Love in the Air

Jeff Christ has decided to seek his fortune at the local call centre.

According to Ben, Jeff has declined an invitation to join the Canadian Forces. He had originally planned to join them in keeping the True North strong and free. But now, the young man will concentrate his efforts at the local call centre. He started working there two weeks ago. For the foreseeable future, it looks like Jeff Christ's strong customer service skills and computer knowledge will be available to the masses.

Ben, of course, is a senior cook with the Canadian Forces. He has given more than twenty years of dedicated service. Despite his nephew's decision, however, he remains very supportive.

"Whatever floats his boat," Ben said philosophically.

***

There are only two unattached adults living in the Sack. There were three people in this category, but Elizabeth recently reunited with her husband after more than six years of separation.

Elizabeth's husband, Philip suffered a major middle-age meltdown after more than twenty years of marriage. Apparently, he developed a nasty case of gambling fever and was well on his way to causing their financial ruin. There was also the small matter of an extramarital affair.

Elizabeth, as Gordon tells it, had no choice but to send Philip packing.

***

Thankfully, Philip's gambling bug has been exterminated. He has returned to his devout ways and has pledged to remain, to the best of his ability, on a righteous path.

Elizabeth, of course, is both wary and hopeful about her husband's transformation. She welcomed him into her Sack home about five weeks ago after a lengthy dating period. Now, as Oscar described it, Philip is on "double probation" for the foreseeable future.

So far, I'm pleased to report, things seem to be going well for Elizabeth and Philip. The couple is apparently planning an April trip to Cuba as a way of celebrating their reunification.

So far, so good.

***

Florence is one of the Sack's two single residents.

Now in her early forties, Florence has never been married. She does have a successful career as a teacher. She also seems to have a variety of interests and a close circle of family and friends. Her home is well-maintained and comfortably furnished. Periodically, she hosts foreign students in her home.

Florence is doing just fine.

***

Dating is something Florence appears to do only on a sporadic basis. From time to time, she'll be seen with a male suitor as they leave the Sack together. Oscar jokingly refers to the men as Florence's "gentleman callers."

It's also rare to see Florence with the same suitor more than a few times. The only exception was a few years ago. A particular fellow was observed on five or six occasions. He was a rather thin, bookish man who wore glasses. He also had a propensity for wrinkled dress shirts. Mrs. Wonder's said she would be very surprised if he didn't keep his clothing in a large pile in the corner of his bedroom.

Oscar jokingly referred to the fellow as Poindexter.

Despite his more frequent appearances in the Sack, Poindexter still didn't last long as one of Florence's suitors. Like those before him, he was soon conspicuous by his absence.

Oscar says Florence sent Poindexter packing. This is probably true.

***

The other single Sack resident is Little Doug.

Until about ten years ago, he was happily married. Then his wife ran away with some guy from the internet.

This, of course, is how Little Doug describes the end of his marriage. He makes it sound like the internet is an actual place somewhere near the depths of hell or, at the very least, a Toronto suburb.

Little Doug will also admit he had no idea that his wife was unhappy with their relationship. He thought everything was hunky dory.

***

Understandably, the loss of his marriage really knocked the wind out of Little Doug. For a while, he said he was like a deer with its eyes caught in the headlights of an approaching car.

Little Doug makes his eyes grow wide when he says this.

It wasn't long, however, before he eased back into his old routines. He went back to helping people build or fix things, even though his own home was looking a little frayed around the edges. He also started to watch his favourite fishing shows again. And, of course, he resumed his annual hunting and fishing trips.

In other words, he returned to the same life he enjoyed while his marriage was intact. At least, that's how his prospective son-in-law, Weed describes it.

***

The occasional Sack observer might wonder if Florence and Little Doug might ever find union together.

From the standpoint of the blogging machine, it would be a fantastic development. Sadly, it's a scenario that remains highly unlikely.

Although Little Doug is almost seven years older than Florence, their age difference wouldn't be a barrier to their coupling. It would have far more to do with their divergent interests.

Florence, for example, would enjoy a night of entertainment from the old town's symphony orchestra. Little Doug, on the other hand, could help you build a suitable venue for this artistic endeavour, but he likely wouldn't stick around for any performances. He's just not that type of fellow.

Little Doug would happily spend a few hours at the local coffee cathedral as a regular dating activity. Florence would likely prefer a Saturday afternoon stop at a downtown cafe, but only after a regular visit to the old town's farmer's market.

Florence likes to run as her preferred method of exercise. Little Doug has diabetes.

It's not hard to see that it would never work.

***

Until very recently, Little Doug had shown no interest in dating. But this has now changed in a big way. It seems that he may be on the cusp of getting himself a girlfriend.

According to Weed, Little Doug has gone out on three or four occasions with a woman named Marcella. Apparently, the two have also been talking on the telephone with some frequency. Ironically, they met through a local internet dating site.

Marcella, Weed informs us, is a rather short, stocky woman who drives a green pickup truck. She came to pick up Little Doug from the Sack the other day. Little Doug, of course, also owns a pickup truck. He has a blue one.

Weed says Marcella seems like she's a very nice person. He hasn't met her yet, but from the front window of Little Doug's place, he said she looked like she had a nice personality.

The only other thing Weed knows about Marcella is this: On the back of her green pickup truck is a bumper sticker that reads, "I'd rather be fishing!"

In some ways, the bumper sticker is even more surprising than Little Doug's emergence on the dating scene. He has the same sticker on the back of his blue pickup truck.

Oscar says Little Doug and Marcella must be like two peas in a pod. He could be right about this.

