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:
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:
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?
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 ANNIE. 
Our 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?
Tags: Darkwing Duck, False Ducks, Scott Henderson