Saturday, April 28, 2007

Saturday Snapshot

It's gone.

The flattened bag of dog poop near the Sack's centre circle has finally disappeared. Your agent made this discovery last Sunday afternoon. It was the proverbial icing on the cake after a fabulous spring day.

I walked into the house and informed Mrs. Wonders about the matter. She smiled and nodded her approval.

Then she said, "I know."

Earlier in the day, Mrs. Wonders had been toiling in the small garden in the centre circle. She saw the bag of poop and with a gloved hand, placed it in our garbage bin. She was aware of my frequent ruminations on the matter.

"It's time for you to move on," she told me, her arms folded in front of her.

She was right, of course. Over the past month, I've made almost daily remarks about the continuing presence of the dog poop near the Sack's centre circle. Mrs. Wonders said she was growing increasingly tired of the subject.

So, I'm moving on, man. I'm putting the dog poop behind me.

The page has been turned.

***
Last Saturday was the epitome of a perfect spring day. For the entire day, it was bright and sunny. There were robins everywhere. By the early afternoon, you could feel the full warmth of the sun on your skin. Later in the day, a slight, cool breeze wafted through the neighbourhood.

The Sack was alive with activity. People were outdoors in good numbers. Many were engaged in various forms of home maintenance. A group of kids was cavorting around the centre circle. You could actually hear the excited chirping of goldfinches and other birds as they flitted between the trees that line the street.

Your agent was perched on the front step of the Wonders' home. There was a cup of tea beside me. I was taking a break from puttering around the yard. The shed had already been cleaned out and a broken exterior light repaired.

I cast a wide, panoramic glance around the street, capturing the images of people at work and play. Today's missive, describes this brief snapshot of Sack life on a sunny, spring day.

***
Computer Doug was walking toward his car. He was dressed in a crisp, black business suit. He also wore a brilliant turquoise dress shirt. It was open at the neck.

For over a month, Computer Doug has been unemployed. He was laid off by his previous employer. Last week, however, he found another job. His new position has something to with computers. It's with a company that has some kind of vague connection to the computer industry.

At least, that's how Oscar described it to me.

Although it was Saturday, Computer Doug had a meeting scheduled with his new boss. Apparently, he needed to sign some papers to officially accept the new position. That's why he was looking sharp on a spring Saturday.

Oscar says Computer Doug acquired his turquoise dress shirt on eBay. He could be right about this.

***
Meanwhile, Big Doug was raking the thatch from his award-winning lawn. He was wearing a pair of blue coveralls and work boots. He also wore a pair of grey work gloves. A red baseball cap topped off his ensemble.

Big Doug was dressed for some serious yard work.

A dark green wheelbarrow sat at the top of his driveway. It wasn't your ordinary garden implement, either. It was a luxury-model wheelbarrow.

The garage door was open. A bright industrial light brought the interior into view. The garage was filled with tools, lumber and machinery. Nevertheless, the entire space was immaculate. Everything, it seemed, was in its proper place.

Big Doug is an organized man.

***
Jeff Christ was busy on the driveway of Ben and Norma's house. He was stripping an antique chest of drawers. His uncle Ben tells me that Jeff Christ is very good at woodworking.

Earlier, Jeff's task had been interrupted by a visit from young Doo. The boy was on his bike at the time. Whenever there's fixing afoot, the lad is sure to poke his nose in for a look.

Jeff must have noticed something amiss with Doo's bike. It wasn't long before the bike was upside down on the driveway and some repairs were in progress. When Jeff was finished, Doo mounted his bike again and rode off with a look of satisfaction on his face. Jeff Christ stood on the driveway and gave the boy a friendly, farewell wave.

Jeff Christ is a very fine fellow.

***
Weed tells me that Jeff is doing very well at the local call centre. Within a matter of months, he was promoted to team leader. Weed has been working at the same call centre for almost eighteen months. He has remained in the same entry-level position.

"I don't think I'm team leader material," he told me with a grin.

Weed says everyone at the call centre thinks Jeff Christ is a very fine fellow, too.

"Chicks dig him," he said, smiling, "and all the guys want to be his friend."

***
Meanwhile, Gordon was sorting through a large box as he sat on his front steps. The box was filled to the brim with outdoor solar lights.

Gordon, of course, has the world's largest collection of solar lights. During the summer months, he's on constant patrol to ensure they're in working order.

The outdoor solar lights remain as Gordon's primary contribution in the battle to reverse global warming.

***
Doo's stepdad, Sticky was also outside. Using a hand spreader, he was disbursing pelletized lime on his front lawn.

Sticky, of course, is a bus driver with the old town's transit system. He puts in a lot of overtime at his job, sometimes working seven days a week. It's a rare event to see him around the Sack.

I haven't seen Sticky in ages.

Oscar says Sticky has aged considerably since moving in with Doo's mom. He thinks it might have something to do with living in the same house as Doo. Oscar called it the Doo Effect.

I hope it has more to do with working long hours.

***
Little Doug was also involved in home maintenance activity. He was perched on a stepladder at the front of Oscar's house. One of the digits on Oscar's house number had loosened. For the last six months, it has been hanging askew.

Oscar had grown fond of the house number's crooked appearance. He said it was an appropriate metaphor for the inherent madness of cul-de-sac living. His wife, G.W., however, had a different opinion on the matter. She wanted it fixed.

Oscar had gone to Little Doug's house and asked for the loan of a screwdriver. Within seconds, Little Doug had offered to make the repair himself.

This, of course, is the best way to get Little Doug to fix something for you.

***
While Little Doug straightened the house number, Oscar was nowhere to be seen.

A gentle wisp of smoke was drifting from the back of his house. Oscar was on his back deck, grilling hotdogs on his barbeque. Earlier, he said he had awoken with nothing but hotdogs on his mind. This became the priority on his to-do list for the day.

"When I get an itch," Oscar had told me earlier, "I gotta make sure it gets scratched."

***
Oscar's boy, Dorian and a few of his friends were playing basketball near the Sack's centre circle. Every year, these boys become broader and taller. They're also much more accomplished at basketball.

