Simple Matters

Your agent received his monthly haircut last week. This involves a quick shave of my skull with a number three razor. It's a relatively brief and simple affair.

As the years have passed, I've regarded the notion of simplicity with increasing reverence. It's not always easy to achieve, but it can make a big difference when you're able to keep life relatively simple. I wish I had learned this much earlier in life.

Close-cropped hair, of course, is certainly one form of simplicity. It's easy to get up and go with a shaved head. You don't have to look in the mirror to see if your hair is pointing in different directions. You can just stroll out the door.

Even after a quick shower, only a quick skull-dry is necessary with a simple haircut. And if you're prone to wearing a hat, I have some very good news for you.

You'll never have hat head again.

***

Of course, a close shave of the human skull isn't always a simple matter. It's a task that can still be managed badly. That's why it's useful to consult an expert when you need help with simplicity.

In the centre of the old town is a barbershop. You could easily walk past it without noticing. In fact, some people do exactly that.

The barbershop is located on the main floor of an old office block. Along this main level is a string of store-front businesses. The barbershop's space is the tiniest of these establishments. It's wedged like an afterthought between two retail stores.

While the rest of the businesses sport modern, illuminated signs, the barbershop is unique. It bears only a small, wooden sign. The lettering on the sign has been painted with an expert hand. The letters are black on a white background.

Oscar says the name of the barbershop is a primary example of marketing genius. He says it harkens back to an era when life was simple and clear. Apparently, this was before the days of rampant capitalism.

The sign simply reads: Barber Shop.

***

Most people walk past the barbershop even though they're aware of its presence. Very few of them have any interest in such a place. Their needs are met at salons, spas or the ubiquitous suburban hair-cutting centre.

Another group of people walk past the barbershop because they've been there before. These folks have no intention of ever gracing its door again. If asked, they would probably give you the following advice: Don't go there. If you do, you'll look like your hair was cut while you were rolling down a hill.

This is, of course, a bit of an exaggeration.

***

But this warning is still mostly true. The sole proprietor of the barbershop has no idea what she's doing with a pair of scissors in her hand. Oscar says she only learned one particular style of haircut at barbering school. No matter what the customer asks for, he'll always receive the same haircut.

Oscar calls it "the 1972 Soviet bureaucrat cut."

But everyone, of course, is good at something. And the proprietor of the barbershop is very good at a singular aspect of barbering. She's very good at shaving heads.

She takes her time when she shaves your head. She pays attention to detail. With great care, she ensures that each cropped hair is uniform with the others. She does this simple job very well.

***

The barber is also very good at trimming hair from your eyebrows, ears and nose. You might even say she relishes this aspect of her work.

With obvious enthusiasm, she'll scour your head looking for any errant wisps protruding from these areas. Upon locating an offending hair, she'll cry out in triumph and quickly snip it off. If it's a particularly long hair, she'll hold it up like an extracted tooth.

"Look-it that sucker," she said to me once, holding up an impossibly long hair extracted from my left eyebrow, "you musta been picking up radio stations with that one."

She calls these particular offenders rogue hairs.

***

The sole proprietor of the barbershop is a woman in her sixties. Everyone calls her Hennie. Apparently, this is a shortened version of Henrietta. She stands a little over four and a half feet tall. We have spoken about her in these pages on a previous occasion.

Oscar says very few people name their kids "Henrietta" anymore. He could be right about this.

The only people who frequent Hennie's barbershop are those who require a well-shaved head. They're quite aware of her proficiency in this area. A few people from the old town's military community frequent her establishment. One of them told me that she's regarded as a subject matter expert when it comes to head shaving.

Also, she only charges six dollars for the task.

It's always great when simplicity is inexpensive.

***

Hennie, according to popular opinion, doesn't make any money from the barbershop. This is probably true. Even at the low price of six dollars, she has very few customers.

Fortunately, she doesn't really need the money, anyway. I'm told that she owns the entire office block. Apparently, the building has been a family asset for three generations. The barbershop, Oscar tells me, has always been in the family, too.

One can only guess at Hennie's motives in operating a money-losing barbershop. Perhaps it keeps her busy or gives her a purpose in life.

Or maybe she's just passionate about shaving heads.

***

The barbershop itself is extremely small. It's about the size of a spare bedroom.

A trio of chairs is backed against the window. Only a few feet separate this area from Hennie's barbering chair. There can be no secrets between yourself and the barber, when someone is sitting in one of the chairs.

