’ll show you something and then you’ll decide for yourself if it’ll help with your wild quest.”

Bert and Stuart both crossed their hearts and looked at each other without any malice toward the other.  Bert watched closely to make sure that Stu hadn’t crossed his fingers behind his back.

“Good enough,” Holly responded.  “Follow me, then.”

Holly led them around the block and up to a house where the snow still lay deep in the driveway and up the front walk.

“The Kelvins,” Holly pointed out as if it the name explained everything.  “They’ve gone south for the winter.  The Wilsons a few houses further on are the same.  Some of their neighbours will eventually get around to clearing this all out after Christmas.  I guess you boys have arrived just in time to help yourself.”

Bert and Stuart smiled at each other and, without a word, Stuart jogged off to get the truck.

“I’ll head home and see if I can convince my husband to give you a hand.  I’m not sure if he’ll believe your story but if a tall sandy-haired fellow named “Will” comes around then I guess I’ll have done a good job of recruiting.  Merry Christmas and good luck,” Holly concluded before leading her dog back in the return direction.

Stuart came around the corner honking at Holly as she passed the truck and was soon out of sight.

Bert opened up the back as soon as Stuart had come to a stop.  He grabbed up the two shovels from the cab and tossed one to his brother-in-law

“I’ll hop up inside and push back everything you toss up,” Bert instructed Stuart.  “Let me know when you want to switch.”

“You got it Bert.  I think between this house and the other, we should be able to really pack it in.”

Within fifteen minutes they both realized how tiring their efforts were going to be and how long it would probably take with two guys and two shovels to even make a dent in the seven feet of Buffalo snow in the Kelvins’ driveway and walk; let alone the other house up the street.  Bert was also getting even more soaked to the skin as shovels full of snow tossed by Stuart collided with him as much as it did the floor of the refrigerated truck.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Bert yelled.  “There’s got to be a better way.  Let me jump down and we’ll both try and throw snow up into here.”

They both continued shoveling and tossing the snow before the air soon became filled with the sound of some motorized devices.  Both looked around in case they were in the path of oncoming snowmobiles.

Coming from around the corner were three men with gas powered snow blowers advancing in front of them.  Bert thought of his nativity and the three stooges wise men approaching from the east to behold the miracle birth.  Instead these magi were bringing a miracle to this odd couple from the neighboring country to the north, now leaning heavily on their shovels and watching the procession.

As they approached, they slowed their engines so they could converse.

“Are you two the Canadians who want a truck load of snow?” the taller of the group spoke out over the low hum of the blowers.

“You wouldn’t be Will, would you?” Bert asked.  Stuart looked on dumbstruck.  First the sight of the three with their machines coming to their aid and now Bert seemed to know one of them?  Their outing had taken another turn toward the even stranger.

“Yep, and these are my buddies Phil and Bob,” Will said, pointing to the other two who waved back in turn.  “I can tell you I almost didn’t believe Holly when she told me your story but then I’ve never known her to lie.  I had to see for myself and brought my pals along for support.  Is that the truck?  Get her into position and we’ll get started.  It’s going to be dark soon.”

Stuart was still speechless but took the cue and backed the truck up against the end of the driveway.

Soon the trio was underway while Bert and Stuart tackled the walkway and heaved the snow onto the driveway where it was soon thrown into the air and into the back of the truck with the rest of the load.  Thirty minutes later they moved on up the street to the Wilsons and repeated their actions.  By the time they were done, the streetlights had come on and a beautiful sight of well-lit homes with holiday lights blazed into the darkness.

Bert stood back and looked at all of the Christmas decorations and soon he was reminded of his new Nativity scene and how it was waiting for his consignment of Buffalo snow.

“Thanks a lot guys,” Bert began in his thank you to his new American friends.  “We couldn’t have done it without you.  Well, we could have but we’d still have been at until New Year’s Day.”

“How about some holiday cheer before you go?” Phil offered.

“Or a holiday treat or two?”  Bob chimed in.  My wife’s been baking up a storm and I think I’ve gained five pounds this week alone.  I can’t ever say no to her shortbread.”

“We’d love to,” Bert replied, “but we’ve got a long haul ahead of us.”

“Besides, he’s driving,” Stuart added.

Bert just looked at his brother-in-law and grinned.  Another holiday miracle!  Bert was going to let him drive.

“Well, it’s a good thing I came prepared,” Bob responded.  “Compliments of the Mrs.” He reached deep in his parka pocket and produced a small clear bag containing a half dozen or more shortbread cookies.

Bert and Stuart made their thanks and climbed into the truck for the journey home.  They made only two stops.  The first was for coffee to go with the cookies.  They were anxious to get home and the treats were probably going to be their dinner.  Their second break came with the obligatory border check before they reentered their home country.  They had to explain all over again about their journey and had to show off their load of snow for inspection.  There were plenty of questions again but no one could say it was against any rule to bring into Canada that which naturally fell from the sky into both countries; even if it didn’t descend around Bert’s house.

The rest of the drive was pleasant enough with Bert extolling his amazement at their luck in meeting Holly and how obliging her husband Will and his chums had been to their cause.  Stuart regaled how he had scored heavily against Bert in the snowball fight and Bert just laughed and allowed his wife’s brother to rejoice in his victory; even though Bert felt he’d probably hit Stu more times by comparison.

An hour from home, Bert called Dottie and told her they’d be home soon.  He didn’t tell her the full story of their day but she could tell from the tone of his voice that he’d been successful and further that her husband and her brother must have called a truce.

When they drove up Bert’s street, he could see a row of cars parked looking at his lawn display.  His neighbours Ted and Carl were standing ready with their shovels to help and Dottie was passing around hot chocolate and some of her own Christmas cookies.  Even his children were there and walking about with some of the other neighborhood kids.

Many hands soon made short work and it was nearing midnight when they all stood back and looked at Bert’s display surrounded now by a layer of the snow they’d brought back from America.  It was quite a sight and the flood lights sparkling off the snow added to the festive scene.

Bert and Stuart held audience as they spoke of their mission and their battle against each other that had been interrupted by a Christmas angel named Holly who had brought them to their goal and supplied a group of helping hands; with one bearing festive baking for their return travel.

As the throng began to break up and head indoors, it began to snow.  Bert was heard to shout out his glee.  It didn’t matter that he’d had to drive to Buffalo with Stu and how he’d had to beg his brother-in-law for the loan of the truck.  It didn’t matter that he’d been soaked through from all of their efforts, and his mini-war with Stu and that he’d barely thawed out and dried off by the time they’d reach his house.  It didn’t matter.  In Bert’s mind, this new falling snow was the topper.  He’d done it.  He’d gotten some of that seven feet of snow in Buffalo.

Bert and Stuart were tired.  They weren’t long for bed.  Dottie caught her husband snoring moments after she had turned out the light.  She could also hear the snores of her brother chiming in from their spare room.

In the middle of the night, Bert got up to check on his display.  He’d been dreaming of it and he had to see it again.  He was dressed only in a t-shirt and boxer shorts but he pulled on his winter coat and boots.  He stepped out to find the snow still falling and the ground covered white and knee deep.  He waded around to the front and scooped snow out of the manger to reveal the babe.  He kneeled down and ran his hands through the doll’s curly locks.

“Thank you baby Jesus.  Thanks for bring us home safe and for the seven feet of snow that fell on Buffalo.”

Bert went back to bed.  His wife let out a little squeal as Bert’s bare legs brushed against her.  They were still very cold from where he’d squatted in the snow next to the tiny savior.  He’d had to scoop out quite a bit of snow but he was sure it would stop by morning.

The snow did not stop by morning.

By Christmas breakfast it was waist high and Bert had to unplug some of the inflatables as they were sagging beneath the weight of the snow and he was afraid their motors would soon give out.

The snow continued to fall as they opened presents.  Dottie had gone out last minute Christmas shopping and made sure there were gifts for her brother labelled from her, the children, and Bert.  Bert watched amazed at Dottie’s thoughtfulness and Bert’s delight at being included in the family’s celebration.

By Christmas dinner the snow was shoulder high and most of the characters in the Nativity were buried as they knelt in the representation of ancient Bethlehem.  The snow was also halfway up the inflatable angel’s garment.

By the morning of the next day, the snow had risen to the eight foot mark and only the star above Bert’s door could be clearly seen; the only symbol left apparent from Bert’s nativity.

Stuart gave up all hope of digging out the truck.  The peace between Stuart and Bert began to wane and they were soon at each other’s throats again with Stuart blaming Bert for everything.  The truth was, however, that Bert was not to blame for this eight feet of snow or even the seven feet that had fallen to the south.

It was two days after Christmas before Stuart hiked to the nearest main thoroughfare and hailed a taxi.  He’d had enough of his sister’s family and Christmas and snow.  He’d call in a crew in the new year and have them dig out and retrieve the truck.

Bert couldn’t say he was sad to see Stu go.  It had been nice while it lasted but their armistice had only lasted until the eight feet of flurries that had fallen at Bert’s house trumped the seven feet of snow in Buffalo.

The End

 

148.  THE XMAS DIP.  It isn’t often that I write two Christmas stories in one year; let alone one month.  This one was playing around in my brain and it finally came out.  It’s a sequel to “A Very Quiet Christmas Plan.” 

THE XMAS DIP

by

Scott Henderson

            Philip stared at the sign-up sheet for the staff Christmas Party which was mainly just a glorified potluck where everyone stood around with paper cups and paper plates and paper hats and paste-on smiles that made Philip feel like everyone obviously wished to be somewhere else other than the staff Christmas Party.  Well, that was how Philip felt and with the only slot open on the sheet next to ‘Xmas Dip’ he felt like he’d rather be anywhere else other than standing there with pen in hand realizing he’d left it too late and was stuck bringing ‘Xmas Dip’; whatever the hell that was.

            “What the hell is Xmas Dip anyhow?” he said aloud to the sign-up sheet.  There was no response.  If there had been a response, it would have said something along the line of “what do you want from me, I’m just a signup sheet after all, and it was you that left everything to the last minute.”

            It was true, he had left it to the last minute but in his mind he’d had some really good excuses like he didn’t really want to go to the Christmas Party or everyone else was already signing up just when he was getting his mind around to thinking about signing up, or why bother to sign up because all the good stuff will be taken and he’d be stuck bringing something everyone else clearly didn’t want to opt to bring…such as Xmas Dip and that had to be the last thing anyone else wanted to bring or else they too had no clue what it was.  Philip sighed.

            “Why couldn’t it be like last year when we didn’t have a Christmas Party?” he asked aloud again but to nothing in particular.  The conversation with the signup sheet had been all one-sided and had gotten him nowhere.

            Of course Philip knew the answer to that.  Last year there had been a Christmas Party but they had called it a Christmas Gift Exchange or Secret Santa or something else that sounded festive unless you tacked on an expletive in the front and that just about summed up how he had felt about the whole thing and more so about this new Party thing and the mysterious Xmas Dip that made his head swim.  And maybe that’s what it was, he thought, a glorified swim where’d have to strip down and plunge into cold water and yet that sounded even more appealing than standing around with the paper cups and paper ad infinitum rot.

            He took a long breath in, exhaled, and then scrawled his name in the last open slot on the sheet.  It didn’t make him feel any less uneasy now that he’d accomplished it.  All he knew was he had to figure out what this thing was he was supposed to bring and whether it required him to make it or if he could get away with purchasing it somewhere.  He hoped for the latter.

            Philip thought back on last year’s gift exchange and how poorly that had gone for him.  He had drawn the name of someone he had not known well and even less well when it came to deciding what gift to purchase for that person.  Sheila.  Who was Sheila he had asked himself and then had to ask of others because he’d drawn a blank and then thought to himself that he wished he had drawn a blank…piece of paper that is, for all the effort he wanted to put into the exchange.   In the end, Philip did exactly what others did who really didn’t want to put much thought into it.

            There had been a limit of twenty dollars and that still didn’t narrow things down for Philip so he took a chance that perhaps Sheila liked coffee or at least would like the twenty dollar coffee shop gift card he decided on at the last minute.  It was for a national chain he’d seen on a number of cups on people’s desks or overflowing the garbage can in the break room.  Maybe Sheila was one of those who liked that coffee and a guess was more than he could make out on his own with the little he knew of the recipient whose name he had chosen.

            More than half of the employees had received coffee gift cards.  Philip was not exempt.  His had been to a coffee boutique and that experience had set him off and he felt like the whole Christmastime and yule whatever was wasted on him and he just wanted to have a quiet Christmas that had no rules and no bodies.  It was about all he thought he could stand without going overboard like wearing a paper hat and balancing a paper plate on your lap with a paper thin smile and yet he had to seem grateful for the coffee shop gift card he received and look as if he cared when Sheila opened the one he had purchased for her.

            Thinking on all of it, Philip could see how anyone who didn’t really know him or maybe did know him, and there weren’t a lot of those, and truth be told if there was a sign-up sheet to list off people who really did know him, there’d be a lot of blanks that would never be filled and all of those would think that Philip just wasn’t that in to Christmas.  Philip knew himself better than anyone possibly could and even he could see that was the definite impression he was giving off; whether he meant to or not.  And Philip wasn’t even sure himself if that was his intention.

            It really did start with the previous Christmas and how miserable he had been feeling and finding himself at a gift exchange congregation that wasn’t billed as a Christmas party and how it all left him totally uneasy when it came to social interactions.  Philip worked in IT and that was about as in the background as you could get in a company like the one where he worked.  He wasn’t like the other man-childs like Kenny or Jimmy or Dave-O who had cute nicknames and took nothing seriously except IT and then complained the loudest among themselves when anyone else did not take IT as seriously as they did.

            The man-childs were always the fun ones at any gathering because they had the best jokes and the best stories and Philip felt like he paled by comparison.  He wasn’t good at jokes and seldom remembered the punchlines and he didn’t have humorous anecdotes or interesting stories and he didn’t like to make IT jokes about other employees at their expense like Kenny, Jimmy or Dave-O.

            Thinking about it, though, Philip did have an interesting story but the telling of it last year would have made him seem pathetic or lonely or a number of other sad adjectives that clearly defined him but he didn’t care to admit to.  He could have told about his girlfriend Margo and how she had followed him home form the park one day and then left him months later on a mission of self-discovery and inexplicably took Carnival Barker.  He could have told as well about Carnival Barker, his dog, who had also followed him home one day and gained his name because he barked incessantly like a circus rowdy enticing people to crooked games or flamboyant shows of wild men of Borneo or seven-veiled women who danced the hoochie coochie; a dance just as mysterious as the Xmas Dip Philip had now committed to bringing.         And because no one really knew Philip, they didn’t get to hear that story about how sad he’d been feeling last Christmas and that he wasn’t really missing Margo but would have given anything to wake up on December 25th to the sounds of Carnival Barker extolling the virtues of Christmas morning.

             Oh yes, and there had also been that turkey raffle that had disturbed all his plans for a very quiet Christmas but that was another story altogether and no one had been able to attend his last minute gathering and Christmas Eve had turned out to be quiet in spite of his efforts to work the fresh not frozen turkey he had won into something even better than a gift exchange with paper hats.  The specialty shop coffee card had further added to his overall dismal feeling when he finally got around to visiting the store on the last day before it had closed for the holidays and he paid dearly for overpriced exotic coffee and was disturbed by the artisan baked dog biscuits at the counter that enticed owners to visit the shop with their pets in tow and he knew Carnival Barker would have enjoyed one but the dog was off somewhere with Margo and Christmas for Philip had not been looking merry and bright.