Young Doo had resumed his frenzied bike-riding activity. He had organized a small ramp made of scrap wood. He was trying to ride off the curb and then down the ramp. Each time he tried to accomplish the feat, the ramp would collapse.

Doo was starting to look frustrated.

The Sack's two twelve-year-old cowboys were in their usual western garb. Both were wearing bandanas across their faces. They were scurrying after two slightly younger girls, trying to lasso them.

Instead of western-style lassos, the two cowhands were using pink skipping ropes.

***
From the vantage point of the Wonders' front step, this panoramic image of the Sack revealed a peaceful, contented suburban neighbourhood. There were no obvious signs of shenanigans.

But there were shenanigans.

At first glance, nothing seemed to be amiss at Burning Manor. The house looked quiet and unassuming. The car was in the driveway and the front window blinds were open. There was no sign of anyone on the outside.

But then you would notice the front door of Burning Manor. It was wide open. A tiny ginger-coloured kitten stood tentatively on the threshold. There was no sign of Dirk and Dora.

***
If you looked at the house beside Burning Manor, you would've noticed another relevant detail. The big, barking dog was standing in the middle of Elizabeth's lawn. The dog was motionless as it faced the front of her home.

Elizabeth was standing at her window. She had her hands on her hips. She was locked in a staring contest with the big barking dog.

And there was still no sign of Dirk and Dora.

***
Clearly, someone had entered Burning Manor and neglected to close the front door. I was quite certain that Dirk was away at his job on an oil rig. This meant that Dora was likely the guilty party.

Nevertheless, the kitten and the big, barking dog had wandered outdoors without detection.

This state of affairs continued for about fifteen minutes. The big, barking dog continued to occupy Elizabeth's front lawn. They were still staring at each other. The dog's mouth was open and his tongue was hanging out. He looked like he was smiling.

Elizabeth, of course, was still frowning.

***
Jeff Christ had also been watching this scenario. He walked over to Burning Manor and shooed the kitten back into the house. Then he walked calmly toward the big, barking dog and easily directed it back to the open door.

With the animals now safely in the house, Jeff knocked on the open door. After a moment, I heard him call out with a polite, yet forceful greeting.

But there was still no sign of Dora.

***
After ringing the doorbell a few times, Jeff Christ backed away from the door and returned to Ben and Norma's house. He soon returned with Ben. The two men approached the door and then cautiously entered the house.

Nothing happened for about ten minutes. I was about to return to the backyard to resume my chores. The bird feeders were in need of replenishment. Before I could leave, however, I heard the distant sound of a siren. The sound grew closer and louder. Suddenly, an ambulance motored into the Sack.

It stopped in front of Burning Manor.

***
Two paramedics walked purposefully into the house with a stretcher. No sooner had they entered, when a fire truck roared into the Sack with its siren blaring. It pulled in directly behind the ambulance.

Sack residents stood frozen for a few seconds in the warm sunshine. This sudden commotion seemed incongruent with the normalcy of a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

Eventually, residents of all ages inched toward Burning Manor to learn more about the matter. Even Oscar was moved to join the crowd. He walked purposefully from his backyard toward the commotion in front of Burning Manor.

He was carrying a hotdog in his hand.

***
People gathered across the street from Burning Manor. Young Doo was bursting with enthusiasm at the sight of the fire truck. His step dad, Sticky had to corral him back toward the sidewalk. In that moment, Sticky did look like he had aged considerably.

Perhaps he is suffering from the Doo Effect, after all.

About five minutes later, Ben and Jeff Christ emerged from Burning Manor. They were followed by the paramedics and a single female firefighter. Dora was strapped onto the stretcher. She was awake, but seemed unaware of the commotion around her.

Later, Ben would tell us they discovered Dora on her livingroom couch. She was fast asleep. Efforts to rouse her were only partially successful. She was awake, but quite incoherent. Unable to make sense of her ramblings, Ben decided to call the emergency services.

It was suspected that Dora had been mixing alcohol with some prescription medications. One of the paramedics said he was familiar with her. He said he had dealt with Dora on several occasions at different locations. He described her as a pain in the ass.

It was about one o'clock in the afternoon.

The ambulance carted Dora off to the hospital and the fire truck quickly departed. Dora would return home in a taxi about five hours later. She appeared to be, as Oscar described it later, "as right as rain."

***
After the commotion ended, Sack residents milled about on the street in front of Burning Manor for a few minutes. People expressed their continuing frustration and amusement with Dora's shenanigans.

Eventually, everyone wandered back to their previous activities. Oscar went back to his barbeque and Little Doug went to finish his repair of Oscar's house number. Jeff Christ started working on Norma's antique chest of drawers again, while Big Doug resumed his efforts to prepare his awarding-winning lawn for another summer.

Sticky started to put lime on his lawn again, while his stepson, Doo took another crack at building a solid bike ramp. The basketball game near the Sack's centre circle resumed and the twelve-year-old cowboys tried to lasso a pair of squealing girls with their pink skipping ropes.

It was like the shenanigans had never happened at all.

***

Sunday, April 22, 2007

The Gathering of the Clan

The old town woke up on Easter Sunday to about thirty centimetres of snow. This was not, as the phrase goes, a harbinger of spring.

A plastic bag filled with dog poop has been languishing on the pavement near the Sack's centre circle for almost three weeks. After the snowfall, it was no longer visible from the Wonders' front window. This was the only one benefit to be derived from the dastardly snowstorm.

Rain and fog, the old town's customary weather, has prevailed since Easter Sunday. As the snow gradually melted, rumours of more hospitable weather began anew.

The flattened bag of dog poop, however, is still there.

My resolve to stay out of the matter remains strong. But it's turning out to be a monumental challenge. This whole affair is going into sudden-death overtime.

I'm also getting tired of writing about a bag of dog poop.

***
A number of cars were parked outside Little Doug's house on Easter Sunday. He was hosting a gathering of his extended family.