Of course, Hennie has no interest in sharing secrets with the customer in front of her, anyway. Her life is an open book to anyone within earshot. From the time she opens at ten o'clock, until closing time at four, she maintains a steady, verbal stream of consciousness for everyone's consumption.

Oscar says Hennie's as crazy as a bag of hammers. He could be right about this.

***

Hennie's constant dialogue can ramble across many diverse topics. But there are several recurring themes. Frequently, she'll talk about her friends, her adult son and, of course, the weather.

In particular, Hennie tends to talk about two particular friends. The first is a man named George. I have no idea about his true connection with Hennie. But I believe they're friends and neighbours.

Over the course of monthly head-shavings, I know the following details about George:

• He has a very bad case of diabetes (If he doesn't watch it, Hennie says the doctors are going to take his legs off at the knee.)

• He doesn't look after himself very well (Apparently, he's still on the "cancer sticks" and eats fast food with reckless abandon)
  

• He owns a condo in Florida and goes there every winter (That's when Hennie looks after his plants and his retarded cat).

***

Fiona is Hennie's other friend. They seem to spend a lot of time together. They go out for meals, movies and shopping. Fiona doesn't have a car, so Hennie does all the driving.

According to Hennie, Fiona's life is consumed by one problem after another. She has several adult children who are always in trouble. She used to be married to a man who had very bad mental health problems. Every now and then, he reappears in her life.

Hennie says Fiona's ex-husband has a bad case of schizophrenia.

Hennie likes to talk about all the advice she gives to Fiona. Most often, she suggests that Fiona should tell her adult kids and her former husband to "stick it where the sun don't shine."

Hennie seems to think this is a good method for solving most problems with people.

***

Sometimes, Hennie will surprise you by asking you a question about yourself. But she really has no interest in your response. She always answers her own questions anyway.

On a few past occasions, she asked me what I did for a living. Before I could respond, she started talking about her son's occupation.

Hennie's son, Paul is a long-haul truck driver. Apparently, he has been to every state and province in North America, except the great State of Oregon. He had a chance to drive through it last year, but, in the end, decided to take a different route. Hennie said it would've added too many hours to his run.

Nevertheless, she remains confident that her son will eventually drive his rig through Oregon.

"I told him to not worry about it," Hennie said matter-of-factly. "Oregon ain't going anywhere in the meantime.

***

If Hennie ever allows me to tell her what I do for a living, I know what I'm going to say. I'm going to tell her I'm a rodeo clown.

***

Hennie's favourite topic, of course, is the weather.

In the corner of the barbershop, at the far end of Hennie's barbering counter, is a television set. It's almost always tuned into The Weather Network. Over the years, it's clear that Hennie has been picking up a lot of knowledge about weather-related matters. She seems to fancy herself as an amateur meteorologist.

In particular, Hennie is a big fan of bad weather. If a nasty north Atlantic storm is about to hit the old town, she'll be sure to tell you all about it. In the end, it will sound like the storm was her idea.

Once, before the remnants of a tropical storm lashed the old town's streets, Hennie explained in great detail about the nature of the impending weather.

She sounded like Mr. Kurtz in Heart of Darkness. But instead of horrors, Hennie's concerns had more of a technical nature.

"The isobars! The isobars!" she cried out to no one in particular.

***

Although Hennie is an unusual woman in many ways, she is certainly a great humanitarian.

There is a bus stop in front of the barbershop. If there are people waiting at the stop during inclement weather, Hennie doesn't hesitate to invite them to wait inside the barbershop. She's particularly insistent with seniors and pregnant women.

It's not unusual to have your head shaved under the watchful eyes of people who are waiting for a bus.

Once, Hennie was shaving my head while an enormously-pregnant woman sat immediately behind the barbering chair. Apparently, she was waiting for a bus to take her to the local maternity hospital. I was hopeful she wasn't headed there for the baby's delivery.

Nevertheless, I had visions of Hennie and me delivering the baby in the barbering chair. Thankfully, the bus came before my head shave was complete. When she left, Hennie glanced out the window and said:

"It looks like the bun in her oven is done."

***

During my most recent visit to the barbershop, Hennie was busy shaving someone's head, while two people sat in the waiting area. The first was a tiny, elderly woman with white hair and a purple head scarf. There were a few Wal-Mart bags sitting at her feet. She was waiting for the bus.