            He could have told that story because it was certainly interesting but it had been an unfinished story and he didn’t know at the time it would have a happy ending with Margo returning with Carnival Barker on Christmas Day.  It had an even more happier ending when Margo left in the new year and Carnival Barker stayed.  There was nothing however that would prevent Philip from telling that story this time around except that in reflection it probably wouldn’t be all that interesting to anyone else.

            This year, it was just Philip and Carnival Barker and another very quiet Christmas plan that would be preceded by a staff Christmas Party with Xmas Dip.  Philip pulled out his phone and dictated a reminder for himself after work to research Xmas Dip.  Maybe he could work that into a humorous story he could tell to others but imagined the man-childs would probably have more entertaining tales of other employees who couldn’t print over the network and when Jimmy or Kenny or Dave-O finally got around to resolving their issue, the printer would ultimately jam under the stress of numerous copies of the same document because the employee had kept pressing ‘print’ over and over again in a futile effort to complete their task.  The inside joke among the IT crowd was that those errors were not caused by the hardware or the software but by ‘user interface.’  That was a sly poke at the employee who always lost the battle in employee vs. machine.

            After work, Philip did his best to decipher the enigma of Xmas Dip.  It did not go well.  Search engine results ran the gamut between vegetable, meat, and dessert dips layered or unlayered with or without sour cream, whip cream, dairy substitute, faux meats, real meats and sundry vegetarian options.  There were even photos that weren’t clear and when Philip clicked on them, he invariably went down a rabbit hole of ingredients, preparation steps, cooking times, chilling times, and tests for doneness depending on how gelatinous or not the maker cared to make it.

            “Does this look good to you?” Philip found himself asking of Carnival Barker.  The dog did not live up to his name and remained silent while he stared at his owner contemplating images on the screen in which the pooch had no interest.  He was after all, a dog who knew nothing of computers but if he did, he’d shake his head, whine, and chalk up his owner’s indecisiveness to problems of user interface.

            Philip selected a link labelled ‘Xmas Dip On Xmas Day’ and was surprised by a video of Nordic participants plunging into icy waters; with or without Santa hats.  Philip felt affirmed that at least one of his thoughts regarding Xmas Dip had held some truth.

            “How about this one?” he asked again of the dog.

            This time Carnival Barker gave out with a yelp, not because he understood what he was seeing but the audio was loud enough that he could distinctly hear the baying of other dogs either participating in the event or signaling to their masters and mistresses that dry land was a good deal more suitable and significantly and preferably warmer.

            “You’re a lot of help, Carnival Barker.  I don’t think this is what the sign-up sheet called for.  Besides, I don’t think I’d look all that good in a speedo at the Christmas Party looking for a body of water and having to settle for drenching myself with paper cups filled from the water cooler.”  Philip began to laugh at his joke.  He’d have to remember that one.  Maybe he’d have something to tell if he found a lull in the conversation with the man-childs.

            Philip closed his eyes and poked a finger at a screen full of photos and followed through to a directions page for White Cheddar Cranberry Dip described as “a salty, sweet, and festive dip!”  It further exclaimed “It’s great for a holiday party or a tasty snack.”

            “Holiday party.  I guess that’s it boy!”

            At this, Carnival Barker began to yap; signally only that he had to go outside to do his business and no reflection intended on Philip’s selection.

            The day of the Christmas Party was not as bad as Philip had dreaded.  It was slightly worse.

First, his Xmas Dip didn’t work out as well as he had hoped.  This time it was not User Interface but rather Canine Interference.  The instructions had been fairly easy and very clear when directing him to prepare and assemble the dip as written. It had also directed him to cover and refrigerate for up to one day.  That was fine with Philip because it meant he could leave it to the last minute or day before and could pull it out the morning of the party.  Unfortunately, Philip did not factor in Carnival Barker and a moment of unguarded supervision when the dog expressed his satisfaction with Philip’s efforts on the dip by wolfing it down and licking the bowl clean.

Second, Philip had to leave for work early so he could stop off at the supermarket and find a pre-packaged dip.  The selection was minimal and he had to settle for two plastic containers; one dill flavored and one with chives.  Neither looked very festive and he was sure he’d be accused of making little or no effort.  He didn’t think telling everyone the dog ate his assignment would be convincing.

For the rest of the party, the man-childs monopolized most of the conversations or poked fun at others and their computer expertise or lack thereof.  There were even some comments about food items brought by others to the party and inevitably some jibes about the store-bought Xmas Dip.

Philip wanted to defend himself and lay blame at Carnival Barker but instead decided a better distraction would be to offer up one of the results of his Internet search.

“Did you know that Xmas Dip also refers to cold water plunging in countries like Sweden, Switzerland, and Norway?”  Philip finally had something interesting to offer.

“Like a polar dip?” Jimmy asked.

“Have you ever done it Phil?”  Kenny followed.

“Wouldn’t catch me doing it,” Dave-O chimed in.  “I don’t care to get frostbite in my nether regions.”

“I might do it,” Philip quickly offered, “if I don’t have anything better to do on Christmas Day.”  He quickly regretted it after he’d said it.

“That sure would be something,” Jimmy piped up.

“What a story you’d have to tell,” Kenny added.

“Wouldn’t catch me doing it,” Dave-O concluded.  He added the part again about frostbite in his nether bits.

“We’ll see,” Philip said.  “I’ll have to see how it fits in with my plans.”  He didn’t continue to explain about his plans which weren’t any kinds of plans except the very quiet Christmas type.  He slunk off quietly from the man-childs and decided to leave the party early.  No one noticed.  He left his containers of Xmas Dip for any and all takers.  He didn’t think there would be many and that more likely than not they’d end up in the trash with all the paper garbage.  Those Xmas Dips and the one consumed by Carnival Barker would not be stored as future Christmas memories.

On Christmas Day, Philip cooked a turkey with all of the trimmings.  He ate early and made sure he set a place for Carnival Barker at the table.  He left the dishes to soak in the sink and instead of a nap, decided to take his dog for a long after-dinner walk.  This was the quiet Christmas plan he’d had in mind.

In addition to his quiet Christmas plans, Philip had also been thinking long and hard about his conversation at the Christmas Party with the man-childs regarding his non-committal committal to a Christmas Day Xmas Dip; not of the edible kind.  The Nordic themed plunge hadn’t been anything he’d intended to do and yet he’d left it hanging and wasn’t sure that after the Christmas break Jimmy or Kenny or Dave-O might not seek him out and ask him details of his adventure.  What would they say if he didn’t follow through?  Could he bluff an interesting highly invented story?  He wasn’t good with stories to begin with and lying had never been his strong suit.

In Philip’s mind there were many good and rational reasons why he should avoid freezing cold water and nothing that suggested it was a good idea.  Maybe that’s why Philip kept thinking on it.  He’d penned his name in the empty spot next to Xmas Dip on that sheet at the office and in Philip’s mind it meant he was pledged to follow through on his obligation.  Nowhere had that paper detailed Xmas Dip as an edible product.  It could just as well have been referring to an action instead of a noun describing a festive dish homemade or store purchased.  He’d failed in one aspect so shouldn’t he try to succeed in the other?

On Christmas Eve there were no sugarplums dancing in Philip’s head nor the myriad of things associated with his and Carnival Barker’s dinner plans.  Instead, he dreamt fitfully of sub-zero water calling to him and Jimmy, Kenny, and Dave-O daring him on.

Philip tried to push the Xmas Dip swim aside while he prepared Christmas dinner but the thoughts lingered around the edge and when he added ice to his glass of liqueur served with his turkey, he found himself staring intently at his libation and wondering.

After dinner he grabbed up Carnival Barker’s leash and pulled on his toque and gloves.  The dog saw something bulging in the deep pockets of Philip’s parka but thought little of it.  Dogs don’t wonder much about pockets and if they do it’s with curiosity whether said pockets held dog treats or biscuits…not necessarily of the specialty coffee boutique variety.

Philip would often walk out to the park with man’s best friend.  It had been the sight of their first meeting.  Philip had walked around the lake in the center of the park and come across Carnival Barker sprawled out underneath a tree.  Philip had given little thought to the dog other than it was off leash and somewhere there was an irresponsible owner.  He’d hardly glanced at the dog as he passed and didn’t look back the whole way home or he would have discovered the hound following him.  Dogs might not ponder on computer recipes or the contents of pockets but it was clear that they gave great thought to potential new custodians.

Carnival Barker had come into Philip’s life and stayed; except when he went sojourning with Margo.  Philip’s ex female friend and his ex, but long longed for, furry friend had returned to him the previous Christmas.  But that was another story and Philip’s thoughts were on this current Christmas and the Xmas Dip.

Philip let the dog lead.  It knew the way.  The park and the lake at the center were in Philip’s thoughts so if he guided the dog along in that direction, Carnival Barker was none the wiser.

The lake was frozen over.

“Well, there goes that thought,” Philip said aloud.  He wasn’t directing it to the dog because the thought had not been one he’d shared.  It was also a thought not well thought out.  Of course the lake would be frozen.  It was winter and late December.  Philip’s thought had proven he had not been thinking at all.

Philip sighed.  It was very much like the sigh he had made before signing up for Xmas Dip for the staff Christmas Party.  Both sighs were akin to having to admit defeat.  Xmas Dip and Xmas Dip.  Philip felt he had failed on both accounts.

The lake was frozen over.  There was nothing to be done.  Philip reached into his pocket and pulled out an old towel he had bunched up at home and pressed down into his pocket.

“I guess I won’t be needing this,” he said as he tossed the towel onto a nearby bench.  Philip sat down dejectedly.

Carnival Barker sat down in front of Philip and stared.  He understood none of this.  All he knew was there had been no treats in Philip’s pocket in any case but then he’d not given it much thought as dog’s seldom do.  He did however sense that something was wrong though so he reached up and put a paw on Philip’s knee.

“I know boy, this hasn’t been much fun for either of us.”  Philip extended a hand, pat the dog, and then reached beside him and grabbed up a stick lying on the ground.  Despite his original thought against free range dogs when he had first encountered Carnival Barker, he would nonetheless indulge himself with a game of fetch whenever they found themselves alone in the park.

“How about I toss the stick, fella, before we head home?”  He unleashed Carnival Barker and gave the stick a hearty throw down the path that wound around the lake.

Carnival Barker was off in a shot and retrieved the stick and kept on running.  Philip ran after him.  It was always like this.  The dog didn’t so much as play fetch as he played keep away.  He’d always lead Philip on a merry chase until the dog tired or more likely the human tired and gave up and turned away with the dog finally following behind because the fun had gone out of the game.

Philip chased the dog along the path and finally came up alongside Carnival Barker and then made a lunge for the stick in his mouth.  The mutt liked this interaction and made a lunge of his own and sped off across the lake.  Philip followed and called after the dog.

“That’s enough Carnival Barker.  It’s time to go home.  Besides, I don’t like the looks of this ice.”  It was precisely at that moment that the ice revolted against the remark of its looks and gave way; plunging Philip up to his chest in frigid water.

Philip began to howl and bounce up and down to try and clamber back up on the ice.

Carnival Barker began to bounce up and down and howl back at Philip.

“For god’s sake, Carnival Barker, shut up!  Can’t you see I’m in trouble here?”  Philip shouted through chattering teeth.

Carnival Barker did shut up and then retrieved the stick he had dropped when he’d howled at Philip howling in the water.  He ran off back toward the shore.

“This isn’t a game, you dumb mutt!” Philip shouted in aggravation.  The dog was too far away to hear the ‘dumb mutt’ insult.  Not that he’d care.  He wasn’t the dumb one who had fallen through the ice.

It seemed like an eternity as Philip struggled to pull himself up onto the ice.  He’d read somewhere that you had to get your upper half out of the water and then wriggle and kick until you were free.  Then you were required to keep yourself flat and distribute your weight evenly in order to not cause the ice to further give way.  That was the eternity Philip spent trying to distance himself from the hole he’d created and trying to prevent another plunge into the cold lake.

His nether parts, as Dave-O had surmised were adversely affected.  Philip’s legs and feet were like ice.  His boots were full of water.  He continued to writhe his way toward the shore.

Meanwhile, Carnival Barker had made good on his name and had run off yelping until he encountered another human who might be able to help his.  A woman out for her Christmas Day constitutional had followed the sounds of the dog and came across the scene of poor Philip floundering on his stomach toward her direction.

The dog had given up all interest in the stick.  It wasn’t a quality game anymore because it seemed like Philip didn’t appear to be interested in their play.  Instead, he chomped onto the abandoned towel and ran around shaking it vigorously.  He liked the way it slapped against his head.  Maybe his owner would like to partake in this new sport.  He ran toward Philip to try and engage him.

“Oh my, are you alright?” the woman yelled toward Philip.

Philip tilted his head up to try and see who was there.  Carnival Barker ran up and smacked him with the towel.  Philip managed to grab the bottom of the cloth and the dog began to pull away.  He liked this new contest.  He pulled harder to keep possession of his prize.  The result was he began to pull Philip across the ice.

Soon the stranger joined in the game and began to try to wrestle the towel away from the dog’s owner.  When they had finally reached the shore, Philip released and began panting.  Carnival Barker had been victorious.  He dropped the towel and began to pant in unison.  It was the most fun the dog had had since running away with the stick.

“Here, let me help you up,” the woman said while wrapping the dog’s trophy towel around Philip’s shoulders.  Philip looked up at her to offer his thanks.

“Sheila?”  Yes, it was Sheila.  Sheila of the coffee card.  Sheila from his office with a position in the company he never did discover.  The truth was, he had lost interest in solving the mystery of Sheila.  That had all happened during the Margo kidnapping of Carnival Barker phase and he couldn’t think of much else back then.

“Philip?”  She’d finally managed to glimpse the face of the body that had lain flailing on the ice.  She recognized him.  He worked at her company in the IT department but he wasn’t like the others in that department.  He didn’t tell jokes or stories like his coworkers; the kind she failed to find humorous.  Philip was quiet and reserved.  That impressed her more.

Of course, unlike Philip, Sheila had done her research.  She had drawn his name in the Secret Santa at work the previous year.  She’d bought him a coffee gift card from a specialty shop where they also sold artisan dog biscuits for pets accompanied by their patrons.  Someone had told her Philip had a dog.  She hadn’t known, at the time, that man and beast had been separated prior to that holiday season.  Philip had kept that bit to himself.

There was nothing for it after that but for Sheila to accompany Philip and Carnival Barker home.  She was concerned for her coworker’s wellbeing.  Frostbite was top of mind.  It was top of mind for Philip, too.

“What is it exactly you do at the company?” Philip found himself asking of Sheila after he’d changed his clothes, put on a pot of coffee, and made them turkey sandwiches.

“I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours,” Sheila responded.  This frozen man from the surface of the frozen lake obviously had a tale to tell of how he found himself plunging into icy water.  She wanted to know more.

Philip understood that in her asking was that realization that he finally had something interesting to say.  She’d said “tell me your story.”  He had one.  He had a story.  It was partly his story and partly Carnival Barker’s.  The key thing was where should he start?

“First,” Philip began, “tell me, Sheila, what do you know of Xmas Dip?”

The End

 

149.  2025 FALSE DUCKS NEW YEAR’S DAY VIDEO RAMBLE.  I know, I know, I have yet to unpack the 2025 False Ducks Video Ramble!  Next time, I promise.  I got sidetracked with these two 150ish blahg recaps.  At least you can view the video:

 

150.  DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB…UNBOXING!  150, we finally made it.  This was number 150 and I didn’t even realize it.  This is a follow-up blahg to blahg number 140  DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB.  I finally received the NFT Funko Pops from last year.  Here’s a video of my unboxing:

Here’s a photo of all six of the NFT Funko Pops:

I looked into this further.  Even though they say there are 999 of the Liquidator available, only 491 were collected.  Of the 2100 available for Fat Cat only 999 were issued, there were 1,024 issued of the 2100 for Ma Beagle, 1,024 of the 2100 for Quackerjack, and 2418 of the 5000 for Glomgold.  I am not sure about the Don Karnage figure.  It said there were going to be 2300 available and I think only 755 were redeemed.  So, I guess these are rarer than I thought.