***

Little Doug, of course, has said very little about Marcella to Weed or his daughter, Daisy. He has only acknowledged her name and the fact that they're seeing each other. So far, he says they've gone to three movies together.

When Marcella picked up Little Doug the other day, they were planning to go to the boat show together. He told Daisy that Marcella had acquired a pair of free passes.

Meanwhile, Oscar is chastising himself for failing to notice the appearance of Marcella in the Sack. Since he works from home, he prides himself in having his finger on the pulse of the neighbourhood.

"I must've been asleep at the switch," he complained to your agent.

***

If Little Doug's connection with Marcella continues, it could mean that only one unattached person would remain in the Sack. However, over at Burning Manor, Dora remains on the lam and Dirk is telling the peelers that he's no longer attached to her.

If this is true, it would bring the Sack's single population back to its previous number.

Oscar says it would be very interesting if Florence and Dirk formed a relationship. He said it would be fascinating to see her at one of Burning Manor's alcohol-infused country music singalongs, followed by a midnight argument in the middle of the Sack.

Conversely, Dirk could accompany her to a symphony performance. He could buy organic vegetables with her at the farmer's market. He could also join her for cappuccino at a downtown cafe. On the way back to the Sack, they could drop off Dirk's empty beer bottles at the local recycling depot.

More important, according to Oscar, a Florence-Dirk union might bring us some inside information on the inner workings of Burning Manor. If she was willing to carry a hidden camera, Oscar says we could make a documentary entitled Inside Burning Manor.

I think I'm going to put my money on Little Doug and Marcella.

***

Cat Crossing

Dora remains on the lam. Big Doug has left for Cuba. Computer Doug is still unemployed.

Gordon has the flu and Oscar still has man boobs. Young Doo was suspended from school for three days because of crimes against humanity. Meanwhile, Elizabeth has apparently coloured her hair. According to Oscar, her hair now has a lovely orange hue.

Finally, Jeff Christ still hasn't decided if he'll accept an invitation to join the Canadian Forces. He started working at the call centre last week. He only has two more weeks before his decision must be made.

This is Sack life in the midst of a cold February.

***

Twice in the past week, a black cat ran in front of the Wonders' car as I drove in the vicinity of the Sack. On both occasions, I slowed down to ensure the feline's safety. Your agent does, after all, have a fondness for critters.

The first black cat was youthful, small and agile. It sprinted across the street in front of the car. The second cat was larger and heavier. Clearly in the heavyweight division, it laboured across the road with obvious exertion.

Oscar was aghast when he heard about my black cat encounters. If he was in my shoes, he told me with a serious tone, he'd be very worried about the imminent onset of terrible luck.

"Something very bad is going to come your way," he said with concern.

***

There was only one recourse available to me, according to Oscar. I would have to seek out a third black cat and have the critter pass in front of me. This, he claimed, would erase the bad karma and replace it with very good fortune.

"Two black cats are very bad," Oscar said, "but three black cats are like three cherries on a slot machine."

Then he added, "You could hit the jackpot, man."

***

Little Doug, of course, owns a posse of bird-eating cats. One is a scruffy, long-haired tomcat. He also happens to be black. Fittingly, his name is Tom.

Oscar said he would be very happy to speak with Little Doug and ask for the loan of this particular cat. He said we could induce Tom to walk in front of the Wonders' car, while your agent sat in the driver's seat.

Although born in the central region of Canuckistan itself, Northern Irish blood still runs through my veins. Superstition was a persistent presence in the Wonders' boyhood home. New shoes would never grace a table's surface. Spilled salt was thrown solemnly over the left shoulder. An umbrella never darkened the door for fear of an accidental opening inside.

Over the years, however, your agent has freed himself from the bonds of primitive belief. Although an inner core of spirituality remains, it's now buffered by a healthy respect for scientific evidence.

In other words, black cats, in any number, can cross my path to their heart's content.

***

Oscar looked crestfallen when I told him that I wouldn't have any truck with his superstitious ideas. But then I realized he was about to sneeze. Oscar's pre-sneeze facial expression is remarkably similar to his crestfallen look.

Sometimes you have to wait for a sneeze, before being certain about his level of disappointment in something.

We were standing at the bottom of the Wonders' driveway. Although it was cold outside, the sun was shining. It's good to spend some time in the winter sunshine, even when it's cold. According to Computer Doug, exposing oneself to the natural light is good for your mood.

Oscar and I chatted for a few more minutes and then we parted. As he walked away, he looked back at me and said seriously, "You take good care of yourself, now."

***

About fifteen minutes later, the Wonders' doorbell rang.

Oscar and Weed were standing on the front porch. I could see them through the window as I walked down the stairs to the front entry. Weed was holding a restless bundle of fur in his arms. This turned out to be Tom, Little Doug's black cat.

Oscar was quite insistent that we perform the "bad karma removal ritual." He also said it would be entirely up to me, if I chose to share any of the good fortune that would undoubtedly arise. This was, I told him, a very gracious thing to say.

In the end, I agreed to participate in the plan to undo the unspeakable horrors that surely awaited me. Although I prefer not to orchestrate shenanigans for the sake of the blogging machine, I considered that something amusing might arise from the whole affair.

"Okay," I said finally. "Let's do it."

***

Weed, of course, was very keen on the plan to instigate the deliberate crossing of a black cat. He also claimed to have great interest in fighting against the forces of evil. He said this is listed on his curriculum vitae under "Personal Interests."

Oscar added that Weed was also willing to participate because Little Doug was in control of the television remote for the rest of the afternoon. Little Doug, of course, is very fond of fishing shows. Weed, unfortunately, is not.