The other person in the waiting area was Maxwell, Britney Bitterman's beau.

After exchanging pleasantries, Maxwell informed me that he was getting his head shaved in anticipation of a court appearance that afternoon. This was why he wasn't at his job with the old town's waste management professionals.

According to Maxwell, the court appearance was related to a ridiculous charge that occurred over two years ago. He was accused of receiving some stolen property, namely some chain saws from the local Canadian Tire. He said it was a clear case of mistaken identity.

Even though the peelers had no case against him, Maxwell said it's still a good idea to clean yourself up for a court appearance. That's why he was getting his head shaved before he went.

"You gotta look good for the judge, you know," he said, laughing through his missing teeth.

***

Hennie finished with her customer, a heavy-set, middle-aged man with a round head and thick neck. Maxwell quickly replaced him in the barbering chair. The elderly woman, between quick looks for an approaching bus, had taken out her knitting gear.

While shaving Maxwell's head with a practiced hand, Hennie started rambling on about her friend, Fiona. I pulled out a weathered Time magazine from a small mountain of periodicals on the window sill. Apparently, George Bush is considering a military invasion of Iraq.

When Maxwell's head was finished, I wished him well at his court appearance. He smiled and said it would be no problem.

"I'll be in and out of there in ten minutes," he said confidently. "It's as simple as that."

***

Settling into the barbering chair, Hennie asked me to "scootch down." She asks every customer to do this, on account of her height.

As she proceeded to shave your agent's skull, Hennie lapsed into a rambling summary of the weather. The government's weather experts had recently warned of a hot summer, with a corresponding rise in ocean temperatures. For the old town, this means a higher likelihood that hurricanes can navigate the north Atlantic waters unabated.

"Let's hope we don't get another hurricane this year," Hennie said quickly. She tapped the top of my skull a few times with a plastic comb.

Then she said, "Touch wood."

***

After reviewing the weather situation, Hennie started talking about Fiona again. Apparently, her family is giving her more trouble.

Fiona, according to Hennie, has a heart of gold. But every single member of her family, including the extended ones, is a royal pain.

"If I was in her shoes," she said with authority, "I'd tell them all to stick it where the sun don't shine and then I'd trade 'em all in for new ones."

With my head shaving complete, Hennie started inspecting my skull for rogue hairs. I try to do my own inspection before I arrive, so I won't be a focus for any waiting bus passengers. As she snipped at a few small wisps of ear hair, she continued to pontificate on Fiona's family troubles.

"Like that fella that was just in here," she said nodding toward the door that Maxwell had just passed through. "He's one of Fiona's nephews. . . .a royal pain in the arse since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. . . . always knockin' on her door looking for a buck or a place to stay."

Hennie paused to stifle a sneeze. Then she said, "If I was her, I'd just tell him to stick it where the sun don't shine. Because that boy's a simpleton."

"It's as simple as that."

***

Porcine Aviation

It's back.

The ancient Ford Fiesta owned by Dora's sister, Dixie has returned to the Sack. The peelers towed the vehicle after discovering that it was neither registered, nor insured.

The peelers learned about this while responding to a minor accident in the Sack. Philip, Elizabeth's erstwhile husband, hit the Ford Fiesta when backing out of their driveway. He summoned the peelers when Dixie tried to demand an exorbitant cash settlement to repair the dent on the passenger's door. He was also incensed because the car had been parked illegally at the time of the accident.

Elizabeth said there has been no further verbal communication between Philip and the residents of Burning Manor since the accident occurred. Nevertheless, there was one nonverbal exchange on Tuesday morning.

Philip was leaving for his job at a local funeral home. Dixie was walking down the front steps of Burning Manor. When she saw Philip, she extended her right hand with her middle finger raised in the air. Then she repeated the same gesture with her left hand.

According to Oscar, it was the first two-handed, middle-finger rebuke in Sack history.

***

There are some new developments in the lives of Maxwell and his delightful partner, Britney Bitterman.

When we last heard about Maxwell's fortunes, his life was on a definite upswing. He was gainfully employed with the old town's waste management professionals. He was also on the verge of moving into his very own one-bedroom apartment.

From Maxwell's perspective, however, his crowning achievement was the acquisition of some used lawn furniture. Ben and Norma were the previous owners of the lawn furniture. They had placed it at the curb for collection by the waste management professionals. Maxwell, of course, is someone who recognizes a good deal when it stares him in the face.