It was easy to imagine that a warm and jovial time was unfolding beyond the facade of Little Doug's home. Perhaps there was a large gathering around the kitchen table or a raucous game of cards was in progress. Everyone would have drinks in hand, as they swapped good-natured insults or offered encouragement to each other. Maybe there would be music playing in the background.

This, of course, was the story I made up in my head, as I stood at the Wonders' front window.

***
Weed is a member of Little Doug's extended family. He was in attendance at the gathering on Easter Sunday. Last Friday, he provided a detailed report on the affair. He was the sole guest on our show in the Wonders' front room.

His experience at the gathering, however, didn't exactly jive with your agent's optimistic imagination. While nothing remarkable occurred during the affair, some of the attendees made it an unusual afternoon. At least, that was his perspective on the matter.

Little Doug's extended family members, according to Weed, are a bit of a motley crew.

***
Recently, Little Doug's daughter, Daisy took a trip to visit her mother. She brought the infant, Baby Doug with her.

Daisy's mother lives in the great State of Maine with her second husband. They met on the Internet a number of years ago. She was still married to Little Doug at the time.

Weed likes to say that Daisy's mother acquired her new husband on eBay. I remain doubtful about this.

***
Little Doug had only one request for his daughter when she visited the great State of Maine. He asked her to bring back a frozen American turkey.

According to Little Doug, you can buy a turkey in the U.S. for half the cost of one from the old town. With the Easter Sunday gathering in mind, he said someone would be crazy not to take advantage of such a deal.

Little Doug said he had no idea why an American turkey would cost significantly less than a Canadian bird.

"That's just the way it is, I guess," he said with a shrug.

Oscar had his own opinion when the matter was raised on our show. By paying more for turkeys and other items, he pointed out, Canadians are able to enjoy free universal health care.

"Never underestimate the power of your turkey tax dollar," he said sagely. Then he added, "Think about that the next time you go to the doctor."

***
Daisy, of course, brought the requested American turkey home. She had to transport it in a cooler packed with ice. She said it was a "royal pain in the ass" to cart it home with her.

In the future, she told Weed, Little Doug will have to get his cheap American turkeys on his own.

***
Little Doug served the American turkey to his extended family on Easter Sunday.

There were about fifteen people in attendance. His elderly mother was there, along with his four siblings and their various spouses. A few aunts and uncles were there, as well. Weed said a smattering of cousins and nieces joined the gathering, too.

The only person who wasn't related to Little Doug's family by blood or marriage was a fellow named Byron. According to Weed, Byron has been a lifelong friend of the family. Over the years, they have simply included him as a member of their own family.

Byron grew up on the same street as Little Doug. He lived with his parents until both passed away a few years ago. Now in his late thirties, Byron lives in a basement apartment in the house where Little Doug's oldest sister lives with her family.

Byron, according to Weed, is a very odd fellow.

***
Weed said the most apt word to describe Byron's physical stature was "beanpole." Although he was well over six feet, Byron would be lucky to weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds.

The clothing that covered Byron's lanky frame gave him the appearance of an unmade bed. He wore a wrinkled, oversized denim shirt and a pair of khaki pants which had clearly never met the flat side of an iron. His pant legs ended at least five inches north of his shoes. On his feet were thick, grey work socks and a pair of open-toed, brown sandals.

In addition to his interesting sense of style, Weed said Byron was also one of the most hirsute individuals he had ever run across. So thick was the hair on his hands, Weed said you could easily run a comb through it. There was also an unsettling amount of coarse hair that protruded from his nose and ears. Byron's five o'clock shadow, he added, looked like it was applied with charcoal.

To make matters worse, Weed said Byron carried a heavy odour that was reminiscent of wet hockey equipment.

***
Weed said he spoke with Byron for about twenty minutes in the livingroom of Little Doug's home. Half of the gathering was ensconced in this location, while the other half congregated in the kitchen.

Twenty minutes, according to Weed, was the longest he could manage in conversing with Byron. In part, this was due to the smell of wet hockey equipment. The other difficulty was Byron's eyeglasses. He wore a pair of large black-framed glasses with very thick lenses. Weed said the lenses made Byron's eyeballs look like the size of two toonies.

In the end, Weed said his eyes were starting to water from looking at Byron's magnified eyeballs.

***
Weed said Byron was quite an amiable fellow. He was fanatical about watching hockey on television and had a masterful grasp of statistics and trivia. He was also a rabid supporter of the Detroit Red Wings. Despite this interest, he told Weed he had never played the game himself.

Weed thought this was odd for someone who smelled like wet hockey equipment.

Another interesting aspect of Byron was the sound of his laugh. Weed called it a donkey laugh. He was so intrigued by it that he did his best to make jokes that would induce Byron to repeat it.

Eventually, Little Doug had to tell Weed to knock it off. Apparently, if Byron does his donkey laugh too much, he gets a bad case of hiccups. More than a few family gatherings, he told Weed privately, have been ruined by this.

***
The oldest of Little Doug's two sisters was also in the livingroom.

Weed said gatherings of Little Doug's clan are usually held at her home. He said he was glad that he didn't have to go there this time. Apparently, her home is dominated by her extensive collection of porcelain turtles. Weed says going to her home is like visiting a crowded antique shop. The only difference is that all of the antiques are porcelain turtles.

After his last visit to Little Doug's sister's home, Weed said he had nightmares about evil porcelain turtles that suddenly came to life.

***
Little Doug's oldest sister's name is May. She is rather short and round in appearance and is prone to wearing thick turtleneck sweaters. Weed says he has no idea whether this is related to her interest in porcelain turtles.

May believes that her turtle collection is now the largest in the country east of Montreal. There used to be a fellow in New Brunswick with a larger collection, but apparently he died last year. May said she has no idea what happened to his collection. She tried to get information about it through an Internet discussion group devoted to the matter of porcelain turtles, but kept running into brick walls. Apparently, the man was a loner without any family. May fears that his collection was simply carted off to a dump.