But Weed also claimed that participation in an exorcism remains on his list of life objectives. This, too, is recorded under "Personal Interests"

"But I'm getting kind of doubtful that I'll ever be able to do that," he said wistfully, "so this black cat thing might be the closest I'll get to it."

***

The Wonders's car was parked in the driveway. It was facing toward the street. Oscar instructed me to sit in the driver's seat and start the engine.

"Why do I have to start the car?" I asked.

"Just to be on the safe side. We have to make this as real as possible," he replied.

"That makes sense," I answered.

***

Weed stood about six feet from one side of the Wonders' driveway. Tom continued to struggle restlessly in his arms. Oscar stood an equal distance away on the car's other side.

The plan called for Weed to release Tom, who would then walk toward Oscar's beckoning calls. He would pass directly in front of the Wonders' car. Oscar knelt down and began to call out for Tom. The black feline continued to wrestle in Weed's arms. On a cue from Oscar, he released Tom from his grasp.

Tom stood on the street for a few seconds and regarded Oscar with mild curiosity. He was now making smooching sounds in hopes of enticing Tom in his direction.

But Tom had no interest in participating in our little ritual. He stretched his body to its fullest extent and then collapsed on the ground. He looked up at the shining sun and then started to lick his front paws.

***

"We need a lure," Oscar said, as he joined your agent and Weed in front of the Wonders' car.

Oscar asked Weed if he could obtain some cat food from Little Doug's house. Weed sprinted away, leaving Tom sprawled on the pavement. I gently massaged the top of Tom's head. He started to make a sound like a finely tuned motor.

Weed returned with a small tupperware container filled with dry cat food. Oscar held it in front of Tom's nose for a few seconds. The contents seemed to capture his attention.

Oscar slowly backed into his previous position. Weed picked up Tom and returned to his assigned place. Oscar started to rustle the container in Tom's direction. Then he made some provocative statements about the tastiness of its contents.

Weed released Tom, this time giving the cat a gentle prod in Oscar's direction. Tom took a few steps forward and then promptly headed back toward Little Doug's house.

***

"I'm going to get Dick out here," Weed said, with determination in his voice.

Dick is Daisy's cat. It's a white, shorthaired cat of Siamese origin. Tom, apparently, doesn't like Dick. Weed said Tom was sure to make a beeline toward Dick, if Oscar held it in his arms.

Weed returned with Dick in his arms. Unlike Tom, Dick was limp and cooperative. He passed the cat into Oscar's outstretched hands and then went to retrieve Tom. Tom was holding a statesmanlike pose at the foot of Little Doug's front steps.

Back in their positions, Oscar and Weed held their respective cats while I returned to the Wonders' car. Tom started to struggle again under Weed's firm grip. It was unclear whether Dick was the source of his consternation.

Again, at Oscar's cue, Weed released Tom. Once again, he sprawled on the pavement and stretched. This seemed to disturb Dick. The white cat began to wriggle violently, causing Oscar to release his hold on the animal.

Dick made a beeline for Little Doug's front door. Within seconds, he was rubbing the side of his body against its kick plate. Tom remained on the pavement. He looked like he was asleep.

***

"What about Harry?" Oscar asked Weed.

Harry is another one of Little Doug's cats. He also has another one named Fluffy. While Daisy owns Dick, Little Doug has Tom, Harry and Fluffy. Not surprisingly, Weed was responsible for Dick's name.

"Harry," Weed replied, "is out right now." Harry is rumoured to be the most destructive of the cats, when it comes to the matter of bird killing. Rain or shine, this is Harry's focus during daylight hours.

***

Daisy came out and let Dick back into the house. Tom was still prone on the pavement, basking in the sun.

"I think you're screwed," Oscar said to me. I was still sitting in the car, but I had rolled down the driver's window. Weed said I should probably speak with Jeff Christ to see if he could help with my impending bad fortune.

Just as Weed and Oscar arrived at the car window, we heard deep, angry barking coming from the direction of Burning Manor. Tom heard it as well. He was now on his feet and looking alertly toward Burning Manor.

Suddenly, Dirk's big, barking dog came barreling through the side yard of Burning Manor and into the middle of the street. Spying Tom, he barked madly and then broke into a gallop. He was heading directly toward us.

Tom wasted no time in seeking his escape. He sprinted past the Wonder's car and disappeared into the backyard of Little Doug's house. The big, barking dog stopped in front of the house and continued to bark, this time with even more gusto.

Good fortune, it seemed, would be mine, after all.

***

I turned the car off and approached Oscar and Weed on the driveway. Oscar was elated. He turned and gave Weed a high-five. He was about to do the same with me, when he remembered my high-five policy.

I do not, under any circumstance, engage in high-fives. It's not because I have small, girlish hands, a phobia about germs or a reluctance to engage in human contact.

I'm just not a high-five kind of fellow.

***

Dirk appeared and brought his big, barking dog back into Burning Manor. He nodded toward us and, smiling, said something unintelligible as he passed. Weed said it sounded like "howzitgoin, eh?"

I thanked Oscar and Weed for their service in saving my life. Oscar nodded humbly, as if he had just cleansed me of evil spirits.

"Anytime, my friend," he said, with obvious warmth, "anytime at all."

***

While Oscar was content with the outcome of the affair, your agent remained nonplussed.

Both good and bad things happen in our lives. While we have control over many aspects of our existence, both good and bad fortune will occur despite our best efforts. Besides, without experiencing the valleys, it's hard to appreciate the peaks.

Facing difficult life events also invites learning, new wisdom and experience. I'm not saying that bad things are inherently good for us, of course. Bad things just aren't all bad, that's all.