 

That’s it for the recaps.  I don’t know how long it will take to get to 200 blahgs but I’ll keep going as long as everyone is reading…or even if you’re not.  Hello?  Is anyone there?

Read the rest of this entry »

THIS IS 150…ISH, PART ONE

February 1st, 2025

   Well it happened again. Scott Reading A BookI reached a milestone in my blahgs by posting my 150th blahg.  The 150th blahg happened with the posting  of  DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB…UNBOXING!  In the past when I’ve reached the 50 mark I would post a special blahg reviewing the previous 50.  Starting with the 50th blahg, I posted, THIS IS 50, PART ONE, and because the blahg was so long, I had to break it up a bit and post a second part, THIS IS 50, PART TWO.  The next 50 were covered in THIS IS 100, PART ONE and THIS IS 100, PART TWO.  In case you’re wondering, it took me four years and two months to reach number 50.  My first blahg, THE BLAHG & THE MOST HAPPY SOUND was first published on October 2nd, 2011 and number 50 debuted on December 2nd, 2015.  I didn’t reach 100 until August 25th, 2021 which was more than five years and eight months later.  Finally, number 150, which was the previous blahg, and not this one, was posted on January 14th, 2025 and that was almost three years and five months after number 100.  I lost ground between 50 and 100 but have sped up a bit between 100 and 150.  So, let’s get into the review of 101 to 150.  I guess Unpacking the 2025 False Ducks Video Ramble is going to have to wait a little while longer.

101.  THIS IS 100, PART TWO was the second half of summing up blaghs 51 through 100.  If I had to pick one of those blahgs to focus on it would have to be STILL THINKING FOR MYSELF.  It highlights my philosophy that you should think for yourself.  That means being informed and not listening to the rot and untruths from others.  This is where I get political for a moment.  The United States reelected Donald Trump as their President and I don’t think his supporters did any thinking for themselves.  He was spouting lies and fact checking proved that.  Now the world has to pay for the nonsense and horror he’s going to put us through.  If you’re going to vote, don’t follow the others off a cliff by listening to only one voice.  Do your research.  Check the facts.  The only voice you should listen to is your own…unless you’re a Donald Trump, Doug Ford, or Pierre Poilievre supporter then you should definitely shut up and let mine be your voice of reason.

 

102.  THE SOUND OF MY OWN VOICE.  On reviewing 101 I said mine could be the voice people should listen to when it comes to politics.  I’ve had some experience with doing radio sketch comedy through our Dead From The Neck up program but I’ve come to realize I’m not the best narrator when it comes to my written work. I’m no Jean Shepherd, the narrator of the 1983 film, “A Christmas Story.”  I put together audio recordings of me reading each of the chapters from my novel “Pippa’s Passing” and added computerized voices and music and sound effects.  I think the computerized version of Pippa was better than me.  Here’s chapter 6 “Revelations At The Avocado House.”  Judge for yourself.  Then again, maybe like Mohamed Ali, I am the greatest. 

 

103.  DEAR SCOTT HENDERSON. This was a blahg about writing a letter to myself in the future, from when I was younger, asking how to get through or get around things.  The big thing was I figured it all out for myself and if I had had a response from my future self it would have probably said “Dear Dumb Ass, Figure It Out For Yourself.  I Did.”  I wouldn’t be the person I am today without the experiences, the disappointments, the grief, and the heartache I’ve experienced over the years.  Okay, not so much heartache as I have the love of a good woman, Jeanette, and that’s made me the better for meeting her.  I’ll revise that letter to my younger self to say “Dear Dumb Ass, You’re Going To Meet A Wonderful And Beautiful Person Named Jeanette.  DON’T F**K IT UP! 

 

104.  BUILDING A CHRISTMAS SPECIAL.  I was working on putting together a 2021 Dead From The Neck Up Christmas special.  This blahg highlighted some of my pre-recordings where I did all of the voices but not all of the music and sound-effects were mixed in.  I really liked the aired version of “The Red Menace” but my rehearsal recording of it showed I was having some fun with it:

 

105.  THE 2021 DEAD FROM THE NECK UP CHRISTMAS SPECIAL.  This was the debut of the Christmas Special I mentioned in the blahg “Building A Christmas Special”.  If you want to hear the whole special, it’s available on YouTube: 

 

106.  2021 – WHAT DID I ACCOMPLISH THIS YEAR?  Well, that’s a good question.  I guess the milestone was reaching 100 blahgs in 2021.  Now I’ve passed 150 with this blahg.  Not bragging…just kidding, I really am bragging! 

 

107.  THE 2022 FALSE DUCKS VIDEO RAMBLE.  For some reason, this did not post to YouTube.  If you’re seeing the video below then I’ve fixed the issue. If I can’t find it then I’ll put in a placeholder which is my 2022 Christmas Tree Launch video which was posted in January of 2023 because I was launching the Christmas 2022 Christmas tree…or at least I tried to.

 

108.  SAY IT AIN’T SO – NO MORE WEEPIES.  Well it happened.  A great band that I really enjoyed, broke up.  They were a husband and wife team and they divorced.  They were/are Deb Talan and Steve Tannen.  They’re just as good on their own but they were magical together.  Here’s a video of Deb Talan from last year, 2024, and here’s her introduction:

Got a superduper band together in my Artbarn, to play through a couple songs from my upcoming album. Bryan Vanderpool —drums, vocals, Dan Padley–electric guitar, Drew Morton–bass, Dave Helmer–acoustic guitar. Jason Smith filmed, with some support from Jeremy Mims, and another very nice fellow whose name I am forgetting right now….Peter….Pete Coolcarguy. Thanks everyone : ):

Note that Deb mentions an upcoming album.  Can’t wait! 

As for Steve Tannen, I can’t find anything new from him.  I do like his song “Sing Me To Sleep” from 2000 so I’ll post that:

 

109.  FREEDOM CONVOY…NOT SO MUCH…GO HOME! A bunch of disgruntled Canadians didn’t like masking mandates or Covid 19 vaccine mandates.  They decided to block downtown Ottawa and honk their horns around the clock.  They went home but not before the Canadian government had to use the the Emergency Measures Act to get them out.  Was the Government right about using it?  Ask the people in Ottawa who got to sleep again and had their city back.  Some of the protest organizers have been convicted in court.  I won’t comment on that either.  Maybe their future selves should have written to them and started with “Dear Dumb Asses.” 

 

110.  RUSSIA: GET OUT OF THE UKRAINE! This was a very short blahg but deserves repeating.  This is going to be another quick blahg.  Russia needs to get out of the Ukraine!  We need to support the Ukrainians any way we can and then later go after Putin for war crimes.
Little despots who try to annex other countries have always failed in the past.
The world is watching!! 

Donald Trump is talking about annexing Greenland and possibly Canada.  I’m sure Greenland would say the same as all Canadians, WE ARE NOT FOR SALE.

 

111.  PIPPA’S PASSING.  This was the first blahg where I mentioned I was writting a new novel called “Pippa’s Passing.” I had only written 57,000 words at that point and thought I would complete it with another 35,000 words for a total around 92,000.  I surpassed that with a novel clocking in at around 120,000.  The image at the right is the cover designed by my daughter.  You can order a copy of the novel on Amazon:  https://www.amazon.ca/Pippas-Passing-Scott-Henderson/dp/1738299120/ref=sr_1_1?crid=17VQS8Y4W6XVN&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.tZB__wB1CglXGVRj0WczhXkKeBXVXCHKTAWgkJXR50ZwZk3lK82YLeGm-7ee9xQdT8tVNCQzog7zOt4MsipidonKxaKnLjWMymaUyuS8GZ6qPY0NqaFijKeb8KumYT_LTzKfM0R88ZYv5GgSHJacTNELjnTJQDXU_sNhbCHYJF7yDE3q8aTa8siucAv6s3CQPKazfhYqvd4Hpyc23x2i0g.9H8XJQlIpSBeyh2JgVuAhJdIx3ysQ_dFI757fXrkwTk&dib_tag=se&keywords=pippa%27s+passing&qid=1738167750&s=books&sprefix=pippa%27s+passing%2Cstripbooks%2C239&sr=1-1

What I have never revealed is that the novel was inspired by reading of the passing of a girl I went to Quinte Secondary School with.  Her name was Sherry Cornwall.  I didn’t know her well but the character of Pippa was inspired by Sherry.  I wrote about Sherry’s passing in 2012 in a blahg with the title, STELLA AND SHERRY, I HARDLY KNEW YE. It took me ten years to finally write the novel “Pippa’s Passing” after being inspired by Sherry’s passing.

 

112.  SOME THINGS TO CELEBRATE–TEN YEARS ON.  “Pippa’s Passing” was mentioned again with me stating I had finished it to a total of 116,000 words.  Of course, six months later I would add another chapter and top the 120,000 word mark.  I also talked about celebrating my 35th wedding anniversary to my lovely wife Jeanette.  Another celebration was the fact that I was hired to write the liner notes for the new Linda Keene release from Fresh Sound Records,  “Linda Keene, One More For the Road. The Dixie Songbird’s Complete Recordings.”  The CD set included two songs from a 78rpm acetate I had discovered and purchased from Ebay.  Here’s one of those songs, “Muddy Waters”:

 

113.  WHAT IS 60?  There must be a theme going on here.  This was another reflective mood blahg about turning 60 and linking it to a poem I wrote once about talking to my future self.  The poem was “to old one.”  In this case, I  was writing to my future self and not my future self writing to me.  Clear?  Probably not.  Read the poem.

to old one

I imagine one day
I’ll be old —
and knowin’ me
one day will be about
all I can hack —
so I’m writin’ this to my old self
not what I was
but what I’ll be
for that one day

I’m tellin’ myself
to be happy
bein’ old
’cause maybe by then
I’ll have deserved that
but now I can’t accord any dignity
in addressin’ my old self
and this’ll only make sense
later on
to an old man

but old one,
that’s you or I mean me,
yer ruptured youth
is writin’ to you here
’cause we’re two different persons
you and me
and you know things
I’ve yet to comprehend
and you’ve forgotten things
I’ve yet to live
but that’s ’cause
yer memory and you
are old old one

and there was a time
when I needed you
to talk to me
and tell me
how I got by things or
over ’em or
through ’em
but that’d be cheatin’
and I matured into that truth

but old one
young one
still needs you
’cause I need to know
I’m still gonna be me
but old me
and someone new to talk to
if only in my mind
when we’re one

so know yer youth
old one
and keep in touch
or get in touch
with this
young one
who needs not to know
you’re old old one
but old enough to remember being
young once
and writing to
yer old self
to hear if
you stayed
old
long enough
to receive this poem
written by
yer young one once

 

114.  THE NEW YEAR’S DAY 2023 FALSE DUCKS VIDEO RAMBLE.  I still haven’t found the 2022 Video Ramble but at least I can link to 2023:

 

115.  HOW WAS YOUR CHRISTMAS?  Christmas of 2022 was postponed.  There was a huge snowstorm over Christmas and my daughter Emily and her husband Charlie, and my son Noah couldn’t get to our house until Boxing Day.  It will still a good time.  Here’s what I posted:  Well, it started snowing December 23rd and didn’t stop until late Christmas night on the 25th.   The roads were closed out our way and the major highway between Toronto and Belleville was also closed.  I had a large snowdrift in front of my garage door to the top and I had to dig it out to get at my snowblower.  On Christmas Eve, Abbie and I walked out in the falling snow to the end of our driveway and by then it was knee high.  Here’s a video of Jeanette and I heading out Christmas morning to clear the driveway again:

 

116.  MORE VINYL & THE GHOST OF THE TURNING POINT.  The Turning Point is a used record store in Ottawa…and it’s haunted!

Here’s the story:

Notice that all of the records are stacked upright and the centre aisle has trays of these stacked records.  I had gone through one section looking for some Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen that my son didn’t already own but to no avail.  I ended up picking up the Mel Tormé record I mentioned earlier in this blahg.  When I go to record stores I’m also on the hunt for old Dixieland Jazz albums so I had just walked past one of these trays of stacked records and I said aloud to my wife “I wonder if there’s any Dixieland Jazz around here.”  Suddenly, half of one of the stacks flipped forward and because I was facing the rear of the stack that was flipped, I ended up seeing the back cover of this album:

Needless to say, I was a little taken aback but was determined to buy this record recommended by a ghost.  The official title of the album is “New Orleans Dixieland Superstar Jazz Artists” by, of course, New Orleans Dixieland Superstar Jazz Artists.  Here’s the front cover:

Here’s “When The Saints Go Marching In” from that album.

 

117.  A BAKER’S DOZEN MORE FOUND VINYL RECORDS.  I highlighted some more records I had found at thrift stores.  Here’s the list:

  • –Les Brown Jr. – Wildest Drums Yet!
  • –Omega Jazz Band
  • –Beverly Kenney – Born To Be Blue
  • –Pete Daily’s Dixieland Band
  • –Frank Traynor’s Jazz Preachers
  • –Climax Jazz Band Volume 1 Stereo
  • –Lester Lanin and His Orchestra – The Madison Avenue Beat
  • –Willis Jackson Quintet – Please Mr. Jackson
  • –Drumsticks – Trumpets – And Dixieland
  • –Golden Era of Dixieland Jazz
  • –Dukes of Dixieland – Come To The Cabaret
  • –Tony Pastor Meets Ike Carpenter
  • –The Greatest White Trumpeter of All Time Bunny Berigan

I’ll highlight only one in this recap, “Frank Traynor’s Jazz Preachers”:

Here’s one of the songs from the album called Apex Blues:

This blahg is all about adding value so here’s one from the album Frank Traynor’s jazz preachers plays show tunes.” (is it me or is that title grammatically incorrect?) Here’s “76 Trombones”:

 

118.  THE NEW WASHING MACHINE AND THE NEW DISHWASHER. GUESS WHICH ONE I HATE?  I’ll answer the question.  I love the Washing Machine.  GE Adora 27-inch 4.9 (IEC) Cu. Ft. Top Load Washer with Stainless Steel Drum in White, Model # GTW495DMNWS.  The Dishwasher is a Galanz GLDW12FWEA5A.  I don’t really hate the Dishwasher but customer service with Galanz was awful.  You’d think my future self might have written me and said, Dear Dumb Ass, Don’t Buy A Galanz.  In case any of you are not getting the message, here it is:  DON’T BUY A GALANZ! 

 

119.  A SHOUT OUT TO MY DAD.  I was feeling nostalgic for my Father, George Henderson.That blahg was written on May 24th, 2023, four years after my father passed away.  I still miss him.  I sometimes say the only thing I got from my dad was the white hair.  I think I got much more…and I’m thankful for all of it. 