During the family gathering, May reported that she was saving her money to purchase another display case for some of her more recent porcelain turtles. Her husband, a gaunt-looking fellow who works as a long-haul truck driver, was going to pick it up for her on his next trip through the great State of New Hampshire.

She said it was driving her crazy not to have more room for her porcelain turtles.

***
The most intriguing character at Little Doug's family gathering was a man named Clay. He's the husband of Little Doug's youngest sister.

Clay doesn't have an unusual appearance, a donkey laugh or any odd collections. In fact, Weed said it would be difficult to observe anything unusual about Clay, if you were introduced to him. This is because he has a special talent known only to his extended family and few close friends.

Clay, according to Weed, has the ability to fart on demand.

"Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week," Weed told us, with obvious enthusiasm in his voice, "this guy can summon a fart without a second thought."

Oscar could barely contain his disbelief. From a physiological standpoint, he said he didn't think this could be possible. Weed, however, was adamant about the matter.

"Trust me. I was doubtful, too," Weed replied, "But ever since I found out about it, I've tested the guy. I've met him about ten times over the last five years and he has never me let me down. As soon as I saw him on Sunday, I asked him to fart and he did it right away. Three other people asked him to do it, too. He came through every time."

If there was a world farting championship, Weed said Clay would be a shoo-in for the title. He had even considered a new name for the man, if such a title was ever awarded.

"After he won, I'd change his name to Gaseous Clay."

***
Little Doug's one-eyed Uncle Raymond was also in attendance at the family gathering. He did not, however, remove his prosthetic eye during the affair. Weed had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, he said it would've been interesting to see it, but it would have grossed him out as well.

While Uncle Raymond didn't remove his eye for the gathering, Weed said he was still the centre of attention for a few brief moments. A heavy smoker, with a myriad of medical problems, he fell into a substantial coughing fit during the Easter Sunday dinner.

Weed said the coughing bout was so severe, he expected Raymond to expel one of his lungs onto the dinner table. Daisy was so concerned about her great-uncle that she was going to summon an ambulance to the scene. Thankfully, Raymond recovered before she hit the final digit on a 911 call.

The outburst, Weed explained, cast a pall over the dinner table for a few minutes. But then Clay provided a comical fart that quickly broke the accumulated tension in the room.

"The guy is a real pro," Weed said with admiration.

***
Aside from Uncle Raymond's near-death experience, Weed said there was one other matter that created difficulty during the family gathering. It was something that has been plaguing Little Doug's extended family for a considerable period.

Little Doug's two sisters are currently embroiled in conflict. As a result, they haven't spoken to each other since 2005. Apparently, they had an argument about something and exchanged some nasty words with each other. Nobody, according to Weed, is quite certain about the nature of the argument.

Ever since, however, the family has been divided along lines of support for the two sisters. This is why part of the family congregates in the kitchen, while the rest are in the livingroom. Weed, who has the freedom to move back and forth between the two locations, says the two groups often spend time talking about each other.

June is the name of Little Doug's youngest sister. According to Weed, June was ranting in the kitchen about her sister, May's interest in porcelain turtles. Meanwhile, May was holding court in the livingroom with her criticism of June's husband, Clay.

"I have no idea what the problem between the two of them is," Weed said protectively, "but I don't think it's fair to bring Clay's farting abilities into it."

***
Although May and June still won't talk to each other, Weed said Little Doug's family is still able to sit down at the same table to enjoy a turkey dinner.

Everyone, according to Weed, thought the turkey from the great State of Maine was delicious. Despite his slim frame, Byron had several helpings and said it was the best turkey he had ever eaten.

The highest compliment, however, came from Gaseous Clay. At the end of the meal, Little Doug asked everyone if they enjoyed the turkey. After everyone murmured their approval, Clay let loose with four short, consecutive farts.

"A four out of five rating," Weed said with approval. "That's a successful family gathering in anyone's book."

***

Friday, April 13, 2007

Porch Views

It's still there.

A plastic bag filled with dog poop rests on the pavement near the Sack's centre circle. A car, parked overnight at the circle's curb, is hiding the bag's presence. But I know it's still there.

More than a week has passed since the bag of poop appeared on the street. Your agent, of course, has pledged to stay out of the matter. Someone else can take responsibility for disposing of the bag. I've done my share of unclaimed garbage removal.

But this is turning out to be a real test of my stamina.

***
It was Good Friday in the Sack.

Spring weather had forsaken us, as the air remained cool and brisk. The sun was out for most of the day, but every now and then, clouds gathered and light snow flurries fell harmlessly on the ground.

Once, for about five minutes, a mass of wet flurries filled the air while the sun was still shining brightly.

Weather-wise, it was a weird day.

***
Late in the afternoon, your agent felt the need for some fresh air.

The first half of the day had been spent indoors in peaceful, relaxing pursuits. Mrs. Wonders was engrossed in a book as she reclined in the front room. She had pledged to join me for a walk when she finished her current chapter. It was turning out to be one of the longest in modern literary history.

Strolling about in the backyard, I carried out a brief inspection of the area. There was no particular purpose in the task, of course. On such a calm, serene day, it seemed inappropriate to engage in any domestic labour. Eventually, I walked toward the front of the house to do more of the same.

After poking around the front yard, I sat down on the porch steps. After living most of my life in apartment buildings, porch-sitting remains as one my favourite aspects of home ownership.

If it were up to me, everyone would have porch steps at their disposal.

***
Most people would say that porch-sitting offers great opportunities for social interaction. In the Sack, this is certainly true.

Nevertheless, it's not my favourite aspect of the matter. Some of life's most interesting moments can be found in the solitude of the front step. From this vantage point, the stories of people's lives unfold right in front of the eye. In these moments, the company of others is neither necessary nor helpful. Sometimes, great attention is needed to see the stories within the seemingly normal or unremarkable aspects suburban life.

This is hard to do when Oscar is jabbering in your ear about something.

***
Most of the time, of course, it's difficult to find solitude on the porch steps. Even when Oscar isn't around, someone will inevitably come along. Before you know it, you will have more than your fair share of social interaction.