So three black cats make no difference to me at all.

***

The next morning, I went out early to buy a newspaper. The rocker chick who delivers the Daily Snooze had failed to appear.

But the Wonders' car failed to start. Despite my best efforts, it refused to come to life. Later, Little Doug would determine that the alternator was likely shot.

I'm fairly certain the black cats had nothing to do with it.

***

Workin' On It

Some Sack shenanigans are thematic.

On occasion, several residents will have a similar problem at the same time. Or, they'll have a unique experience simultaneously, yet be in different places. In both cases, a common thread can tie the shenanigans together.

Last week, we spoke about three different peeler visits to the Sack. Four people, depending on your perspective, ended up on the lam. Themes of justice and freedom were suddenly dominant in the Sack.

Sometimes, people will be injured or suffer illness at the same time. Little Doug's tendency toward accidental self-harm and Mr. Bitterman's wonky gall bladder invite a recurring health theme.

A food motif has also emerged on different occasions. We've had a mysterious muffin, a murderous banana peel and even an errant caesar salad. And we mustn't forget the local penchant for maple sugar donuts.

Environmental issues are common as well. The countless broken branches in the Sack's centre circle are like the plaintive cries of a dying planet. Shenanigans have also been spawned by the Sack's hurricane experience and our once-frequent snowstorms.

Justice, freedom, health, food and the environment are only a few examples of themes that emerge through the misty ennui of cul-de-sac living. If I really put some thought into it, I could probably name a few more.

But I don't feel like thinking right now.

So instead, let's take a look at the world of work.

You know you want to.

***

Jeff Christ is a relatively new Sack resident.

Last summer, he moved in with Ben and Norma. Ben's brother, of course, is Jeff's dad. Jeff moved here from Cornerbrook, Newfoundland and Labrador.

(Your agent was in St. John's, Newfoundland and Labrador last week. I was there against my will. My plane flew there because of the old town's heavy fog. St. John's, of course, isn't anywhere near Cornerbrook. So, there really isn't any point in taking this interjection further.)

Jeff's plan was to save some money while he awaited news of his acceptance into the Canadian Forces. Apparently, this process can take considerable time. It also disproves, according to Oscar, the theory that one can awaken from a drunken haze as an Ordinary Seaman in the Canadian Navy.

***

Jeff Christ has proven to be an industrious young fellow. At first, he had trouble finding a full-time job. But he was quick to find two part-time jobs.

"Part-time plus part-time equals full-time," he told us once. Jeff Christ is also very good at math.

One of the jobs was at an Old Navy store. Florence, the Wonders' next-door neighbour, went Christmas shopping there last year and encountered young Jeff.

She said Jeff Christ was "a right gentleman" throughout her shopping experience. This was no surprise.

Jeff Christ is a fine young man.

***

Jeff's second part-time job was at the local Canadian Tire store. You can buy just about anything for your house or automobile at Canadian Tire.

The stuff you really need, of course, is usually locked behind a glass panel. Either that, or the stuff won't be in its proper place. Then you have to locate one of the store's staff to find it for you. Then you're screwed.

But that doesn't happen when Jeff Christ is working. He'll find what you're looking for.

Jeff Christ will fix you up.

***

According to plan, Jeff Christ has been saving money while he awaited news from the Canadian Forces.

Last Monday, however, Jeff found a full-time job at the local call centre. It's the same call centre where Weed spends his time. At least, that's how Weed describes his own activities at the centre.

Jeff, according to Ben, was elated by the call centre opportunity. He's scheduled to start next week. Although the money isn't as good as a Canadian Forces salary, it pays a great deal more than his two part-time jobs. He will also get to use his computer and technical skills.

***

On Wednesday, Jeff Christ received a registered letter. It was from the Canadian Forces.

It appears they're now inviting Jeff to sign up for a three-year contract. He would start basic training in St. Jean, Quebec in June, if everything meets with his satisfaction.

Ben said Jeff was also elated when he finally received his offer from the Canadian Forces.

***

Now Jeff Christ has a dilemma. He's elated by two different job opportunities. And he's having trouble making a decision on the matter.

Even though a military career had been the boldest blip on his radar screen, Jeff has admitted to some second thoughts. The call centre position is very appealing to him. And he's not sure if he wants to end up serving in Afghanistan.

Ben, of course, is a senior cook with the Canadian Forces. He said he'd love to see the boy sign up with "the mob."

"It's one of the few places, these days," he said, with a serious look, "where you can end up with a decent pension."

But Ben is also supportive of the notion that Jeff might choose to do something else. Ultimately, he'd prefer that Jeff does whatever makes him happiest.

"A decent pension's the least they can do for some of the crap you have to put up with," he admitted.

***

So Jeff Christ is in a quandary.

Oscar called it a moral dilemma. That might be a bit extreme, though. Jeff just has to make a choice about happiness.

There isn't much time, of course, for Jeff to make his decision. The military expects a response within thirty days. This gives him less than a month to decide if the call centre is where his heart truly lies.

We'll let you know what happens.

***

Weed says it's a "no-brainer" that Jeff Christ will ultimately decline the military's invitation.

According to Weed, Jeff Christ is the J. Christ. That would be same One who's expected to star in the Second Coming. Weed's belief happens to be coincidental to Oscar's view of Rental Doug as the earthly figure of Satan or, at the very least, one of the Dark One's close henchmen.

Your agent, of course, remains doubtful about both theories. But it's doubt cushioned by the utmost respect for Jeff Christ.

It's always good to be on the safe side in these matters.

***

While Jeff Christ is awash in employment opportunities, Computer Doug has seen his own fortunes plummet.