 

120.  ANOTHER BAKER’S DOZEN MORE FOUND VINYL RECORDS.  There’s another title that’s probably not grammatically correct.  I presented 13 more records I had found at thrift stores and linked to other albums and videos that made the total closer to twenty.  Here’s the list of the thirteen records I reviewed: 

  • “That Happy Dixieland Jazz” by Jimmy McPartland And His Dixielanders
  • “The Cheerleaders Sing Dixieland Jazz”
  • “Dixieland Left And Right” featuring Johnny Best And His All Stars & Dick Cathcart And His All Stars.
  • “Red Hot & Peppy Fields”
  • “Eydie in Dixieland” featuring Eydie Gormé.
  • Kings of Dixieland Volume 2
  • “AMF Presents Music For Swingers”
  • “Dixieland (Live Performance In New Orleans)” featuring Pete Fountain.
  • Pete Fountain “Standing Room Only”
  • Pete Hurtz And His Dixiaires – “Midnight In New Orleans.”
  • “The Sensational Barons of Dixieland Visit the Bowery”
  • Preservation Hall Jazz Band – “New Orleans, Volume 1”
  • Pete Jolly – “When The Lights Are Low”

Yes, a lot of those were Dixieland albums but the Pete Jolly album was a nice instrumental.  Here’s “That Old Feeling:”

 

121.  GET LOST GALANZ!  An update about poor customer service from Galanz regarding my dishwasher.  They said they couldn’t repair my issue and said they were sending me a refund by cheque.  Never happened.  It’s been 18 months and I haven’t received anything.  Here’s what I wrote in that blahg:

As for Galanz, I researched and found the promised “cheque in the mail” was a scam they pulled with many customers. Check out this website to see complaints regarding Galanz and how they never resolve their customers’ issues:

https://www.bbb.org/us/nj/ridgefield-pk/profile/manufactured-home-supplies/galanz-americas-ltd-co-0221-90184883/complaints

DON’T EVER PURCHASE A GALANZ PRODUCT!  YOU WILL REGRET IT!!

By the way, I fixed the issue myself, probably voiding the warranty I couldn’t get honoured from Galanz. 

 

122.  WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THAT BLAHG ON DOTTIE REID?  I finally got around to writing the blahg about the singer “Dottie Reid” I had promised to write.  In that blahg, I mentioned that she once recorded with Johnny Richards.  Her one official recording with the Richards outfit was on December 4, 1944 when she recorded the song “I’m Gonna See My Baby.”  Here’s an image of the 78 rpm record.

 

I won’t re-post that track but will add a radio broadcast from March 10, 1945 which was Victory Parade of Spotlight Bands, a live remote from The Main Ballroom of The Hotel Roosevelt in New York City for the members of Torpedo Boat Squadron #39 stationed at The Brooklyn Navy Yard.  It’s a fifteen minute program where you get to hear Dottie Reid doing vocals on “A Little On The Lonely Side” and a live version of I’m Gonna See My Baby”:

 

 

123.  SINATRA: SYLVAN BEACH TO CRYSTAL BEACH. AND WHAT ABOUT SCHENECTADY?  I wrote this blahg about trying to solve the mystery of whether Sinatra and Harry James played Sylvan Beach, New York in September of 1939 and whether Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey ever played Crystal Beach here in Ontario, Canada.  The answers are yes, no, and I don’t know.  Yes, Sinatra played Sylvan Beach September 1st, 1939:

No, Dorsey and Sinatra never played Crystal Beach.  That makes the poster below, a fake: 

I don’t know, that refers to Schenectady.  I could never find any proof about that.  I did, however, uncover a new listing for December 8th, 1939 that had gone undocumented.  December 8th, 1939 Broadmoor Ballroom, Colorado Springs, Colorado, Sinatra was there with Harry James.  The following articles detail the event, how poor the turnout was, and how a College student who sponsored the event had to leave school because the audience attendance was not as expected. 

 

 

124.  HEY, REMEMBER THAT BLAHG ABOUT DOTTIE REID I FINALLY WROTE?  Hey, remember blahg number 122 WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THAT BLAHG ON DOTTIE REID?  Well, you should, it was just reviewed above.  This second blahg was an addendum where I talked about and featured tracks of Dottie singing live with the Buddy Rich Orchestra in 1946.  Those tracks were from an album called “One Night Stand with Buddy Rich” Volume 2.

I didn’t have this album when I did my first blahg on Dottie Reid but had purchased it by the time I wrote the addendum second blahg.  As, I have no other update on Dottie Reid, I’ll repost the three tracks from the above album that feature Dottie Reid.  First is “Just A Sittin’ And A Rockin’” from March 28, 1946 at the Hollywood Palladium:

   Next is “Personality” from March 21, 1946 at the Hollywood Palladium:

And finally, here’s “Do You Love Me” from March 27, 1946 at the Hollywood Palladium:

One day I’ll write an addendum to that addendum blahg if I ever track down any other Dottie Reid vocals. 

 

125.  WHATEVER HAPPENED TO MISS REGINA HASSOCK OF 1947?  In case you haven’t read this one, it’s all about the big band singer, Marie Carroll.  She was also known by Margie Carroll and Marion Carroll.  I did some tracking of her through newspaper and magazine archives but was not ever able to find an obituary.  Here was the last piece of information I posted about Marie Carroll:

The next, and final piece of information, that I could find about Marie Caroll was a report that she had become Miss Regina Hassock of 1947. This article appeared in the Radio & Appliance Journal of April 1947. You can click on it to view a larger article.

In March of 1947, the Radio Retailing magazine had also mentioned that Marie Carroll was Miss Regina Hassock for that year:

That same edition of Radio Retailing also featured a full page spread with a photo of Marie Carroll as Miss Regina Hassock:

That’s it.  After 1947, I could find nothing.  I did find a song by her from 1939 that is supposedly with Harry James.  Here’s the video on YouTube of her singing “I’ve Heard That Song Before.”

The most significant thing is not the audio recording but the comments to the video.  Here’s what’s written in a couple of comments:

Thanks very much for posting this – Margie Carroll was my husband’s grandmother and this is the first time we’re hearing a recording of her! Can you let us know where we might be able to find this broadcast?

Hi there- thank you so much for posting this. I am one of Margaret’s grandsons and am still very much hoping for any additional information you can provide about this recording or album. I would really love to track it down for my family. Please let us know. Thank you so much.

I’ve reached out to the people who made the comments but haven’t heard anything back.  If I do, I guess I’ll be writing an addendum to my Marie Carroll blahgs as well. 

  

   Speaking of addendum, there’s going to be an addendum to this blahg.  I always find that there’s so much crammed into these 50, 100, and 150 blahg milestone postings that I have to break it in half.  Stay tuned for “This is 150…ish, Part Two.

DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB…UNBOXING!

January 14th, 2025

   I know, I know, I haven’t written the Unpacking the 2025 False Ducks Video Ramble!Scott with Liquidator  I was going to start writing that blahg but two packages arrived in the mail yesterday so I’m switching from an Unpacking blahg to an Unboxing blahg.  None of that will make sense, nor will the photo to the right, unless you have read my blahg from last September entitled DARKWING DUCK AND THE NFT CASH GRAB.  Do yourself a favour and check that out before you read on. 

   Okay, if you’re like me, you probably didn’t go back and read that previous blahg and do some research.  Let me summarize for you.  In that blahg, I talked about my Darkwing Duck and other Disney Afternoon Funko Pops.  I showed off my collection.  Let me summarize that for you, as well, in image format.  First up are my Darkwing Duck Funkos.  Click on the image for a larger view: 

Darkwing Duck Funkos

Next up were my Talsespin Funkos: 

Then there were my Ducktales Funkos: 

And finally, the only Chip & Dale Rescue Rangers Funko in my collection: 

Of course, when I wrote that blahg, I noted that there were five other Disney Afternoon Funkos that I didn’t own and there were chase variants for Monterey Jack from Rescue Rangers, Wildcat, Louie, a flocked Baloo from the Talespin series, and a variant of Scrooge McDuck: 

Flocked Baloo

I don’t have the chase variant for Scrooge McDuck but I did find the Louie chase at a local shop and picked up the flocked Baloo at the Ottawa Comicon last September.  My wife tracked down and gave me the Monterey Jack and Wildcat chase Funkos for my Birthday.  I talked about that in a previous blahg, HOW WAS/WERE MY BIRTHDAY(S)?

   Now for the Funko NFTs.  Here is the image I posted in my first blahg about the Disney Afternoon NFT Funkos: 

None of those had been released when I posted about these Funkos in September of last year.  Finally, meaning yesterday, I received my NFT Funkos.  I won’t hold you in suspense.  Here’s a video of me unboxing the two packages I received yesterday: 

I went through a lot to finally own these and I’ll say it was worth it once I opened the box and held them all in my hand.  Here’s a photo of them all after I unboxed them: 

My Funko NFTs

These are, of course, very limited and they have a production of only 2100 pieces for Ma Beagle, Quackerjack, and Fat Cat.  There are 5,000 of Flintheart Glomgold and 2300 of Don Karnage.  There are only 999 of Liquidator.  You would think that only 999 of Liquidator would make him one of the rarest in my collection but I have a two-pack of Peter Potamus and So-So where there were only 750 units released: 

That doesn’t mean Peter Potamus and So-So are any more valuable than my new NFTs.  I’d like to think the value is in the collection where I’ve completed everything in the Darkwing Duck, Talespin, and Rescue Rangers lines.  I still have to find that Scrooge McDuck chase and then my Ducktales collection will be complete. 

   So, what’s next?  I’d like to see some more Disney Afternoon releases.  How about that missing Bushroot from the Darkwing Duck series to complete the Fearsome Five?

Maybe Funko could release some other villains like Steelbeak, Tuskernini, or Taurus Bulba? 

Steel Beak

Tuskernini

Taurus Bulba

A Morgana MacCawber from the Darkwing Duck series as well as Stegmutt and Neptunia, all from the Justice Ducks who go up against the Fearsome Five would be awesome as well. 

Justice Ducks

From Talespin, I think a Molly Cunningham would be great to finish off the series. 

Molly Cunningham

Of course, Rescue Rangers would not be complete without Chip, Dale, Gadget, and Zipper. 

Ducktales is fairly complete but nice additions would be a Gladstone Gander or a Fenton Quackshell who is the secret identity of Gizmoduck (shhh, don’t tell anyone). 

Gladstone Gander

Fenton Quackshell

I wouldn’t say no to a Doofus Drake figure:

Doofus Drake

While we’re at it, let’s not forget the great inventor Gyro Gearloose and his pal “Little Helper”:

Gyro Gearloose

  If you want to get picky, we have a Ma Beagle but it would be nice to add some of the Beagle Boys.  How about a a triple pack of Beagle Boys? 

Beagle Boys

I’m going to go off a bit and be a little particular about the Goof Troop line of figures. There have only been three of these associated with that cartoon.  Max is the only one from the TV Show that’s been released:

 

From “The Goofy Movie” spinoff from the TV series there were Goofy and Powerline funkos:

Goofy Funko

Powerline

What I would like to see are Max and PJ figures:

Pete

PJ

 

And to be even more particular, how about a Super Goof funko?  He and Darkwing Duck are Disney’s greatest heroes!

Super Goof

If any or all of those come out as NFTs I’d have to rethink my aversion to the NFT program.

   We’ll see!

 

 

2025 FALSE DUCKS NEW YEAR’S DAY VIDEO RAMBLE

January 2nd, 2025

     It’s January 2nd, 2025 and time for my 2025 False Ducks New Year’s Day Video Ramble.  I recorded the ramble yesterday afternoon but I’m only getting around to posting it now.  I ramble quite a bit, as usual, in this year’s 2025 video ramble and I’ll unpack details on it in another blahg: 

I reference a couple of things in this video that I will post now and talk about later.  Here’s the package that Rogue found under the love seat:

Charlie's Package

And here’s Rogue:

Rogue the cat

And here’s our other cat, Zoey:

Zoey the cat

   I’m going to close with the same message I end with in the video.   All the best to everyone and let’s find that peace in the world, peace among ourselves, and peace in ourselves we all desperately need.  Happy New Year!

THE XMAS DIP

December 23rd, 2024

     Two more sleeps until Christmas.Santa Scott  I thought I was done with writing Christmas stories for this season but I managed to pen a new one since posting SEVEN FEET OF SNOW IN BUFFALO.  This story is a sequel to the one I wrote and debuted last year around this time, A VERY QUIET CHRISTMAS PLAN.  Do yourself a favour and read that one first.  My new story features the two characters of  Philip and his dog Carnival Barker.  I had this idea running around in my brain and realized it would be a decent story for those characters.  It’s not the best Christmas story I’ve ever written but I think it’ll offer some entertainment.

   Before I present the story, I’ll post some photos of my lawn display and some photos of my Christmas Tree, my Nutcrackers, and my mantle display.

Inflatables 1

Inflatables 2

Inflatables 3

Inflatables 4

Nutcrackers

Mantle Display

   Don’t forget to click on the images for a larger view.  And now for the story.  Enjoy!

 

THE XMAS DIP

by

Scott Henderson

            Philip stared at the sign-up sheet for the staff Christmas Party which was mainly just a glorified potluck where everyone stood around with paper cups and paper plates and paper hats and paste-on smiles that made Philip feel like everyone obviously wished to be somewhere else other than the staff Christmas Party.  Well, that was how Philip felt and with the only slot open on the sheet next to ‘Xmas Dip’ he felt like he’d rather be anywhere else other than standing there with pen in hand realizing he’d left it too late and was stuck bringing ‘Xmas Dip’; whatever the hell that was.

            “What the hell is Xmas Dip anyhow?” he said aloud to the sign-up sheet.  There was no response.  If there had been a response, it would have said something along the line of “what do you want from me, I’m just a signup sheet after all, and it was you that left everything to the last minute.”

            It was true, he had left it to the last minute but in his mind he’d had some really good excuses like he didn’t really want to go to the Christmas Party or everyone else was already signing up just when he was getting his mind around to thinking about signing up, or why bother to sign up because all the good stuff will be taken and he’d be stuck bringing something everyone else clearly didn’t want to opt to bring…such as Xmas Dip and that had to be the last thing anyone else wanted to bring or else they too had no clue what it was.  Philip sighed.

            “Why couldn’t it be like last year when we didn’t have a Christmas Party?” he asked aloud again but to nothing in particular.  The conversation with the signup sheet had been all one-sided and had gotten him nowhere.

            Of course Philip knew the answer to that.  Last year there had been a Christmas Party but they had called it a Christmas Gift Exchange or Secret Santa or something else that sounded festive unless you tacked on an expletive in the front and that just about summed up how he had felt about the whole thing and more so about this new Party thing and the mysterious Xmas Dip that made his head swim.  And maybe that’s what it was, he thought, a glorified swim where’d have to strip down and plunge into cold water and yet that sounded even more appealing than standing around with the paper cups and paper ad infinitum rot.

            He took a long breath in, exhaled, and then scrawled his name in the last open slot on the sheet.  It didn’t make him feel any less uneasy now that he’d accomplished it.  All he knew was he had to figure out what this thing was he was supposed to bring and whether it required him to make it or if he could get away with purchasing it somewhere.  He hoped for the latter.

            Philip thought back on last year’s gift exchange and how poorly that had gone for him.  He had drawn the name of someone he had not known well and even less well when it came to deciding what gift to purchase for that person.  Sheila.  Who was Sheila he had asked himself and then had to ask of others because he’d drawn a blank and then thought to himself that he wished he had drawn a blank…piece of paper that is, for all the effort he wanted to put into the exchange.   In the end, Philip did exactly what others did who really didn’t want to put much thought into it.

            There had been a limit of twenty dollars and that still didn’t narrow things down for Philip so he took a chance that perhaps Sheila liked coffee or at least would like the twenty dollar coffee shop gift card he decided on at the last minute.  It was for a national chain he’d seen on a number of cups on people’s desks or overflowing the garbage can in the break room.  Maybe Sheila was one of those who liked that coffee and a guess was more than he could make out on his own with the little he knew of the recipient whose name he had chosen.