But those rare moments of solo porch-sitting can still provide amusement. At times, it can be just as captivating as a good book or a compelling movie. In fact, if you have enough patience, you can also catch a glimpse of occasional cul-de-sac shenanigans, right in front of your eyes.

This is why porch steps are sometimes like stadium seats.

***
One summer, while enjoying a cup of tea on the Wonders' front steps, I saw Little Doug fall from a ladder. He didn't fall very far and thankfully, he wasn't hurt. But he did, however, land in a muddy garden bed. The seat of his pants and the back of his shirt were caked in soggy, black soil.

Oscar was envious that your agent had actually witnessed the affair. He said he would've paid good money to see it himself. He even tried to get Little Doug to perform a re-enactment of the fall, but Little Doug was steadfast in his refusal.

Nevertheless, the whole affair was quite entertaining.

***
When young Doo was about four-years-old, I saw him tearing around the Sack on his bicycle. Other than a bike helmet on his head, he was completely naked. The bike had training wheels attached to the rear tire, but only one was touching the ground.

Doo circled the pavement around the Sack's centre circle. His mom gave chase about six feet behind him. Doo's mom was wearing her favourite sweatshirt. It's a garment she wears with some frequency, so I'm only assuming it's her favourite. On the front of the sweatshirt are the words, Foxy Lady.

Eventually, she corralled young Doo and force-marched him back to their house. Later, I would learn that he had bolted from the house while getting ready for a visit to his grandparents' home. He had bike-riding on his mind that day, so a major confrontation quickly ensued. Doo had fled from the house in his birthday suit, pausing at the door to pick up his helmet.

From a porch-sitting perspective, it was also a very entertaining affair.

***
On another warm summer afternoon, I watched Elizabeth as she mowed her front lawn. Suddenly, as she marched back and forth, she was accosted by a persistent wasp.

In self defence, she began with a few sudden, emphatic waves of her hand. Unfortunately, this only made matters worse. Waving her arms around her head, she started to backpedal away from the agitated insect.

It wasn't long before Elizabeth abandoned this strategy and began to run in mad circles across her lawn. By this time, she was emitting short, high-pitched shrieks as her arms flailed above her head.

Quite suddenly, she changed tactics again. She resumed her backpedalling strategy, but continued to wave her arms in the air. Unfortunately, hurried backpedalling is not a good idea on a downward slope. There is always the chance of a nasty spill.

Elizabeth, of course, eventually lost her footing and landed awkwardly on her bottom. She rolled on the ground a few times before staggering to her feet. This time she put her head down and moved quickly toward the safety of her front door. The lawn mower was still running as it sat in the middle of her front lawn.

Now that, my friends, was entertainment.

***

Friday, April 06, 2007

Mental Health Day

A flattened, torn plastic bag continues to sit on the pavement near the Sack's centre circle. As previously reported, the bag is filled with dog poop. It has been there for over a week now.

Sack kids are aware of the bag's presence. Upon discovering it, they recoiled with muted squeals of horror. One of the braver souls decided to poke it with a stick, but then quickly lost interest in the matter. Even young Doo found little to capture his attention. I watched as he gave the bag a quick inspection. In the end, he simply gave it a dismissive kick and then wandered away to find more engaging mayhem. Since then, Sack kids have simply played around the bag, as if it were a suburban land mine.

I remain steadfast in my resolve not to interfere in the matter. After all, it's not my dog poop. If it was mine, I'd be diligent in removing it from sight.

But again, it's not my dog poop. I've drawn a line in the sand on this matter and I'm not going to cross it.

I'm serious, man.

***
It has been some time since we have spoken in any detail about Gordon. Sack shenanigans have a way of nudging him into the background. Fortunately, Gordon's amusing idiosyncrasies ensure that he will always find his way back to our radar screen.

Gordon, of course, is the grand poobah of the Sack Resident's Society. His vision for the Sack calls for a reserved, regulated and restrictive suburban cul-de-sac. But like most misunderstood visionaries, he has been fighting an uphill battle.

Nevertheless, Gordon is not a man who gives up easily. He instigated the creation of the Sack Resident's Society and instituted a rarely-used neighbourhood email group. In a moment of inspired creativity, he even chose a logo for the Society's letterhead. It features the image of a powerful, soaring raptor.

Unbeknownst to Gordon and other Sack residents, the logo actually depicts the form of a turkey vulture in full flight.

***
Like any conscientious grand poobah, Gordon has made it his business to become involved in civic affairs, especially as these matters relate to the Sack's welfare. He assures us that he's on a first-name basis with the local city councillor. On one occasion, he actually spoke on the telephone with one of the Mayor's executive assistants. Inspired by this brush with greatness, he now refers to the Mayor as Peter, rather than the man's full name.

Oscar, of course, regards Gordon with equal measures of wariness, amusement and disdain. In his eyes, Gordon is the suburban equivalent of an overbearing high school hall monitor.

"He might be on a first-name basis with the city councillor," he told your agent once, "but I'll bet he's listed in the councillor's Blackberry under "Arsehole."

***
Gordon's full-time occupation, outside of his Sack leadership role, is with the federal government. Apparently, he does something or other in an office, somewhere in the centre of the old town. At least, that's how Oscar describes it.

Gordon, of course, refers to himself as a civil servant. Oscar finds this archaic term to be wonderfully ironic.

"Have you ever tried to get a passport in this country?" he asked me. "If one of my servants took that long to do something, they'd be gone like that," he added, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

"And don't even talk to me about civil. I wouldn't be surprised if they have to take a rudeness seminar before they can work for the federal government."

***
Weed, on the other hand, is greatly amused by Gordon's characterization of himself as a servant. He said it would be a fantastic thing to employ a servant of his own. Of course, he wouldn't require such services on full-time basis. He said he would only need his servant during weekday mornings.

"I'd just want someone to get me out the door in the morning," he explained. "Wake me up on time, make my breakfast, pack me a lunch and lay out my clothes. . . . that's about it."