Two weeks ago, he was informed of an immediate layoff at his workplace. Computer Doug, of course, was employed in some form of computer-related activity. His company, he told us, is on the verge of going "tits up."

A modest termination package has been granted, but there is no escaping the reality of the situation. Computer Doug is now unemployed.

***

"Dazed and philosophical." That's how Oscar described Computer Doug's demeanour when he encountered him in the Sack last week.

Computer Doug was on his driveway during a weekday. This, of course, is a very rare event. Oscar, who is mysteriously employed at home, was quick to notice the incongruity of such a picture. He went out to chat with Computer Doug immediately.

While the layoff was not entirely unexpected, Computer Doug said he has never been unemployed during his entire adult life. He doesn't know what to make of this new state of affairs. At the time of their conversation, he said he was going to the local mall, just to occupy some time.

Computer Doug, according to Oscar, doesn't know what to do with himself.

***

On the other hand, Computer Doug said he was partially excited by the notion of unemployment, as long as it's temporary. This is because his former job "partially sucked."

While the money was reasonable and the work was relatively enjoyable, Computer Doug said his boss was a bumbling moron.

A new opportunity, he explained to Oscar, might be just what the doctor ordered.

***

Oscar, of course, is elated by Computer Doug's sudden unemployment.

He says this will give him someone to play with during the day. He has the time to do so, because of his ability to complete eight hours of work in less than two hours. This skill allows him to have plenty of extra time on his hands.

But Computer Doug, according to Oscar, will need some training in "unemployment management," if he's going to be adept at passing time in the Sack during the day. He'll need to build some routines that will keep life interesting. Oscar says this will include regular outings to the local coffee cathedral, twice-weekly luncheons in the downtown quarter and a regular golf outing during the summer months.

Of course, inviting Computer Doug to join him in idle leisure will be a challenging task for Oscar. I pointed out that Computer Doug tends toward solitary activities like music, movies and computer games. Conversation and jocularity are not exactly his strong suit.

"True enough," Oscar replied. "By the looks of things, I'm gonna have some work to do."

***

Desperados

Suburban life can be mundane and predictable. Daily routines cast a broad shadow over our lives.

But if you step away from a place like the Sack, even for a short period, something very interesting happens. Shenanigan outbreaks occur with alarming frequency.

It's a paradox, man.

***

After my recent cross-country venture, I met Oscar for a quick jaunt to the local coffee cathedral. He was going to enlighten me about any Sack business that transpired during my absence.

As we stood at the counter, I asked for a small coffee. Oscar quickly intervened. "I think you better give him a large," he said to the coffee matron.

"But I want a small one," I said to him with surprise.

"I know," Oscar replied evenly, "but you're going to need a large."

"Why?"

"Because I've got lots of news. This is going to take some time."

"Oh. Good stuff?"

Oscar bowed his forehead solemnly. "Oh, yes," he replied. Then he nodded again to the coffee matron.

***

After settling at our table, Oscar looked at me squarely and said, "Peelers. And frequently."

"In the Sack? I asked.

"Thrice," Oscar replied, holding up three fingers.

"Very cool," I said. "Tell me more."

***

Metaphorically speaking, it appears that Burning Manor has been reignited.

For a considerable period, the bane of Sack residents' lives had been very quiet. Dirk had settled into a quiet existence. And there were compelling rumours that Dora had moved out.

Of course, this is the Sack we're writing about. Things are rarely as simple as they seem. This is particularly true in the case of Burning Manor.

This is because Dora, it seems, is on the lam.

***

According to Oscar, two peeler cars arrived in front of Burning Manor on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. Two of the peelers were in uniform, while the others wore plainclothes. Oscar started to sing the refrain from Elvis Costello's Watching the Detectives.

"What was the deal?" I asked.

Apparently, sources at Norma's Tuesday night bingo report that Dora failed to appear for a court date about three weeks ago. A sentencing hearing was supposed to occur.

Dora, according to bingo sources, had recently been found guilty of an assault dating back before the Burning Manor fire. There were no details of the affair, but it was rumoured to be a tavern-related confrontation with another woman.

Norma said there was only an outside possibility that Dora would've gone to jail for the offense.

***

The peelers, of course, take these matters very seriously.

"Hence the detectives," Oscar said, stating the obvious.

Norma also said the peelers believe that Dirk knows of Dora's whereabouts. Apparently, the peelers "grilled him good" and threatened to charge him if their beliefs were confirmed at a later date.

Dirk, however, remained steadfast in his denials.

***

Oscar took a breath from his story and sipped his coffee. Then he took a bite from his maple sugar donut.

That's when Weed appeared at the table. He was carrying an extra-large double-double and his customary donut. He was also wearing his typical winter headgear, a pair of earmuffs and a pork pie hat.

"Did you tell him about Dora being on the lam?" he asked Oscar, folding himself onto a chair. Oscar nodded.

Weed shook his head and smiled. "Isn't that the coolest thing you've ever heard? She's on the lam, man!" Then he took an enthusiastic bite of his own maple sugar donut.

***

Weed, of course, thinks it would be a fantastic life experience to be on the lam.

"Think about it," he said excitedly, "everybody's born off the lam. You gotta mess things up pretty good to get on it. Statistically speaking, being on the lam is pretty rare."

"I hadn't given it that much thought before," I replied.

"That's exactly what Little Doug said, too," Weed answered. Then he took another bite of his maple sugar donut.

"But what if you were on the lam? Wouldn't it be exciting? Every day would be a challenge just to hold on to your freedom."

"You'd get to watch a lot of TV, that's for sure," Oscar interjected. "You'd have to hunker down for a while." He seemed to be warming up to Weed's point on the matter.