            More than half of the employees had received coffee gift cards.  Philip was not exempt.  His had been to a coffee boutique and that experience had set him off and he felt like the whole Christmastime and yule whatever was wasted on him and he just wanted to have a quiet Christmas that had no rules and no bodies.  It was about all he thought he could stand without going overboard like wearing a paper hat and balancing a paper plate on your lap with a paper thin smile and yet he had to seem grateful for the coffee shop gift card he received and look as if he cared when Sheila opened the one he had purchased for her.

            Thinking on all of it, Philip could see how anyone who didn’t really know him or maybe did know him, and there weren’t a lot of those, and truth be told if there was a sign-up sheet to list off people who really did know him, there’d be a lot of blanks that would never be filled and all of those would think that Philip just wasn’t that in to Christmas.  Philip knew himself better than anyone possibly could and even he could see that was the definite impression he was giving off; whether he meant to or not.  And Philip wasn’t even sure himself if that was his intention.

            It really did start with the previous Christmas and how miserable he had been feeling and finding himself at a gift exchange congregation that wasn’t billed as a Christmas party and how it all left him totally uneasy when it came to social interactions.  Philip worked in IT and that was about as in the background as you could get in a company like the one where he worked.  He wasn’t like the other man-childs like Kenny or Jimmy or Dave-O who had cute nicknames and took nothing seriously except IT and then complained the loudest among themselves when anyone else did not take IT as seriously as they did.

            The man-childs were always the fun ones at any gathering because they had the best jokes and the best stories and Philip felt like he paled by comparison.  He wasn’t good at jokes and seldom remembered the punchlines and he didn’t have humorous anecdotes or interesting stories and he didn’t like to make IT jokes about other employees at their expense like Kenny, Jimmy or Dave-O.

            Thinking about it, though, Philip did have an interesting story but the telling of it last year would have made him seem pathetic or lonely or a number of other sad adjectives that clearly defined him but he didn’t care to admit to.  He could have told about his girlfriend Margo and how she had followed him home form the park one day and then left him months later on a mission of self-discovery and inexplicably took Carnival Barker.  He could have told as well about Carnival Barker, his dog, who had also followed him home one day and gained his name because he barked incessantly like a circus rowdy enticing people to crooked games or flamboyant shows of wild men of Borneo or seven-veiled women who danced the hoochie coochie; a dance just as mysterious as the Xmas Dip Philip had now committed to bringing.         And because no one really knew Philip, they didn’t get to hear that story about how sad he’d been feeling last Christmas and that he wasn’t really missing Margo but would have given anything to wake up on December 25th to the sounds of Carnival Barker extolling the virtues of Christmas morning.

             Oh yes, and there had also been that turkey raffle that had disturbed all his plans for a very quiet Christmas but that was another story altogether and no one had been able to attend his last minute gathering and Christmas Eve had turned out to be quiet in spite of his efforts to work the fresh not frozen turkey he had won into something even better than a gift exchange with paper hats.  The specialty shop coffee card had further added to his overall dismal feeling when he finally got around to visiting the store on the last day before it had closed for the holidays and he paid dearly for overpriced exotic coffee and was disturbed by the artisan baked dog biscuits at the counter that enticed owners to visit the shop with their pets in tow and he knew Carnival Barker would have enjoyed one but the dog was off somewhere with Margo and Christmas for Philip had not been looking merry and bright.

            He could have told that story because it was certainly interesting but it had been an unfinished story and he didn’t know at the time it would have a happy ending with Margo returning with Carnival Barker on Christmas Day.  It had an even more happier ending when Margo left in the new year and Carnival Barker stayed.  There was nothing however that would prevent Philip from telling that story this time around except that in reflection it probably wouldn’t be all that interesting to anyone else.

            This year, it was just Philip and Carnival Barker and another very quiet Christmas plan that would be preceded by a staff Christmas Party with Xmas Dip.  Philip pulled out his phone and dictated a reminder for himself after work to research Xmas Dip.  Maybe he could work that into a humorous story he could tell to others but imagined the man-childs would probably have more entertaining tales of other employees who couldn’t print over the network and when Jimmy or Kenny or Dave-O finally got around to resolving their issue, the printer would ultimately jam under the stress of numerous copies of the same document because the employee had kept pressing ‘print’ over and over again in a futile effort to complete their task.  The inside joke among the IT crowd was that those errors were not caused by the hardware or the software but by ‘user interface.’  That was a sly poke at the employee who always lost the battle in employee vs. machine.

            After work, Philip did his best to decipher the enigma of Xmas Dip.  It did not go well.  Search engine results ran the gamut between vegetable, meat, and dessert dips layered or unlayered with or without sour cream, whip cream, dairy substitute, faux meats, real meats and sundry vegetarian options.  There were even photos that weren’t clear and when Philip clicked on them, he invariably went down a rabbit hole of ingredients, preparation steps, cooking times, chilling times, and tests for doneness depending on how gelatinous or not the maker cared to make it.

            “Does this look good to you?” Philip found himself asking of Carnival Barker.  The dog did not live up to his name and remained silent while he stared at his owner contemplating images on the screen in which the pooch had no interest.  He was after all, a dog who knew nothing of computers but if he did, he’d shake his head, whine, and chalk up his owner’s indecisiveness to problems of user interface.

            Philip selected a link labelled ‘Xmas Dip On Xmas Day’ and was surprised by a video of Nordic participants plunging into icy waters; with or without Santa hats.  Philip felt affirmed that at least one of his thoughts regarding Xmas Dip had held some truth.

            “How about this one?” he asked again of the dog.

            This time Carnival Barker gave out with a yelp, not because he understood what he was seeing but the audio was loud enough that he could distinctly hear the baying of other dogs either participating in the event or signaling to their masters and mistresses that dry land was a good deal more suitable and significantly and preferably warmer.

            “You’re a lot of help, Carnival Barker.  I don’t think this is what the sign-up sheet called for.  Besides, I don’t think I’d look all that good in a speedo at the Christmas Party looking for a body of water and having to settle for drenching myself with paper cups filled from the water cooler.”  Philip began to laugh at his joke.  He’d have to remember that one.  Maybe he’d have something to tell if he found a lull in the conversation with the man-childs.

            Philip closed his eyes and poked a finger at a screen full of photos and followed through to a directions page for White Cheddar Cranberry Dip described as “a salty, sweet, and festive dip!”  It further exclaimed “It’s great for a holiday party or a tasty snack.”

            “Holiday party.  I guess that’s it boy!”

            At this, Carnival Barker began to yap; signally only that he had to go outside to do his business and no reflection intended on Philip’s selection.

            The day of the Christmas Party was not as bad as Philip had dreaded.  It was slightly worse.

First, his Xmas Dip didn’t work out as well as he had hoped.  This time it was not User Interface but rather Canine Interference.  The instructions had been fairly easy and very clear when directing him to prepare and assemble the dip as written. It had also directed him to cover and refrigerate for up to one day.  That was fine with Philip because it meant he could leave it to the last minute or day before and could pull it out the morning of the party.  Unfortunately, Philip did not factor in Carnival Barker and a moment of unguarded supervision when the dog expressed his satisfaction with Philip’s efforts on the dip by wolfing it down and licking the bowl clean.

Second, Philip had to leave for work early so he could stop off at the supermarket and find a pre-packaged dip.  The selection was minimal and he had to settle for two plastic containers; one dill flavored and one with chives.  Neither looked very festive and he was sure he’d be accused of making little or no effort.  He didn’t think telling everyone the dog ate his assignment would be convincing.

For the rest of the party, the man-childs monopolized most of the conversations or poked fun at others and their computer expertise or lack thereof.  There were even some comments about food items brought by others to the party and inevitably some jibes about the store-bought Xmas Dip.

Philip wanted to defend himself and lay blame at Carnival Barker but instead decided a better distraction would be to offer up one of the results of his Internet search.

“Did you know that Xmas Dip also refers to cold water plunging in countries like Sweden, Switzerland, and Norway?”  Philip finally had something interesting to offer.

“Like a polar dip?” Jimmy asked.

“Have you ever done it Phil?”  Kenny followed.

“Wouldn’t catch me doing it,” Dave-O chimed in.  “I don’t care to get frostbite in my nether regions.”

“I might do it,” Philip quickly offered, “if I don’t have anything better to do on Christmas Day.”  He quickly regretted it after he’d said it.

“That sure would be something,” Jimmy piped up.

“What a story you’d have to tell,” Kenny added.

“Wouldn’t catch me doing it,” Dave-O concluded.  He added the part again about frostbite in his nether bits.

“We’ll see,” Philip said.  “I’ll have to see how it fits in with my plans.”  He didn’t continue to explain about his plans which weren’t any kinds of plans except the very quiet Christmas type.  He slunk off quietly from the man-childs and decided to leave the party early.  No one noticed.  He left his containers of Xmas Dip for any and all takers.  He didn’t think there would be many and that more likely than not they’d end up in the trash with all the paper garbage.  Those Xmas Dips and the one consumed by Carnival Barker would not be stored as future Christmas memories.

On Christmas Day, Philip cooked a turkey with all of the trimmings.  He ate early and made sure he set a place for Carnival Barker at the table.  He left the dishes to soak in the sink and instead of a nap, decided to take his dog for a long after-dinner walk.  This was the quiet Christmas plan he’d had in mind.

In addition to his quiet Christmas plans, Philip had also been thinking long and hard about his conversation at the Christmas Party with the man-childs regarding his non-committal committal to a Christmas Day Xmas Dip; not of the edible kind.  The Nordic themed plunge hadn’t been anything he’d intended to do and yet he’d left it hanging and wasn’t sure that after the Christmas break Jimmy or Kenny or Dave-O might not seek him out and ask him details of his adventure.  What would they say if he didn’t follow through?  Could he bluff an interesting highly invented story?  He wasn’t good with stories to begin with and lying had never been his strong suit.

In Philip’s mind there were many good and rational reasons why he should avoid freezing cold water and nothing that suggested it was a good idea.  Maybe that’s why Philip kept thinking on it.  He’d penned his name in the empty spot next to Xmas Dip on that sheet at the office and in Philip’s mind it meant he was pledged to follow through on his obligation.  Nowhere had that paper detailed Xmas Dip as an edible product.  It could just as well have been referring to an action instead of a noun describing a festive dish homemade or store purchased.  He’d failed in one aspect so shouldn’t he try to succeed in the other?

On Christmas Eve there were no sugarplums dancing in Philip’s head nor the myriad of things associated with his and Carnival Barker’s dinner plans.  Instead, he dreamt fitfully of sub-zero water calling to him and Jimmy, Kenny, and Dave-O daring him on.

Philip tried to push the Xmas Dip swim aside while he prepared Christmas dinner but the thoughts lingered around the edge and when he added ice to his glass of liqueur served with his turkey, he found himself staring intently at his libation and wondering.

After dinner he grabbed up Carnival Barker’s leash and pulled on his toque and gloves.  The dog saw something bulging in the deep pockets of Philip’s parka but thought little of it.  Dogs don’t wonder much about pockets and if they do it’s with curiosity whether said pockets held dog treats or biscuits…not necessarily of the specialty coffee boutique variety.

Philip would often walk out to the park with man’s best friend.  It had been the sight of their first meeting.  Philip had walked around the lake in the center of the park and come across Carnival Barker sprawled out underneath a tree.  Philip had given little thought to the dog other than it was off leash and somewhere there was an irresponsible owner.  He’d hardly glanced at the dog as he passed and didn’t look back the whole way home or he would have discovered the hound following him.  Dogs might not ponder on computer recipes or the contents of pockets but it was clear that they gave great thought to potential new custodians.

Carnival Barker had come into Philip’s life and stayed; except when he went sojourning with Margo.  Philip’s ex female friend and his ex, but long longed for, furry friend had returned to him the previous Christmas.  But that was another story and Philip’s thoughts were on this current Christmas and the Xmas Dip.

Philip let the dog lead.  It knew the way.  The park and the lake at the center were in Philip’s thoughts so if he guided the dog along in that direction, Carnival Barker was none the wiser.

The lake was frozen over.

“Well, there goes that thought,” Philip said aloud.  He wasn’t directing it to the dog because the thought had not been one he’d shared.  It was also a thought not well thought out.  Of course the lake would be frozen.  It was winter and late December.  Philip’s thought had proven he had not been thinking at all.

Philip sighed.  It was very much like the sigh he had made before signing up for Xmas Dip for the staff Christmas Party.  Both sighs were akin to having to admit defeat.  Xmas Dip and Xmas Dip.  Philip felt he had failed on both accounts.

The lake was frozen over.  There was nothing to be done.  Philip reached into his pocket and pulled out an old towel he had bunched up at home and pressed down into his pocket.

“I guess I won’t be needing this,” he said as he tossed the towel onto a nearby bench.  Philip sat down dejectedly.

Carnival Barker sat down in front of Philip and stared.  He understood none of this.  All he knew was there had been no treats in Philip’s pocket in any case but then he’d not given it much thought as dog’s seldom do.  He did however sense that something was wrong though so he reached up and put a paw on Philip’s knee.

“I know boy, this hasn’t been much fun for either of us.”  Philip extended a hand, pat the dog, and then reached beside him and grabbed up a stick lying on the ground.  Despite his original thought against free range dogs when he had first encountered Carnival Barker, he would nonetheless indulge himself with a game of fetch whenever they found themselves alone in the park.

“How about I toss the stick, fella, before we head home?”  He unleashed Carnival Barker and gave the stick a hearty throw down the path that wound around the lake.

Carnival Barker was off in a shot and retrieved the stick and kept on running.  Philip ran after him.  It was always like this.  The dog didn’t so much as play fetch as he played keep away.  He’d always lead Philip on a merry chase until the dog tired or more likely the human tired and gave up and turned away with the dog finally following behind because the fun had gone out of the game.

Philip chased the dog along the path and finally came up alongside Carnival Barker and then made a lunge for the stick in his mouth.  The mutt liked this interaction and made a lunge of his own and sped off across the lake.  Philip followed and called after the dog.

“That’s enough Carnival Barker.  It’s time to go home.  Besides, I don’t like the looks of this ice.”  It was precisely at that moment that the ice revolted against the remark of its looks and gave way; plunging Philip up to his chest in frigid water.

Philip began to howl and bounce up and down to try and clamber back up on the ice.

Carnival Barker began to bounce up and down and howl back at Philip.

“For god’s sake, Carnival Barker, shut up!  Can’t you see I’m in trouble here?”  Philip shouted through chattering teeth.

Carnival Barker did shut up and then retrieved the stick he had dropped when he’d howled at Philip howling in the water.  He ran off back toward the shore.

“This isn’t a game, you dumb mutt!” Philip shouted in aggravation.  The dog was too far away to hear the ‘dumb mutt’ insult.  Not that he’d care.  He wasn’t the dumb one who had fallen through the ice.

It seemed like an eternity as Philip struggled to pull himself up onto the ice.  He’d read somewhere that you had to get your upper half out of the water and then wriggle and kick until you were free.  Then you were required to keep yourself flat and distribute your weight evenly in order to not cause the ice to further give way.  That was the eternity Philip spent trying to distance himself from the hole he’d created and trying to prevent another plunge into the cold lake.

His nether parts, as Dave-O had surmised were adversely affected.  Philip’s legs and feet were like ice.  His boots were full of water.  He continued to writhe his way toward the shore.

Meanwhile, Carnival Barker had made good on his name and had run off yelping until he encountered another human who might be able to help his.  A woman out for her Christmas Day constitutional had followed the sounds of the dog and came across the scene of poor Philip floundering on his stomach toward her direction.

The dog had given up all interest in the stick.  It wasn’t a quality game anymore because it seemed like Philip didn’t appear to be interested in their play.  Instead, he chomped onto the abandoned towel and ran around shaking it vigorously.  He liked the way it slapped against his head.  Maybe his owner would like to partake in this new sport.  He ran toward Philip to try and engage him.