Oscar laughed at this notion. "So what you really want is a mommy to do that stuff for you."

"Yeah," Weed replied, nodding his head slowly, "that would probably do, as well."

***
Early on Thursday evening, your agent rolled out the Wonders' compost bin to the curb. I was halfway down the driveway when Oscar emerged from his house to do the same.

As we drifted toward each other for a brief chat, Weed drove into the Sack. He was returning from his job at the local call centre, or as Weed prefers to call it, "the coal mine of the new millennium."

As Oscar and I converged near the Sack's centre circle, Weed emerged from his car. He was wearing a pair of black dress pants with a white shirt and a solid purple tie. The tie was badly knotted and hung around his neck like a noose. On top of his business ensemble was a faded denim jacket. Despite the light fog in the air, he also wore a pair of sunglasses.

After exchanging pleasantries, Oscar looked at Weed and your agent and said:

"Ask me what I saw this afternoon."

"No," Weed laughed, "cause you're gonna tell us anyway."

"That's true," Oscar replied with a smile.

***
Oscar said he had just emerged from a strategic planning session. This is what he prefers to call an afternoon nap on his couch. Apparently, this is when he gets the majority of his "thinking work" completed.

After rising from the couch, he walked to his front window and stretched his arms in the air. That's when he saw Gordon walking up the street.

Gordon was moving slowly up the road with a small camcorder lifted to his face. He was pointing it at each house on the east side of the street. Oscar said he was walking as if he was in funeral procession.

Oscar watched in amazement as Gordon inched along. He was slowly panning the camera across the line of homes. When he reached Burning Manor, he paused and recorded it more intently than the other homes. When he finally reached his own house, he began to slowly circle his car. With great care, he directed the camera across every inch of the exterior. Then he opened the car door and began to film the interior, again with great patience and concentration.

Oscar said his curiosity limit was finally breached. He rushed outside to investigate the matter.

***
Gordon seemed startled when Oscar appeared by his side. He was deeply engrossed in his film-making endeavours.

Oscar said he couldn't think of any other way to ask Gordon about the camcorder business. "What the heck are you doing?" he asked him with a smile.

Gordon was quick to set Oscar's mind at ease that he hadn't flipped his noodle. He had simply taken the day off to purchase his new camcorder. Apparently, he had been investigating the purchase for some time. After extensive research on the Internet, he had found the absolute best model for his particular audiovisual requirements. Remarkably, he said he also found it within his price range.

The camcorder, Gordon explained, was mostly needed to capture the usual events of everyday life. He wanted to record family gatherings and traditions, as well as his annual vacation in Cuba.

But there was also another reason for Gordon's purchase. For security and insurance purposes, he wanted to capture live images of his most valued possessions. After all, he told Oscar, with global warming upon us, the old town would surely be hit by another hurricane this summer.

The old town, of course, received the vicious slap of a hurricane in 2003. Nevertheless, the cold waters of the north Atlantic usually dissipate such storms before they reach our shores. The previous significant hurricane to hit the old town was more than forty years ago.

When Oscar mentioned the unlikelihood of another hurricane, Gordon reassured him that he had investigated the long-term weather prospects very carefully. All signs, he told Oscar knowledgeably, point toward another hurricane next September.

"And I'm going to be ready for it, too," he said with authority.

***
"So, why were you walking up and down the street with that thing?" Oscar asked, pointing at the camcorder.

Gordon explained that he was establishing a "baseline historical record" of the Sack. He was doing so in his role as the grand poopah of the Sack Resident's Society.

"After the next hurricane, people will have an accurate record of what their house looked like before the storm. That way, their insurance companies won't be able to rip them off."

Gordon went on to explain that most people don't think enough about contingency plans and the protection of their key possessions. He said he had already videotaped everything of value inside his home for both posterity and peace of mind. He told Oscar he would be happy to pop over later and do the same for all of Oscar's most prized possessions.

"Just give me a few minutes to finish up here and then I'll be right over," he said with enthusiasm.

"Naw, that's okay," Oscar replied, "But thanks anyway."

***
Oscar also asked Gordon why he had spent additional time filming the exterior of Burning Manor.

Gordon said he wanted a clear picture of the house for when it inevitably burns down again. He said he would give the video to the peelers, if they needed help in their forensic investigations. Then he asked Oscar again, if he'd like his prized possessions recorded for posterity.

"Naw, that's okay," Oscar replied again. "But thanks anyway."

***
Gordon's camcorder escapades, of course, weren't completely related to his desire for safety and security. He also likes to make good use of a new gadget before it fades into the background of his other possessions.

When he purchased a pressure washer last year, he was all over the neighbourhood offering his cleaning services to other Sack residents. He was so earnest about the matter, it was impossible to turn him down. He carefully pressure-washed at least six driveways and several porches, before he finally retired to his home.

Oscar says he hasn't seen Gordon use his pressure washer since.

***
"So, you took the whole day off just to buy a camcorder?" Oscar asked, just before they parted ways.

Gordon explained that he took a "mental health day," instead of going to work. As a civil servant in Her Majesty's government, he's entitled to a handful of such days every year.

Whenever he makes a significant purchase, Gordon says he likes to complete the matter during a weekday. The stores, he explained, aren't as busy. He said it's easier to get the complete attention of sales staff.

"Besides," he added evenly, "I like to ask a lot of questions when I buy something."

"That makes sense," Oscar replied. He quickly disengaged from Gordon and went back to his house. He said Gordon was starting to give him a headache. In the end, he said he had to have another strategic planning session just to clear his head.

***
Gordon, of course, will gradually lose interest in his camcorder. It might sit in a drawer for a lengthy period, before he runs across it again. Then he'll take a renewed interest in it, before it gets relegated, once again, to a place outside of his field of vision.

But there is still something joyful in Gordon, when his attention is captured by a newly-acquired doodad. His frenetic manner is always tempered by a degree of pleasure and enthusiasm. In these moments, he can be almost childlike.

Despite his idiosyncrasies, Gordon is essentially a good man. He also has strong beliefs about order, respect and duty. There is nothing wrong, of course, with such values, even though he can be overbearing at times.