"No way," Weed said emphatically, "I'd go out every day on purpose. I'd have to be on my toes all the time."

"And that," he added, waving the remaining piece of his donut, "would be the exciting part."

"Getting caught would suck, though," Oscar replied, looking thoughtful.

Weed nodded his agreement and looked pensive for a moment. Then he popped the rest of the donut into his mouth. He licked some maple sugar from his thumb and said:

"See, that's the big problem with the lam. You have to break the law before you can get on it."

"True enough," Oscar said with a sigh. "That's the drawback."

Weed looked thoughtful again and then said, "But being on the lam would still be pretty cool, wouldn't it?"

Yes, it would be very cool, indeed, to be on the lam.

***

The Sack's second peeler visit during your agent's absence occurred at the Bitterman residence. At first, Oscar thought it was related to another of Britney Bitterman's classic meltdowns.

But Maxwell was the actual subject of the peeler visit. It was in reference to his recent possession of a certain 1993 Cutlass Supreme.

This vehicle, of course, is the focal point of Maxwell's fledgling business, Cutlass Supreme Painting. Last month, he took temporary ownership of it, while his cousin, the vehicle's owner, languished in the old town's correctional centre. At the time, Maxwell claimed to have full permission from his cousin to use it.

This, it turns out, wasn't exactly true.

***

The background story on this affair was provided to Weed by his girlfriend, Daisy. She garnered the details directly from Maxwell's sweetheart, Britney Bitterman.

It seems that Maxwell talked his way into using the car during a visit with his aunt. She expected him to use her absent son's car for a few days and then promptly return it.

Unfortunately, Maxwell parked the car illegally beside the Sack's centre circle. Someone called the peelers, who promptly arranged for it to be towed away. Unbeknownst to Maxwell, the "someone" was actually his prospective father-in-law, Mr. Bitterman.

Maxwell, lacking the financial resources, simply walked away from the whole affair. He made no effort to locate the car nor seek its return. He also failed to contact his aunt about the loss of the car. As Weed described it, "the dude just pretended it never happened."

***

Last week, of course, his cousin was released from jail. An unopened letter from the peelers was waiting at home for him. The letter apprised him of his car's whereabouts and the cost of its recovery.

His mother was quick to report that Maxwell had borrowed the car and failed to return it. In an effort to escape the impound fees, he told the peelers that Maxwell had taken the car without his permission.

Now the peelers would like a word with Maxwell.

***

Maxwell, of course, wasn't at the Bitterman home when the peelers arrived.

"So, Maxwell's on the lam, too? I asked.

"No," Weed replied, "Maxwell lacks the capacity to be on the lam."

Then he explained that he had seen Maxwell at the local mall's food court almost every day since the peeler visit. Weed works in a call centre located in the office building adjacent to the mall.

Maxwell told him the peeler visit was all part of a great misunderstanding. He claimed the matter was being resolved by an intermediary. Apparently, another cousin's friend is close with one of the old town's finest. Without a doubt, this person will be setting the matter straight on his behalf.

In the meantime, Maxwell said he has several "heavy duty" painting gigs that will almost certainly be happening over the next few weeks.

As a result, Weed says Maxwell is going about his business as if nothing was wrong.

***

"So, Maxwell has the chance to be on the lam," Oscar interrupted, "but he won't take the opportunity."

"That's right," Weed replied. "What a waste of a lam."

***

Elizabeth's house was the focus of the final peeler visit.

According to Oscar, two fifteen-year-old knobs had been climbing her back fence as a shortcut on their route from school. Elizabeth caught them red-handed last week. She told Oscar she gave the boys "proper heck."

Oscar said he had it on good authority that the boys hailed from Pleasant Street. Weed, however, vehemently disagreed. He said his sources were quiet certain that the boys came from a different local street.

Oscar and Weed argued this point for a few minutes. Finally, Oscar gave up and said:

"Well, it's still exactly what one of those Pleasant Street buggers would do if you gave them the chance."

***

Either way, the boys didn't take kindly to Elizabeth's dose of "proper heck."

Several days later, she was horrified to discover a derogatory word spray-painted in black letters on her fence. The word apparently expressed the boy's feelings about her character.

According to the semi-literate boys, Elizabeth is a bich.

"These were kids," Oscar said dryly, "who weren't exactly hooked on phonics."

Naturally, the peelers were called and a full report was taken. According to Oscar, the boys haven't been identified and remain at large.

***

"So, the boys are on the lam, too," I said.

"Technically speaking, no," said Weed with authority. "You can only be on the lam if you know the peelers are looking for you."

"I see," I replied.

Weed continued, "Plus, you have to be an adult to be on the lam."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. The lam has rules, man. Just don't ask me why."

"Okay," I replied, "I won't."

***

We sat in silence for a moment. Oscar was staring into his coffee cup. This usually means he's thinking about something.

I broke the silence and said, "Assault, failure to appear, car theft and mischief. That's a lot of action in a few weeks."

"And don't forget being on the lam. That's a new charge all by itself," said Weed.

"Okay," I replied, "but it's still a lot of shenanigans."

"You bet, answered Weed. "It's a dangerous world out there."

"True enough," Oscar added, standing up to brush maple sugar from his pants.

"So, who wants another donut?"

***

Lucky Days

The Wonders' home has been very quiet for the last few weeks. Your agent recently embarked on a cross-country, work-related jaunt. A week later, Mrs. Wonders departed for the sunny, socialist sands of Cuba.