Apparently, Maxwell was planning to use the lawn furniture in his new kitchen and livingroom.

***

A few weeks ago, Weed encountered Maxwell at the food court in the local shopping mall. This is where their respective lives overlap. Weed works in the call centre adjacent to the mall. Maxwell uses the food court as the head office for his fledgling part-time business, Cutlass Supreme Painting.

Since joining the waste management profession, Maxwell's visits to the food court are more likely to occur at the end of the work day. At least once a week, however, Weed still encounters him there during the day.

On these occasions, Maxwell is usually suffering from some waste management-related injury and claims that he is unable to perform his duties. On one specific day, he claimed that his "arthur-itis" was acting up again. According to Maxwell, experience tells him there's no point in engaging in physical labour when this happens.

Weed says Maxwell appears to be in dire need of a book on medical terminology. Recently, he told Weed that his grandfather has been suffering from forgetfulness and periods of dementia. Apparently, a doctor has diagnosed the elderly man with "Old-Timers Disease."

***

This particular meeting at the food court occurred at the end of the work day. Maxwell was at his usual table near the Chinese fast-food kiosk. He was sitting with his Cousin Doug at the time.

The Sack, of course, is heavily-populated with residents who share this same moniker. Even though Cousin Doug isn't a Sack resident, his presence in these pages could cause confusion for the reader. Thankfully, Weed learned some new information about the man that will make his identification much easier.

Firstly, Cousin Doug is actually called Dougie. Apparently, he has been known in this fashion since his diaper days. Dougie claims that he even signs his name in this way.

His full name, however, ensures that he'll never be confused with the Sack's existing roster of Dougs. Weed thinks Dougie's parents must've had a fondness for alliteration. This is because his full name is Dougie Duggan.

Oscar says it's a crying shame that Dougie Duggan isn't employed as a coal miner.

***

Dougie Duggan is Maxwell's supervisor in the waste management profession. He's the crew leader of the truck that looks after the Sack's weekly accumulation of refuse.

Prior to his own involvement in the waste management business, Dougie said he used to travel extensively throughout the Atlantic provinces in a different occupation. This subject arose when Weed and Maxwell were talking about their respective children.

Like Maxwell, Dougie Duggan has two children from different relationships. Unlike, his cousin, however, he noted that it was only a general estimate of his procreation efforts.

"Those are just the ones I know about," he said with a gap-toothed grin.

Apparently, Dougie Duggan worked in a travelling carnival for about five years.

***

Dougie also confided that he spent several years in the old town's correctional centre prior to his current gig in the waste management profession.

His incarceration was the result of a rampage through the old town's streets. At the time, the peelers were in hot pursuit. Dougie, of course, was driving a stolen car. His antics were fuelled by a nasty combination of alcohol and crack cocaine.

"The only thing I remember was getting the crap beaten out of me by the peelers," Dougie told Weed with a grin.

***

Thankfully, Dougie appears to have turned over a new leaf since emerging from the correctional centre. He no longer uses crack cocaine and will only touch the drink on a weekend.

In addition to his position in the waste management game, he also has a beautiful new girlfriend. They're expecting their first child together in September. This, of course, will be Dougie's third child, not counting any spawned during his days as a carny.

Despite his antics with the stolen vehicle, Dougie is also back behind the wheel of an automobile. Although it had to be registered in his girlfriend's name, he recently acquired a used car.

Dougie Duggan is the proud owner of a 1993 Cutlass Supreme.

***

This particular vehicle happens to be the same one Maxwell has coveted for several years. It is, of course, the namesake of his fledgling part-time business, Cutlass Supreme Painting.

The car has been circulating throughout Maxwell's extended family for some time. He's always a day late and a dollar short whenever the vehicle is offered for sale.

Dougie Duggan acquired the vehicle from another cousin in exchange for two hundred dollars and a Craftsman table saw from Sears.

Of course, Dougie doesn't expect to hold onto the Cutlass Supreme for very long. He's expecting a promotion within the ranks of the waste management profession. When this happens, he plans to purchase a new pick-up truck.

Maxwell, he assured Weed, will have first dibs on the Cutlass Supreme whenever this day comes.

***

Since our last report on his fortunes, Maxwell suffered a setback of sorts. The setback was in relation to his new one-bedroom apartment. After only two weeks of residence, he was evicted by the landlord, a friend of another cousin. Maxwell was rather vague about the reason for the eviction, but he placed the blame squarely in the lap of the lousy landlord.