“Oh my, are you alright?” the woman yelled toward Philip.

Philip tilted his head up to try and see who was there.  Carnival Barker ran up and smacked him with the towel.  Philip managed to grab the bottom of the cloth and the dog began to pull away.  He liked this new contest.  He pulled harder to keep possession of his prize.  The result was he began to pull Philip across the ice.

Soon the stranger joined in the game and began to try to wrestle the towel away from the dog’s owner.  When they had finally reached the shore, Philip released and began panting.  Carnival Barker had been victorious.  He dropped the towel and began to pant in unison.  It was the most fun the dog had had since running away with the stick.

“Here, let me help you up,” the woman said while wrapping the dog’s trophy towel around Philip’s shoulders.  Philip looked up at her to offer his thanks.

“Sheila?”  Yes, it was Sheila.  Sheila of the coffee card.  Sheila from his office with a position in the company he never did discover.  The truth was, he had lost interest in solving the mystery of Sheila.  That had all happened during the Margo kidnapping of Carnival Barker phase and he couldn’t think of much else back then.

“Philip?”  She’d finally managed to glimpse the face of the body that had lain flailing on the ice.  She recognized him.  He worked at her company in the IT department but he wasn’t like the others in that department.  He didn’t tell jokes or stories like his coworkers; the kind she failed to find humorous.  Philip was quiet and reserved.  That impressed her more.

Of course, unlike Philip, Sheila had done her research.  She had drawn his name in the Secret Santa at work the previous year.  She’d bought him a coffee gift card from a specialty shop where they also sold artisan dog biscuits for pets accompanied by their patrons.  Someone had told her Philip had a dog.  She hadn’t known, at the time, that man and beast had been separated prior to that holiday season.  Philip had kept that bit to himself.

There was nothing for it after that but for Sheila to accompany Philip and Carnival Barker home.  She was concerned for her coworker’s wellbeing.  Frostbite was top of mind.  It was top of mind for Philip, too.

“What is it exactly you do at the company?” Philip found himself asking of Sheila after he’d changed his clothes, put on a pot of coffee, and made them turkey sandwiches.

“I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours,” Sheila responded.  This frozen man from the surface of the frozen lake obviously had a tale to tell of how he found himself plunging into icy water.  She wanted to know more.

Philip understood that in her asking was that realization that he finally had something interesting to say.  She’d said “tell me your story.”  He had one.  He had a story.  It was partly his story and partly Carnival Barker’s.  The key thing was where should he start?

“First,” Philip began, “tell me, Sheila, what do you know of Xmas Dip?”

The End

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

SEVEN FEET OF SNOW IN BUFFALO

December 2nd, 2024

     Well, it’s time to debut this year’s Christmas story.Santa Scott I was struggling to come up with an idea for this year but the well was dry.  Then I thought of a story I had started a few years ago called “Seven Feet of Snow In Buffalo.”  Let me just say, a few years ago was actually ten.  When I checked the history of the file, I found I had lasted written anything on the story on December 3, 2014.  That’s tomorrow and with today’s final edit, I’m a day shy of the ten year mark.  There were probably a couple of leap days in that decade so it evens out to make it a full ten years. 

   This story was actually inspired by a real event.  Seven feet of snow actually fell on Buffalo, New York.  Here’s a summary from a Buffalo weather service website: 

The epic November 17-19th 2014 lake effect event will be remembered as one of the most significant winter events in Buffalo’s snowy history.  Over 5 feet of snow fell over areas just east of Buffalo, with mere inches a few miles away to the north.   There were 13 fatalities with this storm, hundreds of major roof collapses and structural failures, 1000s of stranded motorists, and scattered food and gas shortages due to impassable roads.  Numerous trees also gave way due to the weight of the snow, causing isolated power outages.  While this storm was impressive on its own, a second lake effect event on Nov-19-20 dropped another 1-4 feet of snow over nearly the same area and compounded rescue and recovery efforts.  Storm totals from the two storms peaked at nearly 7 feet, with many areas buried under 3-4 feet of dense snowpack by the end of the event.

I thought about that event and thought about my own Christmas lawn display and was inspired to write the story.  Unfortunately, I never finished it and the original ending I had for the story didn’t sit well with me.  This year, I was inspired again to get back to the story and again by new nativity display: 

My Nativity

 

Here’s a picture of some of that real seven feet of snow in Buffalo from 2014:

I finally came up with an ending to the story I thought was suitable and I spent ten days, when I could find the time, fleshing out the rest of it.  I had only written about three and a half pages ten years ago so I went back and did a slight edit but kept the majority of it.  I inserted a description of the metal star and the inflatable angel, like the ones from my picture, and the rest, another twelve pages, is the finish from this year. 

   Here it is.  I’ll put a line where the previous version stopped and where the new version begins: 

SEVEN FEET OF SNOW IN BUFFALO

By

Scott Henderson

            There was seven feet of snow in Buffalo.  This could not be denied.  It was a fact that was repeated constantly over the airwaves.  The whole city was digging out.

             “Seven feet of snow fell on Buffalo during the last 48 hours,” the newscaster proclaimed for what must have been the tenth time before Bert reached over and shut off his radio.

            “Seven feet of snow in Buffalo and what have we got here…nothing!”  Bert said this aloud to no one in particular.  The now quieted newscaster couldn’t hear him and no one in his family would listen to him anymore about that particular subject.

            Bert Chase was fed up.  He wanted snow and the fact that Buffalo had a monopoly on it didn’t help.  Here he was, four hours east of Buffalo, in Canada, the land of ice and snow, and there was nothing but grass.

            It wouldn’t have been so bad if Bert wasn’t as fond of Christmas as he was.  Well, it wasn’t Christmas exactly but, more to the point, Bert’s Christmas lawn display.

            Bert was a fanatic about his outdoor decorations and come the end of November he spent two solid days assembling and organizing his display so it would be perfect.  Was a little snow to help with that perfection too much to ask?

            “Is a little snow here too much to ask?”  Bert was musing aloud again.

            Christmas was Bert’s time.  Everyone knew it.  His neighbours on either side had Halloween and Bert got Christmas.  It was an unwritten rule in the neighbourhood

            The Halloween displays on either side of his house were impressive enough with all of the tombstones, cobwebs, ghosts, ghouls, and assorted monsters his neighbours could try and fit on their front lawns.  Ted and Carl, the aforementioned neighbours, always tried to outdo each other and both were always to be found outside on Halloween night in some outlandish costume passing out candy.  This year Ted had gone overboard with a particularly grotesque zombie costume he’d made himself while poor Carl was a distant second in his Dracula outfit offering to suck the blood of neighbourhood children before doling out tasty treats.

            But Christmas was Bert’s time.  Ted and Carl would put up lights on their houses but it was understood that lawn ornaments or large displays were Bert’s department.  Even other houses on the street scaled back their household adornments to allow Bert to shine.

            Bert’s display got bigger every year.  Sure, he had lights on his house, which he kept up all year round, but these were just a token.  It was the lawn display that drew crowds from near and far.

            Every year there was something new.  He had light-up animatronic reindeer, a group of plastic carolers gathered around a festooned fir tree, numerous plastic snowmen and penguins, giant nutcrackers, and a bevy of Santas in different positions.  Even inflatable designs were not forgotten.  When these began to hit the market in the past years, Bert would look for just the right ones to compliment his display.  He had an inflatable chimney with the back half of Santa sticking out while three desperate inflatable elves, stacked on each other’s shoulders, tugged away at Santa’s legs.  There was a giant snow globe where styrofoam chips blew around and fell about polar bears, adorned with Santa hats, chugging Coca Colas.  A lit Candy Cane lane ran along the driveway while an inflatable Santa, sleigh, and four tiny reindeer pulled at their tethers when the wind blew just right.  There were familiar characters from Peanuts and Disney sporting winter outfits.  And yet all of these paled in comparison to Bert’s newest addition.

            Bert had thought long and hard all year about what to add to the display that wasn’t already represented.  His wife gave him the kernel of an idea when she suggested a traditional Nativity.  But that wasn’t good enough for Bert.  He had to make it a spectacle that would be this year’s centerpiece.  Thus the idea for the Hollywood Nativity was born.

            Bert was pretty handy with tools and he had plenty of these in his garage.  Power tools, saws, sanders, and every variety of hand tools had been gifts to him over past Christmases, Father’s Days, and Birthdays and Bert put each of them to good use this year.

            It started with the Wise Men.  That came easy.  There were three of them so naturally he thought of the Three Stooges.  Plywood versions of Moe, Larry, and Curly were designed, cut out, and painted.  The idea for the gifts they brought to the Christ child was Bert’s inspirational stroke of genius.  He painted Larry with a few gold teeth and the cut out kneeling while pointing to his mouth.  The gift of gold was covered.  Next came Moe.  Bert didn’t know much about the gift of myrrh other than it was some kind of liquid that came in a jar or bottle.  So Moe came to the Nativity with a bottle of bootleg liquor.  This was homage to the classic Stooges short where they made bootleg scotch.  Moe’s bottle was real but the fake label said scotch, bore the Stooges image, and the words “111% Proof”.  Curly came next.  He brought Frankenstein.  Well, in truth, he brought Frankenstein’s Monster.  Frankenstein was really the Doctor but most people got that wrong and with an inflatable Frankenstein’s Monster, borrowed from Carl, and linked with a long chain to Curly’s hand, Bert thought it a comic parody perfect for his display.

            The shepherds should not exceed the Wise Men.  Two shepherds would be all it would take and keeping with the comic theme, Laurel and Hardy came to the manger.  Sporting the traditional shepherd garb and topped with their traditional bowlers, Stan and Ollie were a welcome addition.

            Bert couldn’t think of anything comedic to spin on the sheep and the camel so these were conventional.  Flanking these beasts however were barnyard animals courtesy of Looney Tunes.  Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Foghorn Leghorn, and even Pepé Le Pew, the lowliest of animals, were strewn throughout the scene.  Eyore the donkey, friend of Winnie the Pooh, was the beast of burden who bore Mary to Bethlehem.

            Mary and Joseph gave Bert only a moment’s trouble.  He wanted a traditional Hollywood power couple and Bert discarded a number of ideas before he settled on Lucy and Desi.  Who didn’t remember “I Love Lucy”?  Lucy with her red hair stood out nicely and the addition of a baby Shirley Temple doll with her curly locks in the manger topped everything off nicely.  So what if Shirley Temple was a girl?  In painted nativity scenes, the baby Jesus was always depicted with curly locks like Shirley’s.  Wrapped tightly in swaddling clothing, who would tell the difference?

            Bert arranged all of this up close to the front of his house against a stable backdrop he had fashioned himself.  Small flood lights were placed strategically to ideally light the Nativity. Over Bert’s front door was a shooting star he had found at a thrift store.  It was at least thirty years old and was made of metal.  The star was emblazoned with white lights and the tail sparkled in blue LEDs with strands of gold tinsel woven throughout.  The effect was stunning.  It was fastened to the house at least two feet above the door frame.  From the base of the star he hung an inflatable angel as if it was descending into Bert’s version of Bethlehem.  Everything was a marvelous tableau.  Everything was perfect…almost.

            There was no snow.  It needed snow to add an extra touch of Christmas to all of Bert’s lawn displays.  There was no snow.  Not here.  There was seven feet of snow in Buffalo but nothing here.

            “Seven feet of snow,” Bert began again, “and Canada gets nothing.”  It angered Bert that Buffalo had more snow than they really needed.  There was so much snow in Buffalo that they couldn’t give the stuff away.

Bert stopped suddenly after this thought.

            “Why not?” Bert mused aloud.  Something was sparking in his brain.  He had a thought.  Buffalo couldn’t give away the snow if there weren’t any takers.  Why couldn’t he be a taker?  Why couldn’t he just go down to Buffalo and get some of that excess snow?  It sounded crazy but maybe it could be done.

            Bert began to pace back and forth.  He had to think this out carefully.  There was snow in Buffalo and he wanted it here.  How could he pull it off?  Shortly, the answer came to him but it was one he didn’t relish. Stu.

            Stu was his wife’s brother.  Bert didn’t care much for Stu.  It wasn’t that Stu was good for nothing but there had been a time when that description was appropriate.  Stu had once lived with Bert and his wife while he tried to find himself.  It had taken him two years and some financial banking from Bert to make Stu the man he was today.  That still irked Bert.

            Stu ran a successful frozen food outlet and he eventually had repaid Bert but there was still something about Stu’s success that didn’t sit right with Bert.  The fact that he called himself Stuart now was particularly annoying.  He’d always been Stu before his success and Bert delighted himself in calling his brother-in-law Stu whenever he could.  Those opportunities to call him Stu were not frequent because Bert avoided Stu as much as he could.  But now he needed a favor from Stu and this didn’t sit well with Bert either.

————————— (old version ends and new version begins)

     “Oh, I know what he’ll say,” Bert said to himself; musing aloud again.

            “Are you crazy, Bert?  I can’t just lend you one of my refrigeration trucks.  This is my busiest time of year and a refrigeration truck full of snow driven across the border is going to raise some alarm bells.”  Well this wasn’t entirely what Bert thought Stu would say but it was exactly what Stu did say when Bert finally got around to approaching his brother-in-law.

            Bert had mulled things over for a couple of days and in that time the snow stayed away and news stories about Buffalo’s plight spurred Bert to put things into action.  He’d dropped in unannounced on Stu and unburdened his thoughts to his wife’s brother.

            “Do it for the kids, Stu.  Where’s your Christmas spirit?”  Bert thought that might raise a positive reaction.

            “I suppose that’s better than you saying I owe you,” Stuart replied.  “I don’t owe you anything Bert.  We’re square as far as I’m concerned.  And I prefer to be called Stuart.”

            “Listen Stu,” Bert continued, ignoring the plea in how he was to address him, “I’m not asking for money.  Okay, so you say we’re square.  I’m just asking for a small amount of interest on everything I’ve done for you.  It’s just a little snow.”

            “And a refrigerated truck to haul it in!   Besides, everything I have is booked up until the day before Christmas.”

            “I’ll take it!” Bert replied with enthusiasm; knowing full well that no official offer had been made.  He quickly stuck out his hand as if to seal the deal.

            “Wait, I didn’t promise anything!” Stuart reacted.  “I was just stating a fact.  Besides, December 24th is four days away.  It’ll be too late by then.”

            “No it won’t,” Bert countered.  He kept his hand extended across Stu’s desk.

            Stuart didn’t take Bert’s hand.  Instead, he leaned back in his chair and brought the tips of his fingers together as if in contemplation.

            Bert sensed he was on the losing end of his own proposition.

            “I’ll pay all the expenses.  Gas at my cost,” Bert added.  He was struggling to find anything that would persuade his brother-in-law.  “Please, Stuart.”

            Stuart stared at his sister’s husband.  He thought Bert must be desperate if he was going to address Stuart correctly.

            “And Christmas Dinner,” Stuart finally replied.

            “What do you mean by ‘and Christmas Dinner’?”  Bert was confused but he was still holding out his hand.

            “And Christmas Dinner,” Stuart repeated.  “I want an invitation to Christmas Dinner.  It’s been years since you’ve invited me over to your house.”

            So that was the catch.  Bert should have figured that Stuart didn’t do favours without expecting something in return.

            “And Christmas Dinner,” Bert sullenly responded.  He stuck his hand further in Stu’s direction.

            “And Christmas Breakfast,” Stuart added while grasping at Bert’s hand and holding it tightly.  Bert tried to pull his hand away as if stung but Stuart held fast.

            “And Christmas Breakfast?  What gives?”  Bert finally managed to free himself of Stu’s grasp.