At least, that's my opinion on the matter.

***
Weed, on the other hand, had little to say about Gordon's camcorder. He was far more interested in the concept of a "mental health day" as an employee benefit. If the call centre was willing to give him a supply of such days, he said he would be willing to be known as a "technology servant."

Oscar, however, had mixed feelings about Gordon's mental health days. As a taxpayer, he said he wasn't crazy about the idea of paying for Gordon's gadget-buying expeditions.

On the other hand, he said there was probably some merit in such a benefit, at least in Gordon's case.

"If there's anyone I know that needs a good supply of mental health days," he said with a grin, "it would have to be Gordon."

***

Monday, April 02, 2007

Artistic Merit

There is a plastic bag lying on the pavement near the Sack's centre circle. It has been there for several days now. The plastic bag is filled with dog poop.

A responsible dog-owner had clearly made an effort to clean up after his dog. But something must've gone awry after that. It could be that the bag was inadvertently dropped by the old town's waste management professionals.

But that's only a guess on my part.

More than a few cars have driven over the bag during the last few days. It's now flattened and partially broken. That's how I know it's filled with dog poop.

I could, of course, dispose of the dog poop myself. I've done this on a number of other occasions when unclaimed refuse has appeared in the street. But now, I'm resolved not to interfere in the matter. I think I've done more than my share of unclaimed garbage removal. Besides, your agent and Mrs. Wonders don't even have a dog.

My heels are dug in on this one, man.

***
Ben and Norma are planning to buy new lawn furniture this year.

Normally, your agent wouldn't report such an arcane piece of suburban fluff. But in this case, something brought the matter to a larger light.

On Wednesday, Ben placed their old lawn furniture at the curb. This consisted of eight chairs of various sizes and several tables. A complete set of cushions was still attached to the chairs. The furniture was tan-coloured and was made of a hard plastic resin. The cushions were covered with a faded fabric that displayed a bizarre montage of red and yellow roses.

It was no surprise that Ben and Norma would wish to purchase a new set of lawn furniture. Their old lot was decidedly tattered and unattractive. At least, that's what Gordon had to say about the matter. He said if it was up to him, he would only discard it under cover of darkness.

Unfortunately, none of the discarded furniture could be folded or stacked. As a result, Ben had to carefully construct an organized pile at the bottom of his driveway. He spent about twenty minutes on the task. When he was finished, a six-foot tall mountain of lawn furniture sat majestically at the curb.

Ben's creation was an intricately-woven cone of tangled plastic and cushioned fabric. There was something wild and untamed about it, yet it possessed a thin veneer of organization at the same time.

Without knowing it, Ben had constructed a masterpiece of suburban street art.

***
For two days, Sack residents were mesmerized by Ben's artistry. Cars would slow down to inspect the mountain of lawn furniture. The occupants would still look back at it, well after their cars had passed.

Oscar was most impressed by Ben's creation. He called it a stunning, symbolic representation of rampant consumerism and suburban decay. He thought it should have remained permanently at the foot of Ben's driveway.

Sack kids, on the other hand, didn't know what to make of the monstrosity. Several of them approached it with mayhem on their minds. But in the end, they gaped at it for a few moments and then slowly wandered away. Oscar said he saw a few cats do the same thing.

Young Doo took a great interest in the matter. He stood in front of the pyramid of lawn furniture for several minutes, considering his options. Doo, of course, is quite fond of smashing things. He was clearly thinking about how to best topple the structure with maximum effect.

Finally, he moved forward and grasped an extended chair leg near the bottom of the pile. He was just about to give it a forceful yank, when Ben appeared at the front door.

"What do you think you're doing, young man?" he called out with mock gruffness.

"Nuttin'," said Doo quickly.

Ben started down the front steps to continue the conversation. Doo, however, had no interest in any further interrogation. He quickly ran across the street and then disappeared into his own backyard.

Ben shook his head with a smile and then returned to his home.

***
Sadly, even the best street art can't last forever. Ben's lawn furniture creation survived until the old town's waste management professionals arrived on Friday.

Maxwell, Britney Bitterman's beau, is now a full-fledged member of the waste management profession. He works on the same crew that gathers the Sack's garbage every week. Almost a month has passed since he began this gainful employment. Oscar says this is the longest period that Maxwell has ever held the same job.

On this particular Friday, it was Maxwell's responsibility to dismantle the lawn furniture, when the old town's waste management professionals cruised into the Sack. Oscar said it was appropriate that Maxwell would be the one to dismantle Ben's work of art.

"It's funny that the person with the least amount of taste would be the one to take apart a great work of art," he said thoughtfully.

***
Oscar watched the matter unfold from his porch last Friday afternoon. He was waiting for a taxi to take him into the centre of the old town. Apparently, he had taken a sudden hankering for a grilled hot dog from one of the old town's outdoor vendors. Oscar said he would've driven his own car, but he had misplaced his keys.

According to Oscar, Maxwell circled Ben's conical mass of used lawn furniture several times before he took any action. Then he began to remove the first piece with considerable care.

Maxwell continued to remove one piece of furniture at a time, placing the entire set in the area of the truck reserved for larger items. Oscar said he was taking his sweet time in completing the task. Maxwell's cousin, Doug, the crew leader of the waste management brigade, even yelled at him to hasten his effort.

Eventually, the task was completed and Maxwell and the rest of the waste management professionals motored out of the Sack. Ben's grand piece of street art was only a memory.

Oscar says the Sack seems almost empty without it.

***
On Sunday afternoon, Oscar, Weed and your agent convened at the local coffee cathedral. This has become a semi-regular tradition.

After relating Maxwell's role in the removal of Ben's street art, Oscar told us more about his recent discussion with Mr. Bitterman, Maxwell's de facto father-in-law. Apparently, a new layer of conflict has erupted in the Bitterman family's fractious relationship with Britney's illustrious partner.