Dougie Duggan, however, provided Weed with some additional detail on the matter, when Maxwell temporarily left their table in the food court. Maxwell had stepped away to order some sweet and sour chicken balls from the Chinese food kiosk.

According to Dougie, Maxwell moved into the apartment without paying the first month's rent. The landlord had agreed that Maxwell could pay the rent on the day he moved into the apartment. Somehow, Maxwell managed to evade the transaction for an entire two weeks. He had moved his collection of lawn furniture into the place and had even arranged for an illegal cable hookup. Unfortunately, Maxwell didn't have dime to his name.

Maxwell said he was staying with Dougie and his beautiful girlfriend on a temporary basis. He also said he was confident that something better would turn up.

***

Maxwell's failure to pay his apartment rent should be no surprise to Sack observers.

Despite receiving a regular pay cheque from his job as a waste management professional, Maxwell has shown a remarkable ability to squander his money.

His first cheque was quite memorably expended on a tattoo image of his son, Baby Maybe. The tattoo is quite large and is located on his back.

Dougie Duggan agreed that the tattoo resembles a drunk alien baby, rather than the delightful infant Maxwell shares with Britney Bitterman.

***

When Maxwell returned to the table, Dougie excused himself for his own visit to the Chinese food kiosk. Apparently, he had a hankering for egg rolls.

While Dougie was gone, Maxwell informed Weed about the latest positive developments in his life. Apparently, his days without a permanent address could be coming to a quick end. He and Britney Bitterman could be moving in together at any time. Britney, of course, has her own apartment with Baby Maybe. It's funded by the old town's social assistance program.

However, Maxwell said he wouldn't be moving into her apartment. Instead, they hoped to be moving, once again, into the Bitterman residence in the Sack.

***

According to Maxwell, Britney has secured a full-time job of her own. She starts next week as a cashier at the local liquor store.

The sale of alcohol in the old town's province is strictly regulated. It can only be sold in government-operated stores. These establishments tend to pay quite well in comparison to other retail outfits. Generally, one must have an inside connection to acquire a position in such places. In Britney's case, this connection was Mrs. Bitterman's brother.

Since both Maxwell and Britney are now employed, they have an opportunity to save some money for a house. By staying at the Bitterman house, Maxwell says they'll be loaded with cash in no time at all.

***

Of course, this plan was only hypothetical at the time. Mrs. Bitterman had already voiced her support for the idea. In fact, Maxwell claimed it was her idea. She's currently on a disability leave from her job. She would look after her grandson, Baby Maybe while Britney was at work.

Oscar claims that Mrs. Bitterman's disability leave has something to do with her horrible bout with menopause. I remain doubtful about this.

Mr. Bitterman, naturally, still remained as a barrier to the idea's success. According to Maxwell, Mr. Bitterman doesn't like him very much. In fact, he doesn't even like it when Maxwell enters his house.

Oscar had it on good authority that Mr. Bitterman swore that pigs would fly before he'd let Maxwell live at his home again. Maxwell has already lived there on two occasions. Both stays ended badly.

***

Last Saturday, a 1993 Cutlass Supreme rumbled into the Sack. It was filled with personal belongings. In between the various bags and boxes were the faces of Dougie Duggan, Maxwell, Britney Bitterman and, of course, Baby Maybe.

"Beware," said Oscar, as we sat on the Wonders' front step, "of low-flying pigs."

Maxwell and Britney were indeed moving into the Bitterman home once again. Dougie Duggan helped them move everything into the house. The last item to be removed from the car was a set of lawn furniture. Maxwell and his cousin, Dougie placed the set in Mr. Bitterman's garage.

Later, Maxwell would tell Weed that he's saving the lawn furniture for the future. This time, however, he has a different plan for it.

"I'm probably gonna use it in my backyard," he told Weed casually.

***

On Friday, Oscar encountered Mr. Bitterman as each was approaching their respective driveways.

The two men have enjoyed a close driveway relationship for some time. They don't spend any other social time together, of course. They don't interact under any other circumstances, except for their driveway chats. When both appear there at the same time, their relationship is automatically renewed.

Over time, Mr. Bitterman has become more comfortable with Oscar. To a certain degree, one might say that Oscar has even become Mr. Bitterman's closest confidant. Occasionally, he'll reveal detailed information to Oscar about his family's trials and tribulations.