            “Well, we probably won’t get back until late and then there’s all that snow to unpack.  You’ve got that great spare room and what’s a little breakfast between in-laws; especially the kind that lend you one of his third best refrigerated trucks?  We are going to have a grand adventure together.”  Stuart grinned, knowing he had secured the better part of the arrangement.

            “We?  As in you and I, we?”  Stu’s grin, like his handshake, was putting Bert off.

            “I’ll be there at six on Christmas Eve morning.  My truck.  My rules.  And I do all of the driving.”

            The handshake, the grin, having to say ‘Stuart’ and now the promise or threat of Christmas Eve morning was almost too much for Bert to bear but he couldn’t let Stu know that.  Instead he leaned heavily on the desk, quickly grabbed up Stu’s hand and shook it as if he was trying to wrench it free from Stu’s arm.

            “Deal!” Bert cried before sporting his own grin that made Stuart feel like he mightn’t have made such a great bargain after all.

            Stu did not show up with the truck on December 24th, until closer to nine that morning.  Bert had been waiting for him since half past five.  He’d been up early and ready to go with two of his best shovels ready for action.

            At seven, Bert began to worry and thought about calling Stu but kept making excuses for his brother-in-law like engine trouble or cross-town traffic.

            By eight, Bert began to fume and curse while his wife made excuses for her sibling.

            Thirty minutes after that, Bert stretched out to wait in his favorite lounge chair in an effort to go back to sleep.  He hoped to dream of throttling Stu or causing some bodily harm that didn’t leave bruises.

            Just before nine, Bert was brought fully awake by Stu shaking him.

            “Bert, Bert, get up!  I thought you wanted to get an early start?”

            The dream of hurting Stu never came but on waking, Bert was fully ready to launch himself with arms a-flailing in Stu’s direction.

            “I was ready by six!  Where were you?”  If Bert couldn’t strike out then at least he could add some venom to his words.

            “What do you mean six?  We said nine.”

            “We said six.  In fact, I’m sure it was you who said ‘I’ll be there at six on Christmas Eve morning.  My truck.  My rules.’ “

            “Look, I’ll prove it to you,” Stuart said, reaching into his pocket.  “Look at this.”  He produced a small square post-it note with a holiday border and handed it to Bert.

            “Bert, refrigerated truck, snow, Buffalo, December 24th,” Bert read aloud.  It was written in a large messy handwriting.  “It doesn’t state a time on here.”

            “Look at the other side,” Start gestured.

            Bert turned it over and saw a single number ‘6’.

            “It says 6, just like we discussed,” Bert replied; almost spitting the words out in Stu’s direction.

            “No it doesn’t, it says 9.”  Stuart grabbed at the note and then reread the first side to Bert.  “Bert, refrigerated truck, snow, Buffalo, December 24th and if you flip it over, it says 9.”

            “You don’t flip it over like turning a calendar from month to month, you turn it over like flipping a page on a book! You wrote 6 because we agreed to 6 Stuart!”  The inflection on Stuart was as hostile as Bert could make it.

            “Agree to disagree.  Regardless, I’m here now.”

            “Yes, and you’re three hours late!”  Bert wasn’t prepared to let it go.

            “Enough!” a female voice interjected.

            Both Bert and Stuart turned to look in Dottie’s direction.  The wife and the sister had spoken.

            “I’m sorry Dottie,” Bert and Stuart said in unison.  Her full name might have been Dorothy but no one dared call her that.  She didn’t put on airs like Stuart so she preferred the simplicity of ‘Dottie.’

            “I don’t know how you two are going to pull this thing off, and I have my extreme doubts, but you better put this squabbling aside or you’ll never get to Buffalo and that seven feet of snow you’ve been talking about.”  Now Dottie was finished.

            Bert and Stuart didn’t say another word.  Bert put on his coat and pulled on his boots.  He shoved a toque and gloves in his pocket and grabbed an extra pair for Stu.  He was sure that like the designated time, Stu would have forgotten the need for these as well.  Bert was right.

            Bert grabbed up the shovels and stowed them behind the seats in the cab of the truck.  Silence filled the rest of the room in the truck and neither spoke a word to the other until they were out of town and well on their way.

            “What’s your plan here Bert?” Stuart finally asked; breaking the silence.

            “Refrigerated truck, snow, Buffalo, December 24th,” Bert said reluctantly.  He thought about adding “6” but Dottie had kissed him at the door and said play nice.  This was Bert being nice.

            “I know that,” said Stuart, while trying not to react to Bert.  His sister had also hugged him on the way out and repeated the instructions of playing nicely.  “Where in Buffalo, exactly?  It’s big place!”

            “We’ll sort that out when we get there.  There’s seven feet of snow in Buffalo.  It can’t be that hard to find.”

            Stuart just shrugged.  He’d committed himself and he was doing all the driving.  Bert was right, though, seven feet of snow in Buffalo would likely be pretty apparent.

            “Okay, start the clock.  Four hours and counting down.  No muss, no fuss, leave the driving to us.”  Of course, by ‘us’ Stuart meant himself.  He’d told Bert “My truck.  My rules.  And I do all of the driving.”  That he could remember but when it came to the correct time that was a different story.  At least he’d got the date right.

            “Mind if I listen to the radio?” Bert asked.  Maybe some holiday music would make this journey more festive.  With music playing, he wouldn’t have to engage in conversation with his wife’s brother.  Play nice, she’d said.  She hadn’t said Bert had to talk to Stu.

            “No can do Bert, I had it removed.  Removed them from all of my trucks.  Just a distraction to the drivers.  Eyes and ears on the road, I always say.”

            Bert had never heard Stu say anything close to that.  No radio?  This was going to be a long four hours.

            Of course it took them longer than four hours.  Stuart’s sense of direction and driving skills were spot on but they hadn’t counted on the holiday traffic.  They reached Buffalo almost six hours after they left Bert’s house.  It had taken them four hours alone to get to the border and another hour at the crossing trying to explain why two Canadians with two shovels were entering the United States with an empty refrigerated truck.

            Stuart wanted to bluff their way through and say they were going to pick up a load of holiday turkeys and hams.  Bert agree that was plausible but pointed out they might be asked to provide some proof like a weigh-bill or anything that would corroborate their story.

            In the end, Bert felt the truth was their best recourse.  That’s why they were an hour at the border.  They were held for further questioning but no one could find a reason to deny them entry.  After all, they weren’t bringing anything into the United States and their plan to bring snow back into Canada, although far-fetched, was something for the Canadian authorities to pursue when they crossed back over.  They eventually were sent on their way and Bert was sure he could hear a few chuckles after the border patrol waved them through.

            The sixth hour was spent finding someplace to have a bite to eat and a rest stop.  Bert didn’t realize how hungry he was when they finally had ordered takeout.  It had been a long time since 5 a.m. when he’d had his breakfast and optimistically settled in to wait for Stu’s six o’clock arrival.

            “Okay Bert, what’s your plan here, I’ll ask again,” Stuart said between bites of his hamburger.  He and Bert had picked up their food and headed back out to eat in the truck.  The vehicle had been too large to maneuver through a drive-thru.

            “I’ve been mulling that over since we got here,” Bert replied.  “It’s been almost a week and all of the main routes have been plowed or the huge snowbanks are dirty with gravel and slush.   I’m thinking maybe some of the side streets.  They’re usually the last to be cleaned out.”

            After they finished eating, they spent twenty minutes crisscrossing some of the residential streets to no avail.  All of those streets had been plowed and the driveways for the homes had been shoveled or blown clear.

            Stuart pulled over on the side of one street and he and Bert both jumped out of the truck.

            “Let’s give it up Bert and chalk it up to a failed road trip,” Stuart said.

            “No, I won’t give up!  We’ve come this far.  I can’t come this close and go away empty handed.”  Bert was pacing back and forth and slamming his arms vigorously across his chest to stay warm.  It was cold outside when compared against the hours they had spent in the truck.

            “You’re close to nothing Bert!” Stuart shouted.  He turned away from Bert and gestured toward the street.  “There’s nothing here.  This was a fool’s folly at best.  Let’s get back in the truck and get some coffee and head home!”  That’s when the snowball hit Stuart in the back.

            Stuart turned and glared at Bert.  “Son, you’re going to regret that!” Stuart bellowed as he bent down and scooped up a handful of snow.

            “Don’t you dare Stu!” Bert hollered back.  “You had it coming.  You’re lucky I didn’t slam you before this.  This wasn’t a fool’s folly.  Or if it was, what does that make you for coming along?”  Bert leapt to the side as Stuart’s snowball whizzed by him.

            After that, the war was on.  Both took up positions on opposite sides of the street and began pelting each other with insults and frozen projectiles.  Nothing was off-limits.  Even past histories were resurrected and used as ammunition in the verbal assaults.  The snowballs kept finding their targets in each other and soon they both lay tired and spent in the snow across the way from one another.

            “Are you boys done, now?  You’re a little big for a snowball fight and from what you were yelling at each other, you’re obviously family, right?”  A woman out walking her dog glanced back and forth at Bert and Stuart and shook her head.

“In-laws,” they both shouted back.

“I guess that makes it okay, then?  Do you mind telling me what this is all about or do you want to explain it to the police?”

Neither Bert nor Stuart were keen on it escalating it that far.  They were strangers in this Country and neither wanted it to become an international incident.

Bert got up and approached the woman and began to tell her the story of his nativity and how he had come up with the idea of helping relieve Buffalo of some of its seven feet of snow.  Stuart came and stood by them and didn’t interrupt as Bert told their tale. He didn’t think it was necessary to add his thoughts about how Bert’s nutty idea had pushed them to this point.  This stranger could obviously gather all of that from their boisterous bickering and their now soaked clothing from having been bombarded by snow and then flopping down exhausted in it.

“I guess your story about wanting our snow is just as crazy as you two trying to injure each other from opposite sides of the road.  I might be able to help you but I’m not sure I want to after the way you’ve been treating each other.”  The woman glared again at both Bert and Stuart in turn.

“Please, uh, sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Bert inquired.

“Holly,” Holly began before glaring again at both of them, “and yes that’s my real name.  I’ve heard all the remarks that this time of year brings so you needn’t comment.”

“Holly and the Ivy?” Stuart queried.  He couldn’t help himself.

“Holly Jolly Christmas?” Bert chimed in while snickering.

“Get it all out,” Holly offered.  “I guess anything you can laugh at together is something you don’t use against each other.  “You might as well know that my middle name is Noel.  My parents loved Christmas.  It’s not bad the rest of the year but I get it good around this time, what with the holidays and all.”

Bert and Stuart began to laugh.  They looked at each other and laughed even harder at the sight of each other dotted where snowballs had hit their marks.  Eventually they stopped laughing long enough to engage again in conversation.

“Please Holly,” Bert continued, while trying to stifle the last of his chuckles.  “We’ve come a long way and we’ve got just as far to go and I don’t want to leave empty-handed.”

“Well, if you’ll promise to at least be civil to each other, I’ll show you something and then you’ll decide for yourself if it’ll help with your wild quest.”

Bert and Stuart both crossed their hearts and looked at each other without any malice toward the other.  Bert watched closely to make sure that Stu hadn’t crossed his fingers behind his back.

“Good enough,” Holly responded.  “Follow me, then.”

Holly led them around the block and up to a house where the snow still lay deep in the driveway and up the front walk.

“The Kelvins,” Holly pointed out as if it the name explained everything.  “They’ve gone south for the winter.  The Wilsons a few houses further on are the same.  Some of their neighbours will eventually get around to clearing this all out after Christmas.  I guess you boys have arrived just in time to help yourself.”

Bert and Stuart smiled at each other and, without a word, Stuart jogged off to get the truck.

“I’ll head home and see if I can convince my husband to give you a hand.  I’m not sure if he’ll believe your story but if a tall sandy-haired fellow named “Will” comes around then I guess I’ll have done a good job of recruiting.  Merry Christmas and good luck,” Holly concluded before leading her dog back in the return direction.

Stuart came around the corner honking at Holly as she passed the truck and was soon out of sight.

Bert opened up the back as soon as Stuart had come to a stop.  He grabbed up the two shovels from the cab and tossed one to his brother-in-law

“I’ll hop up inside and push back everything you toss up,” Bert instructed Stuart.  “Let me know when you want to switch.”

“You got it Bert.  I think between this house and the other, we should be able to really pack it in.”

Within fifteen minutes they both realized how tiring their efforts were going to be and how long it would probably take with two guys and two shovels to even make a dent in the seven feet of Buffalo snow in the Kelvins’ driveway and walk; let alone the other house up the street.  Bert was also getting even more soaked to the skin as shovels full of snow tossed by Stuart collided with him as much as it did the floor of the refrigerated truck.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Bert yelled.  “There’s got to be a better way.  Let me jump down and we’ll both try and throw snow up into here.”

They both continued shoveling and tossing the snow before the air soon became filled with the sound of some motorized devices.  Both looked around in case they were in the path of oncoming snowmobiles.

Coming from around the corner were three men with gas powered snow blowers advancing in front of them.  Bert thought of his nativity and the three stooges wise men approaching from the east to behold the miracle birth.  Instead these magi were bringing a miracle to this odd couple from the neighboring country to the north, now leaning heavily on their shovels and watching the procession.

As they approached, they slowed their engines so they could converse.

“Are you two the Canadians who want a truck load of snow?” the taller of the group spoke out over the low hum of the blowers.

“You wouldn’t be Will, would you?” Bert asked.  Stuart looked on dumbstruck.  First the sight of the three with their machines coming to their aid and now Bert seemed to know one of them?  Their outing had taken another turn toward the even stranger.

“Yep, and these are my buddies Phil and Bob,” Will said, pointing to the other two who waved back in turn.  “I can tell you I almost didn’t believe Holly when she told me your story but then I’ve never known her to lie.  I had to see for myself and brought my pals along for support.  Is that the truck?  Get her into position and we’ll get started.  It’s going to be dark soon.”

Stuart was still speechless but took the cue and backed the truck up against the end of the driveway.

Soon the trio was underway while Bert and Stuart tackled the walkway and heaved the snow onto the driveway where it was soon thrown into the air and into the back of the truck with the rest of the load.  Thirty minutes later they moved on up the street to the Wilsons and repeated their actions.  By the time they were done, the streetlights had come on and a beautiful sight of well-lit homes with holiday lights blazed into the darkness.

Bert stood back and looked at all of the Christmas decorations and soon he was reminded of his new Nativity scene and how it was waiting for his consignment of Buffalo snow.

“Thanks a lot guys,” Bert began in his thank you to his new American friends.  “We couldn’t have done it without you.  Well, we could have but we’d still have been at until New Year’s Day.”

“How about some holiday cheer before you go?” Phil offered.

“Or a holiday treat or two?”  Bob chimed in.  My wife’s been baking up a storm and I think I’ve gained five pounds this week alone.  I can’t ever say no to her shortbread.”

“We’d love to,” Bert replied, “but we’ve got a long haul ahead of us.”

“Besides, he’s driving,” Stuart added.

Bert just looked at his brother-in-law and grinned.  Another holiday miracle!  Bert was going to let him drive.

“Well, it’s a good thing I came prepared,” Bob responded.  “Compliments of the Mrs.” He reached deep in his parka pocket and produced a small clear bag containing a half dozen or more shortbread cookies.

Bert and Stuart made their thanks and climbed into the truck for the journey home.  They made only two stops.  The first was for coffee to go with the cookies.  They were anxious to get home and the treats were probably going to be their dinner.  Their second break came with the obligatory border check before they reentered their home country.  They had to explain all over again about their journey and had to show off their load of snow for inspection.  There were plenty of questions again but no one could say it was against any rule to bring into Canada that which naturally fell from the sky into both countries; even if it didn’t descend around Bert’s house.