Sack-related news has been accumulating, despite these absences. After all, suburban shenanigans wait for no man. At press time, however, these news items still hadn't been sorted for quality or relevance. Despite being a mere pinprick on the blogging landscape, we must still maintain a modicum of standards.

So while the quality assurance department does its work, today's offering is a diversion from Sack-related tales.

***

Awakened by the alarm clock, I stumble from bed at the ungodly hour of three o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Wonders does not stir. At this time of day, she will only hear sounds that are helpful to her. This, she has told me, is an inherited trait.

Just after four-thirty, a nondescript minivan appears in the driveway. It's the airport taxi that will propel me on the first leg of my journey.

***

Settling into the back seat, I'm almost overwhelmed by fatigue. It's pitch dark outside and the roads are barren of traffic. The illuminated dials on the taxi's dashboard are reminiscent of the alarm clock's red glow in our darkened bedroom. I would like to go back to sleep.

The taxi driver is a friendly man of African origin. He apologizes for being five minutes past the appointed time for our drive to the airport. The original driver, he explains, was stopped by the police and was rendered unavailable. Speeding, according to the driver, was the likely cause of the police intervention.

The driver goes on to explain that he was originally scheduled to pick up a different customer. Apparently, the fare had been cancelled on the previous evening, but the dispatcher had failed to notify him. He only learned of the cancellation while parked outside the customer's home.

"So, there I was," the driver says, looking in the rearview mirror at me with a grand smile, "all dressed up with no place to go."

Several minutes after hearing about the cancellation, he learned about his colleague's dilemma. So with great haste, he made his way to the Wonders' home.

"So, it has turned out to be my lucky day, after all," he adds. Then he gave a deep, full laugh.

***

The taxi driver tells me that he hails from Angola. He fled to Canada during the bloody civil war that plagued his homeland for many years. Despite his heroic escape, the cost of his decision was steep. For almost fifteen years, he lost complete contact with his family of origin.

"I can't imagine how difficult that must have been," I say to the driver. I tried to read his name on the cab's identification card, but it was too dark.

"Yes, my friend," he replies, with another broad smile, "it is not a pleasant thing to lose touch with your family."

***

About seven years ago, a church minister from Angola paid a visit to the old town. Moved by the driver's story, the minister pledged to make enquires about his family when he returned to their homeland.

The minister remained true to his word. He prepared copies of a letter outlining the driver's identity and the names of his family members. He sent the letter to churches all across the country. Hopefully, someone among these congregations might recognize the driver's name or those of his family members.

More than six months passed without any news. Then the driver's phone rang in the middle of the night. It was a cousin calling from Angola. At the end of a Sunday service, his minister had read out one of the aforementioned letters.

***

After the initial joy of recognition, the driver said to his cousin, "Please, tell me all the bad news first."

His cousin complied and the driver listened intently to news about the difficulties during the civil war, the bad economic situation and many other troubles experienced by the people during the driver's estrangement from his homeland.

The driver was naturally saddened by these tales, but he suddenly felt surprised and elated that no mention had been made about the deaths of his parents or other immediate family members.

"It was then that I realized that my parents, brothers and sisters might still be alive. I could not have dreamed that this could be true."

***

So the driver posed the question directly to his cousin. He asked about the welfare of his family. And indeed, it was true -- his eight siblings were still alive. Incredibly, his parents had also survived the years since his escape from Angola.

"That must have been an incredible moment," I said to the driver. Despite the early hour, my fatigue had vanished as I listened to his story.

"Oh, my friend," the driver replied with enthusiasm, "that was my lucky day."

***

The drive to the airport takes about forty minutes. But the time passed very quickly as the driver told me more about his life in Canada and his hope of visiting Angola during the next few years. He also said that he speaks with his mother by telephone at a prearranged time every other Sunday.

When we arrived at the departure area of the old town's airport, the driver extended his hand and wished me a good journey.

"I hope your days ahead are very lucky ones," he said warmly.

"Thank you," I replied, "I hope so, too."

***

My journey would take about thirteen hours. I was travelling from the old town, which is located on the Atlantic coast, to the shores of British Columbia on the Pacific coast. It's a marvel of modern travel that one can see two different oceans on the very same day.

During the trip, I would see the interior of four different airports. The interior characteristics of each would prove to be remarkably similar. At least, that's one's perception when traveling through so many locations in a single day.

In Toronto, the first stop on my route, I purchase the local tabloid. By nature, I'm a newspaper junkie, so this is usually one of the first things I do when arriving in another city. This particular rag has a right-wing, hysterical slant, but its dimensions make it easier to read in crowded areas. And besides, when one is a newspaper junkie, one's itch must be scratched, regardless of content.

As I wait for my connecting flight to Calgary, I lean against a pillar with one foot crossed over the other, perusing the latest news from the Big Smoke. Since I'm also prone to fantasy, I imagine that I'm waiting for a train in the 1940's, clad in a suit and grey fedora with a cigarette dangling from my lips.

Checking my watch for the time until departure, I notice that my hands are horribly ink-stained from the paper. This, I tell myself, is the penalty for reading trashy, right-wing tabloids. I seek out the nearest men's room and wash my hands thoroughly. Then I return to my pillar post.

***

Divested of the newspaper, I engage in some casual people-watching. Now I'm a plainclothed agent of the state, on the lookout for the arrival of a treasonous, white-collared criminal.

Suddenly, from the seats in front of the boarding area, a rumpled, pale, middle-aged man staggers hastily across the terminal toward the washrooms. Both of his hands are cupped loosely in front of his mouth. As he tries to navigate through the throngs of people walking past, a voluminous spray of greyish vomit lurches from his mouth. Unable to contain the vile mixture with his hands, it splashes noisily on the tiled floor.