Oscar says he's afraid that Mr. Bitterman is going to ask him for a hug one day.

***

On this particular encounter, Oscar said Mr. Bitterman's facial muscles were very taut. It looked like his fists were clenched, too.

After exchanging pleasantries, Oscar asked him how his new house guests were faring. Mr. Bitterman laughed aloud. It was, for lack of a better word, a very bitter sound.

"I gave in," he said flatly. "I couldn't fight it anymore."

"That's what I figured," Oscar replied gently.

Mr. Bitterman said that his wife and daughter lobbied hard for him to accept Maxwell into his house again. This time, they told him forcefully, Maxwell had really changed. He was working hard in the old town's waste management profession and would soon be promoted to crew leader. With Britney's job at the liquor store, the couple could save their money and possibly buy a house within a year or so.

"That's not going to happen, of course," Mr. Bitterman told Oscar with a blank look on his face.

Maxwell, he explained, was incapable of doing anything that would make such a plan successful.

"From an intellectual perspective," he said with a thin smile, "the guy is nine cents short of a dime."

***

On Sunday afternoon, your agent and Oscar sat on the Wonders' porch. We had just returned from the local coffee cathedral with a takeout order. Oscar was munching on a maple sugar donut.

Across the street, the door to the Bitterman home opened. Maxwell strolled onto the porch. He was shirtless and wore a pair of blue jeans. There was a pair of tattered slippers on his feet. On his head was his familiar Montreal Canadiens ball cap.

Maxwell gave us a nod of acknowledgement after lighting a cigarette. He coughed a few times and then spat into the bushes beside the porch. When he was finished the cigarette, he flicked it in the air. It soared in an arc and landed on the Bitterman driveway.

After stretching a few times, Maxwell walked back toward the front door. His right hand reached back and plunged down the back of his jeans. He was scratching his ass.

Oscar shook his head and said, "Flying pigs, indeed." Then he took another bite of his maple sugar donut.

***

The Future of American Eggs

The Sack is a breeding ground for the inane, odd and unpredictable.

Today's entry examines three recent minor events that exemplify the sometimes unusual nature of Sack life. Your agent, of course, had great difficulty in putting an appropriate title on the whole affair. In the end, a nonsensical one seemed to make the most sense.

Hopefully, you didn't arrive at these pages expecting a treatise on the state of American agriculture. Similarly, I hope you weren't anticipating an essay on the ethics of in vitro fertilization.

I have no idea about either of those subjects.

***

Last week, we noted Phillip's unfortunate encounter with a Ford Fiesta. Now, Weed reports a fender-bender of his own.

His accident was quite similar to Phillip's. He backed into another vehicle. It occurred when he was leaving the local grocery emporium. There wasn't any major damage to either vehicle, but insurance companies are involved in the matter.

Weed admitted that he wasn't paying enough attention when the accident occurred. He was thinking about the quality of his life during the previous week, when he should have been paying attention to the parking lot.

Weed, of course, fancies himself as the developer of a daily rating scale that gauges one's contentment with life. The scale ranges from one to ten, with ten representing, as Weed describes it, "pretty darn groovy."

At the time of the accident, Weed said he was calculating his daily average for the previous five days. He was performing this task in his head while he was backing out of the parking spot.

***

Doing long division in one's head, of course, isn't recommended when operating a motor vehicle. Weed said this was the wisdom he would take from the affair. He said the accident also caused a significant reduction in his average daily contentment rating.

As he reversed from his parking spot, Weed was unaware that a small van had stopped directly behind him. He hit the passenger's door of the vehicle. On the spot where the collision occurred was the name of the owners' business. Weed said the business was called Future Plumbing Ltd. He thought the name was quite amusing.

"I backed into the future, man," he told me with a grin.

***

On Wednesday evening, your agent and Mrs. Wonders reclined on the front porch. It was a delightfully warm spring evening. For those who keep track of such things, it was the warmest of the year, so far.

Little Doug and his grandson, Baby Doug had joined us on the porch. Weed and Daisy had gone to an early movie. Little Doug was trying to keep his grandson occupied until they returned. Mrs. Wonders had brought out a collection of plastic containers for the little tyke's amusement. Baby Doug was in Tupperware heaven as he tried to make sense of these foreign objects.

From across the street, we could see Oscar emerge from his home. He started to make a beeline toward the Wonders' porch. His head was bobbing up and down as he walked.