Mr. Bitterman, according to Oscar, has now formally banned Maxwell from crossing the threshold of the Bitterman residence. He's welcome, of course, to come to the door, but he's forbidden from going any further. Mr. Bitterman said this was the one concession he was prepared to make for the father of his grandson.

The reason for Mr. Bitterman's ire was a very simple matter. Maxwell had finally proven something that Mr. Bitterman had long suspected.

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt," he told Oscar, "the guy isn't right in the head."

***
Upon learning of Maxwell's new gig with the old town's waste management professionals, Mr. Bitterman remained unconvinced that Maxwell was truly taking a step toward respectability.

"I can hold my breath longer than he can hold a job," he said with a serious look.

But several weeks passed and then Britney announced that Maxwell was about to receive a bountiful pay cheque. Mr. Bitterman said he thought, just for a moment, there might be an iota of hope for Maxwell as a prospective son-in-law.

Mr. Bitterman's chief concern, of course, is for Baby Maybe. He wants to know that his grandson can be supported by those responsible for his birth. His daughter, Britney, of course, has been receiving social assistance, while Maxwell, other than the contribution of a stolen bicycle, hasn't contributed a single dime toward the little tyke's upkeep.

Alas, Mr. Bitterman's faint hopes were dashed when he learned how Maxwell chosen to spend the bulk of his first pay cheque.

***
In his infinite wisdom, Maxwell spent his money on a large tattoo on the back of his left shoulder. It took almost three-quarters of his pay cheque to complete the transaction.

The tattoo, Mr. Bitterman explained, was supposed to be an accurate representation of Baby Maybe. He couldn't believe that Maxwell would be capable of such a foolish choice.

"I'm paying for most of the child's needs," he said caustically, "and Mr. Numb Nuts is throwing his money at a half-assed portrait on his back."

The tattoo, Mr. Bitterman added, wasn't even a decent reproduction of his grandson's image. In fact, he said it was "god-awful." Apparently, a recent picture of a sleeping Baby Maybe had been used as a model for the tattoo. But Mr. Bitterman said the tattoo looks more like a startled alien baby than his beautiful grandson.

***
Oscar, of course, provided these tales as part of his role as the Sack's official Bitterman correspondent. He enjoys a warm driveway relationship with Mr. Bitterman. This is how he's able to gain insight into the world of the Bitterman clan.

"You could probably say I'm his only confidant, right now," Oscar told us proudly.

Weed listened intently to Oscar's report on his recent conversation with Mr. Bitterman. He didn't say anything, but he was clearly amused by Mr. Bitterman's woes, Maxwell's tattoo and the recent removal of Ben's old lawn furniture.

Weed, of course, is the Sack's official Maxwell correspondent. He has frequent contact with Maxwell at the food court of the local mall. This is where Maxwell holds sway with a gaggle of doe-eyed hangers-on. Apparently, they're part of his crew for the ill-fated Cutlass Supreme Painting, his yet-to-be commercial painting business.

Oscar recently placed Weed on double probation, as far as his correspondent status was concerned. This was after Weed failed to gain any first-hand knowledge about Maxwell's recent employment success. After taking a generous gulp of coffee, Oscar looked at Weed and asked pointedly:

"So, do you have anything to add from the Maxwell file?"

***
Weed paused for a moment, chewing slowly on a piece of maple sugar donut. Finally, he nodded and scratched his unshaven chin.

"I knew about the tattoo and Maxwell's banishment from the Bitterman place. In fact, I've actually seen the tattoo with my own eyes," Weed replied knowledgeably.

Then he added, "And I would have to agree with Mr. Bitterman. The tattoo definitely resembles a startled alien baby."

Then Weed revealed that he had learned about several other developments in Maxwell's life. He said the information was good enough to deserve the removal of his recent probationary status as an official correspondent.

"No way," Oscar said quickly. "If it's good stuff, I'll reduce it to single probation."

"Deal," Weed replied.

***
Despite blowing the majority of his first cheque on body art, Maxwell has also managed to obtain his own one-bedroom apartment.

This is, of course, a major achievement on Maxwell's part. For the last year, Weed says Maxwell has been residing temporarily with an ever-changing number of close and distant family members. In most cases, he lived with a cousin's family while that particular cousin spent a short period of time in jail. Maxwell would simply take over the cousin's room and possessions for the duration of the incarceration.

"He's had enough cousins in the correctional centre to ensure a roof over his head for the entire year," Weed explained. "But eventually, a man needs to hang his hat in a place of own."

Weed said he had no idea how Maxwell managed to secure the apartment without paying the first and last month's rent. Nevertheless, Oscar was impressed with his report on the matter.

"You're now officially on single probation," he said warmly.

"That's swell," Weed replied, taking another bite from his maple sugar donut.

***
But Weed had one more piece of Maxwell news to report.

After chewing thoughtfully on his donut, he told us more about his recent conversation with Maxwell. Apparently, they had encountered each other at the local mall on Saturday afternoon. This was when he also caught a glimpse of Maxwell's alien baby tattoo.

Weed said Maxwell also mentioned another detail about his new apartment. Since he had been without a place of his own for so long, Maxwell didn't have much in the way of furniture for his new home. However, he experienced a grand stroke of luck during his waste management duties on the previous day.

As fortune would have it, someone in the Sack was throwing away a perfectly good set of lawn furniture. Maxwell said he recognized its virtues immediately and quickly called first dibs on the whole set. Thankfully, none of the other waste management professionals had any interest in the collection.

Maxwell said he's using the largest table in his kitchen along with several of the chairs. The rest of the lawn furniture has been tastefully-arranged in his new livingroom.

***
Oscar, of course, was enthralled by this piece of reportage. He looked at Weed with affection and declared that he was now free of any probation as an official Sack correspondent.

Weed popped the last of his maple sugar donut into his mouth and nodded his approval.

"This is fantastic," Oscar declared. "Not only has Maxwell proven himself to be a conservationist, but a great work of art has been made functional."

"Man," he added with enthusiasm, as he waved a piece of his own maple sugar donut in the air, "I love this neighbourhood."

***

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