Curiously, only a few people seem to notice this unfortunate drama. These individuals look away in discomfort. The sickly traveller has disappeared into the men's room, but a treacherous pool of vomit has been left behind in the high-traffic walkway adjacent to the boarding area.

This emerging scenario, I say to myself, bears further observation.

***

It does not take long for someone to step in the greyish vomit.

Several victims are oblivious when this occurs. A few others look back in mild annoyance and make brief attempts to wipe their feet on the floor. A number of people spy the vomit at the last moment and dance around it. Some do this awkwardly, while others do so with great agility. One particular man, who does not look prone to such nimble movement, does a Fred Astaire-like spin and continues on his way without a second glance.

Patience, however, will always be rewarded.

Two men, both the very picture of corporate success, are walking boldly through the terminal. They're wearing crisp, dark suits and colourful ties. Their black shoes are expensive and well polished. One of the men is toting a small, boxlike briefcase. It sits on a wheeled carrier that he trails behind him.

The other man is carrying a rich-looking leather satchel. He's wearing a small headset, with earpiece and microphone. One can only imagine the grand importance of the phone calls that emanate from such a contraption.

The two men appear to be in deep conversation as they approach the offensive liquid that looms in front of them. For a brief moment, at least from my vantage point, the entire terminal becomes silent. Aside from the two businessmen, everything else is in a state of suspended animation.

The man with the leather satchel is first to reach the pool of vomit. The heel of his leading foot skids through the liquid, extending his leg wildly in front of him. Losing his balance, the satchel hits his companion in the mid section. This happens at the same time his companion begins to slip through the vomit.

Both men land awkwardly on the floor. In the commotion, the wheeled briefcase was loosened from the second man's grasp and stands forlornly several feet behind them. The man with the leather satchel has taken the brunt of the damage. The back of his suit is clearly marked with the ghastly mixture of vomit. His companion had fallen on his side, although he has partially broken his fall with an outstretched hand.

This hand, unfortunately, lands squarely in the vomit.

***

Both men are quick to regain their feet. Expletives escape from their mouths as they make sense of their demise. They are suddenly conscious of the stares of their fellow travellers. One of the men points quickly to the nearest washroom and heads quickly toward it with his companion behind him.

As they near the entry to the washroom, Vomit Guy, the unknown source of their misfortune, makes his exit and passes by them.

Vomit Guy is looking much better now.

***

As soon as the men disappear into the bathroom, the boarding call for the next leg of my trip is made. It will be a four-hour jaunt to Calgary. After a further two-hour wait, I will take another flight to my final destination in Victoria, British Columbia. In all, it will be an eleven-hour journey.

As the plane nears its readiness for departure, I settle into my window seat. The two seats beside me are empty and I'm silently hopeful it will remain this way. Air travel is rarely a comfortable experience, especially with one's kneecaps resting under one's chin for a four-hour period.

A flight attendant passes by my row. She glances at the empty seats beside me and smiles.

"It looks like this is going to be your lucky day," she says amiably.

***

Alas, my hopes for a more expansive seating arrangement are quickly dashed. Two more passengers have emerged from the terminal and are heading toward my row.

It's the two businessmen from the vomit pool.

They stand in front of my row as they store the boxlike briefcase and the leather satchel in the overhead bin. I glance at the men, looking for signs of vomit stains on their clothing. Surprisingly, I can find no evidence of their mishap.

Finally, they settle into their seats. Paying no heed to your agent, they begin to converse about business matters. There is no discussion about vomit.

Vomit, however, is soon very much on my mind. Within a matter of minutes, it's all I can smell. Although the businessmen may have been successful in hiding the overt evidence of their experience, the offensive odour has defied their cleansing attempts.

A different flight attendant comes by after the plane has taken off. He asks us if we would like something to eat. The men order sandwiches and wine. I politely decline the offer and gaze out the window for the next four hours.

Something tells me I should wait for my arrival in Victoria before eating anything.

***

With work-related matters complete, I set off for my return to the old town.

I take the so-called red-eye flight out of Victoria. It will be another exhausting experience, but it will leave me with plenty of daytime rest when I eventually arrive in the old town.

On the flight from Victoria, I sit beside a man who works in the oil business in Calgary. He tells me that he has recently returned to Canada after working overseas for six months. He said it was a harrowing experience and considered himself fortunate to have returned home safely. Apparently, there was growing unrest in this particular country toward those from foreign oil companies.

Out of curiosity, I ask, "So what country were you working in?"

"Angola," he replied, "And let me tell you, it was my lucky day when I got out of that place."

***

Eventually, I reach Toronto again and connect with my remaining flight to the old town.

As the plane begins its descent, the pilot announces that we must circle the airport, due to an accumulation of other planes that are trying to land. For about half an hour, we fly around in broad circles. Suddenly, the plane increases its speed and begins to gain altitude.

About five minutes later, the pilot announces that the old town's airport is enshrouded by thick fog. All landings, he adds, have been aborted. Instead, the plane will continue to it's next destination, St. John's, Newfoundland.

Two days later, after flying back to Toronto, St. John's and then Toronto again in an attempt to reach home, the old town's infamous fog finally lifts. I arrive at the old town's airport physically and mentally fatigued. After locating my bag, I walk outside to seek a taxi for the final ride back to the Sack.

An attendant directs me to the first available cab. Standing beside it is my Angolan friend. He greets me with a warm smile and takes the bag from my hand as he asks about my welfare. After placing the bag in the trunk, he flashes another brilliant smile and says:

"It's so very nice to see you again. This must be my lucky day!"

***