The rest of the drive was pleasant enough with Bert extolling his amazement at their luck in meeting Holly and how obliging her husband Will and his chums had been to their cause.  Stuart regaled how he had scored heavily against Bert in the snowball fight and Bert just laughed and allowed his wife’s brother to rejoice in his victory; even though Bert felt he’d probably hit Stu more times by comparison.

An hour from home, Bert called Dottie and told her they’d be home soon.  He didn’t tell her the full story of their day but she could tell from the tone of his voice that he’d been successful and further that her husband and her brother must have called a truce.

When they drove up Bert’s street, he could see a row of cars parked looking at his lawn display.  His neighbours Ted and Carl were standing ready with their shovels to help and Dottie was passing around hot chocolate and some of her own Christmas cookies.  Even his children were there and walking about with some of the other neighborhood kids.

Many hands soon made short work and it was nearing midnight when they all stood back and looked at Bert’s display surrounded now by a layer of the snow they’d brought back from America.  It was quite a sight and the flood lights sparkling off the snow added to the festive scene.

Bert and Stuart held audience as they spoke of their mission and their battle against each other that had been interrupted by a Christmas angel named Holly who had brought them to their goal and supplied a group of helping hands; with one bearing festive baking for their return travel.

As the throng began to break up and head indoors, it began to snow.  Bert was heard to shout out his glee.  It didn’t matter that he’d had to drive to Buffalo with Stu and how he’d had to beg his brother-in-law for the loan of the truck.  It didn’t matter that he’d been soaked through from all of their efforts, and his mini-war with Stu and that he’d barely thawed out and dried off by the time they’d reach his house.  It didn’t matter.  In Bert’s mind, this new falling snow was the topper.  He’d done it.  He’d gotten some of that seven feet of snow in Buffalo.

Bert and Stuart were tired.  They weren’t long for bed.  Dottie caught her husband snoring moments after she had turned out the light.  She could also hear the snores of her brother chiming in from their spare room.

In the middle of the night, Bert got up to check on his display.  He’d been dreaming of it and he had to see it again.  He was dressed only in a t-shirt and boxer shorts but he pulled on his winter coat and boots.  He stepped out to find the snow still falling and the ground covered white and knee deep.  He waded around to the front and scooped snow out of the manger to reveal the babe.  He kneeled down and ran his hands through the doll’s curly locks.

“Thank you baby Jesus.  Thanks for bring us home safe and for the seven feet of snow that fell on Buffalo.”

Bert went back to bed.  His wife let out a little squeal as Bert’s bare legs brushed against her.  They were still very cold from where he’d squatted in the snow next to the tiny savior.  He’d had to scoop out quite a bit of snow but he was sure it would stop by morning.

The snow did not stop by morning.

By Christmas breakfast it was waist high and Bert had to unplug some of the inflatables as they were sagging beneath the weight of the snow and he was afraid their motors would soon give out.

The snow continued to fall as they opened presents.  Dottie had gone out last minute Christmas shopping and made sure there were gifts for her brother labelled from her, the children, and Bert.  Bert watched amazed at Dottie’s thoughtfulness and Bert’s delight at being included in the family’s celebration.

By Christmas dinner the snow was shoulder high and most of the characters in the Nativity were buried as they kneeled in the representation of ancient Bethlehem.  The snow was also halfway up the inflatable angel’s garment.

By the morning of the next day, the snow had risen to the eight foot mark and only the star above Bert’s door could be clearly seen; the only symbol left apparent from Bert’s nativity.

Stuart gave up all hope of digging out the truck.  The peace between Stuart and Bert began to wane and they were soon at each other’s throats again with Stuart blaming Bert for everything.  The truth was, however, that Bert was not to blame for this eight feet of snow or even the seven feet that had fallen to the south.

It was two days after Christmas before Stuart hiked to the nearest main thoroughfare and hailed a taxi.  He’d had enough of his sister’s family and Christmas and snow.  He’d call in a crew in the new year and have them dig out and retrieve the truck.

Bert couldn’t say he was sad to see Stu go.  It had been nice while it lasted but their armistice had only lasted until the eight feet of flurries that had fallen at Bert’s house trumped the seven feet of snow in Buffalo.

The End

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

FAREWELL ANNIE

November 21st, 2024

    If I could put a sad face or broken heart emjoi in the title of this blahg, I would.  Be forewarned this is indeed a sad blahg.  Yesterday we had to put down our beloved cat Annie.  She is the little black cat in the photo to the right with her friend Zoey. 

   Back in October of 2015 I wrote another sad blahg, FRANK’S LAST STORY about losing our cat Frank.  That was extremely sad and I talked about a prolonged illness with Frank before we had to make the decision to let him go.  In that blahg, I wrote the following:  “Zoey, who has been with us for two years, also loved Frank.  She always played with Frank when he was in good health but left him alone when he became ill.  After his death, she pined around the house and was very lonely.  We had to eventually adopt a playmate for her.  A new little black kitten who we named “Annie” joined our family at the end of August.  I will write about her another day.”  I don’t think I ever got to that blahg about Annie but in December of 2015 I did a summary blahg with the title, THIS IS 50, PART ONE, and I debuted the photo above of Zoey and Annie.  Here’s what I said:  I’m posting a picture here of Zoey and Annie.  Zoey has been with us a couple of years but Annie is our new addition that came into our home this past August.  This is the first picture I have posted of our little black kitten, Annie.  You can see that she and Zoey are best friends.  Definitely click on the above picture for a larger view.  Just looking at that photo is making me feel sad all over again. 

   I won’t go into great details about Annie’s illness.  It was very sudden and very quick.  Last Friday we noticed she was very listless and sleeping a lot and seemed uncomfortable.  She ate some and drank a little but we thought she might be having difficulty going to the bathroom.  We were able to get her into the vet yesterday and they found she had a large mass inside her and it was obstructing her from urinating.  Surgery was going to be major with no guarantee.  I called my wife after she messaged me and then I went home early.  We talked and cried and then decided we didn’t want Annie to suffer so we made the decision to take her back to the vet and let her go.  A very tough decision with lots of crying at home and in the vet’s office.  Nine years ago, I did that with Frank and it was just as hard this time around with Annie. 

   I don’t know what I would have got around to saying about Annie if I ever wrote a blahg about her while she was still alive.  She was a funny little black cat.  She was smaller than Zoey and Rogue (our other cat).  She rarely meowed and never purred.  Maybe she did silent purring but I never heard her purr in the nine years she was with us.  I don’t think she was ever unhappy until her recent illness and the discomfort she felt.  She loved lying on my lap every night.  I had to sit in a lounge chair with my legs out and she would stare at me from the floor until I patted my lap and told her to come on up.  Sometimes if my legs weren’t just the right way, she’d get up, turn around and then stare at me until I moved my legs to her satisfaction.  It sounds annoying but last night I missed the interaction immensely.  She had other quirks as well.  When she went into heat, she was as annoying as hell and that’s when she would really meow.  Over the past six weeks she also started scratching at our bedroom door at all hours.  We eventually gave up and she started coming in and would sleep our bed up against my legs.  Perhaps this change in behaviour was also signaling something was wrong.  Of course, she had no other way of letting us know what was happening to her.  It’s funny but I can’t find fault in any of her annoying traits.  I will just miss those as part of the whole package.  Annie was unique.  I’ve heard people say never get a black cat because they’re odd.  Don’t you believe it.  It’s that oddness that made us love Annie. 

   I’m going to wrap this up because everything’s still too raw.  I went looking through my phone for a recent photo of Annie.  I found this one from April of 2023.  It shows all three of our cats enjoying themselves on their cat tree.  Rogue is on the top, Zoey is in the middle, and Annie is on the bottom.  There’s no pecking order.  Whoever got there first, got the top spot.  We called it the cat-bird seat and Annie loved getting up there.  She always had to wait her turn.  Click on the image of a larger view and you can see Annie and the other two sunning themselves.  

Annie 2023

   There are no further words that I want to share at this time about our grief.  Annie was loved and still is.  Part of my heart is missing but it will heal.  When I feel sad or upset I always think of The Weepies song “Mend.”  I’ll close with that song and I’ll begin to mend.  Farewell, Annie my lovely.

ANOTHER CLASS ACT

November 7th, 2024

    Back in 2017 I wrote a blahg with the title “A CLASS ACT”.   Scott Mulvahill and Scott HendersonIt detailed some very positive email interactions I had with Brian Mazzaferri, the lead singer of the band “I Fight Dragons.”  This is a favourite band of my daughter Abbie and the blahg talked about trying to buy some merchandise and how Brian emailed me personally and made it happen.  We even received an autographed photo: 

Well, the class act this time around relates to myself and a singer I really enjoy and how he went above and beyond for me. 

   In the first “A Class Act” blahg from 2017 I also talked about the band “The Weepies” and how I had finally got to see them live in Toronto at The Drake.  Here are some photos of the now divorced Deb Talan and Steven Tannen from The Drake: 

Someone also post a video from that concert of them singing “Ever Said Goodbye”: 

I did get to see The Weepies again at The Great Hall in Toronto in 2018.  I wrote about that in the blahg SAY IT AIN’T SO…NO MORE WEEPIES. I even posted a couple of songs from the performance.  Here is Steven Tannen singing “Sing Me To Sleep:”

And here’s Deb Talan singing a beautiful version of “Stars:”

 

   I was saddened to learn in 2022 that Steve and Deb had split up, thus ending The Weepies.  Over the last couple of years I have tried to keep track of Steve and Deb individually to see if either were playing anywhere near me or anywhere I could get to within a couple of hours.  The short answer to that is no such luck.  A longer answer is that Steve posted on his Facebook page in September 2022 of a short tour he was doing and that one of his playmates was going to be Scott Mulvahill. Here’s what Steve posted about the upcoming concerts and about Scott Mulvahill:

One Week Until Solo Shows! Get your tix, and send your friends if you don’t live in the Northeast – it’s going to be a whole thing. They are EARLY shows!!

Solo is not quite right anymore…it’s now a trio! My old compatriot from NYC Keith Cotton will be joining on keyboards and new pal Scott Mulvahill will be on bass. They are both fantastic and I’m truly excited to play out live with them. Scott is doing a short opening set in which he creates something unique, it’s worth seeing and hearing. If he survives, we will then launch into new songs by me, old songs by me, and some others too. For sure it won’t be the same way twice. It feels strange and good to not know exactly what’s going to happen as we work it all out.

Of course, I didn’t know who Scott Mulvahill was so I had to research him and I found a video he posted of him singing The Weepies song “Somebody Loved” with the tag “Super pumped to be joining Steve Tannen of The Weepies on a couple shows coming up!! I’ve loved their music and this song in particular for a long time.  I’m gonna open the shows and then back up his gorgeous songs, come see us!”  Here’s that video:

@scottmulvahill

I’ve loved The Weepies and this song of theirs for a long time #somebodyloved #singer #bassist #bassplayer #uprightbass #fyp

♬ original sound – Scott Mulvahill

I watched some other videos by Scott Mulvahill and was really excited by his music.  I didn’t get to any of the concerts with Scott and Steve but I became fascinated by Scott’s music.  One of my favourite’s was the song “1000 Feet.”  The video shows Scott performing the song in a field up in Iceland in 2018/2019.  Check it out:

In a previous blahg, I also posted a video for the song “Joy”:

There’s another amazing video of Scott Mulvahill and some other musicians performing Paul Simon’s “Homeless.”  The amazing thing about it is that the power goes out at the venue and then they launch into the song and when they’re done, the power comes back on.  Truly, a beautiful version. 

I could go on and on about Scott Mulvahill and his videos on YouTube but you really have to check them out for yourself.  I posted the above videos to add context to this next part.

   I have been checking out Scott Mulvahill’s website, http://www.scottmulvahill.com/ and keeping track of his music releases and praying that he’d post some tour dates that included Canada.  Back in the summer he posted a series of dates starting in mid-October where he was travelling with the band “Oliver Hazard”.  Scott was going to open for the band on his tour and the second date of the tour was going to be at the Horseshoe Tavern in Toronto on October 16th, 2024.  Is it still cool to say “Hot Diggity-Dog?”  Well, I was excited and there was no way I was going to miss Scott’s show…even if I didn’t know anything about “Oliver Hazard.” 

   The week of the concert did not dawn well for me.  As mentioned in my last blahg, TWICE IN A LIFETIME…IS TOO MUCH, my Mother’s house burned on Thanksgiving (Canadian), October 14, and that was also the beginning of my Fall week of holidays.  Add to it, that I had to have an MRI on my prostate on the 16th; the same day as the Scott Mulvahill concert.  I got the results of that two days later and everything was fine but it was a week of worries and hassles.  The concert was the shining light through the chaos of everything else.  Here is a photo of Scott Mulvahill on stage at the Horseshoe Tavern: 

Scott Mulvahill at the Horseshoe Tavern

Despite the brightness of the photo, it was really dark in the Horseshoe Tavern.  It was filled with people between 20 and 30 who were only there to see Oliver Hazard.  I’m not sure if anyone there had even heard of Scott Mulvahill. 

   My wife and I got there about a half hour before the show started.  Here’s a picture of us at the Horseshoe Tavern and you can tell how dark it was:

Scott and Jeanette go see Scott Mulvahill

Waiting for the show to start, I noticed there was a Merch (short for merchandise) table off to one side so I drifted over there to see if there was anything for Scott Mulvahill.  The main table was for Oliver Hazard merchandise and when I said that I wanted merchandise for Scott Mulvahill, I was told I had to talk to Scott.  I turned and there he was.  I explained who I was and that I had gone there expressly to see him.  We talked about his music and I told him about watching his videos and how the “1000 Feet” and “Homeless” videos were among my favourites.  He told me he was going to perform “1000 Feet” but if I wanted to hear “Homeless” I should go to Nashville for New Year’s Eve because he was going to perform songs from the Paul Simon album “Graceland” (that contains “Homeless”).  I doubt I’ll make it to Nashville but Scott Mulvahill was so personable and approachable and just one fine class act.  I did purchase a T-Shirt and a camp mug.  Here are photos of those below: 

Scott Mulvahill mug

Here’s a photo of me wearing my Scott Mulvahill shirt but the image is backwards because it’s a shot of me in the mirror:

Scott in the Scott Mulvahill shirt

   What happened next is a topper on top of my exchange with Scott Mulvahill at the Merch table. He started to perform and then he stopped to talk about his experience with me at the Merch table and then he sang and dedicated the song “1000 Feet” to me.  I didn’t take any video of the performance but I did record the audio.  I’ve put together a video of the performance along with some photos from the night and my merchandise:

Scott also performed a new song called “Travel Light, Travel Fast.”  There is a video out there of Scott performing it at the Horseshoe Tavern but I don’t want to post it here and violate some copyright.  Instead, I’ll just post the audio because it’s better than the live audio I recorded: 

 

Here’s a screen grab from the video of Scott performing the above song in Toronto:

Scott Mulvahill in Toronto

   After Scott Mulvahill’s set I went back to see him at the Merch table and to thank him for the dedication.  He was super nice again and allowed my wife to take a picture of the two Scotts.  That’s the picture I’ve used at the top of this blahg.  What a fantastic person!  Thank you Scott Mulvahill for all you did for me.  It really made my week. 

   I know Scott Mulvahill and I are not best friends because of this interaction but today, I found a video of Scott Mulvahill and Brenna MacMillan performing the song “You’ve Got A Friend In Me.”  It’s a classy performance from a class act.  Brenna MacMillan’s good too!  Thanks again Scott.

 

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A post shared by Scott Mulvahill (@scottmulvahill)

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