This usually means that Oscar has news of great importance.

***

"You have big news," Mrs. Wonders said, as Oscar joined us on the porch.

Oscar nodded quickly and then sought a tissue from his pocket. His nose was running with great gusto. This is another sign that Oscar has news of great importance.

"How did you know that?" he replied as he quickly rubbed his nose with the tissue.

"Just a wild guess," Mrs. Wonders said.

"And because you still have food on your face," Little Doug said with a grin. There was a small dribble of what appeared to be tomato sauce on Oscar's chin. He stroked his chin with the same tissue, but missed the reddish streak completely.

"That's barbeque sauce," Oscar said impatiently. "I had ribs for supper." He held his chin up and asked if the spot was gone.

"Yeah, you got it," I replied, nodding my approval.

***

Oscar settled into a Muskoka chair and glanced at each of us.

"Guess what I learned about Rental Doug today?" he asked with a look of superiority.

"I give up," I answered quickly. I don't like to make guesses about things unless there is some kind of prize at the end.

"Is it something Devil-related?" Little Doug interjected.

Oscar, of course, believes that Rental Doug is in the Devil's employ. At some point in the future, he expects mayhem of biblical proportions to emerge in the Sack, with Rental Doug playing a leading role on Satan's behalf. Continuous evidence that Rental Doug is actually a very fine fellow hasn't diminished his belief in the slightest.

"Not really," Oscar said thoughtfully.

Oscar looked around quickly to make sure there were no interlopers about. He even glanced at Baby Doug for a moment, even though the tyke was lost in his Tupperware adventures. Finally, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Oscar said:

"Rental Doug is American."

***

Mrs. Wonders rose from her chair and joined Baby Doug on the porch floor. Baby Doug cooed with delight as she built a tall Tupperware tower. He squealed with glee when it toppled down around them.

Meanwhile, your agent's attention wandered to the front lawn. Another month would have to pass before I could cut the grass for the first time. I enjoy cutting the grass with our reel mower. It's really quite therapeutic.

Little Doug, on the other hand, remained with rapt attention to Oscar's announcement. Unfortunately, this will only encourage Oscar to tell you more about something.

"Rental Doug is really American?" he asked with a serious tone. Little Doug, of course, has been somewhat suspicious of Americans ever since his wife ran off with one from the Internet.

"As American as apple pie," Oscar replied.

***

Earlier in the day, Oscar encountered a friend he hadn't seen in a few years. Apparently, this friend attended the same high school as Rental Doug.

According to this friend, Rental Doug moved to the old town when he was about sixteen. His father worked for a pharmaceutical company and was transferred here by his head office. Apparently, Rental Doug originally hails from the great State of Maine.

"He's from Maine, eh?" said Little Doug. This is the same state from whence his ex-wife's new husband originates.

***

Oscar said this new information about Rental Doug will take some time to digest.

He said it would have little bearing on Rental Doug's status as an employee of the Devil. After all, he added, Satan doesn't discriminate when it comes to one's nationality.

"That's true," Little Doug agreed. "It doesn't matter if you're dealing with a Canadian devil or an American one. A devil's still a devil."

Oscar nodded his agreement. He said he was most concerned about Rental Doug's apparent deception surrounding his nationality. For almost two years, he added, the man has been acting completely like a Canadian. He places little flags on his porch on Canada Day and even plays street hockey with his blended family kids.

Although Canada is inundated with American culture on television, Oscar pointed out that none of us actually have any in-depth, personal experience with Americans. He said his only direct exposure to Americans was during university. Apparently, half of his professors were draft-dodgers from the Vietnam War.

Little Doug admitted that, other than his ex-wife's new husband, he didn't know any Americans either. Rental Doug, he noted, would be his first American neighbour ever.

Oscar nodded his agreement. "He's my first American neighbour, too.

Both glanced at your agent at the same time. "Okay," I said quickly, "Rental Doug is my first American neighbour, too."

Oscar went on to explain that he has had neighbours from many different countries, but hoped that one day he would have an American one. Now that he finally has one, he said he couldn't help but be disappointed.

"Finally, I get my first American neighbour and it turns out that he's masquerading as a Canadian and he's hooked up with the Devil."

***

Our final tale will likely sound unbelievable, if not ridiculous.

The Wonders' driveway has been the scene of several food mysteries. The most notable was the unexplained appearance of a low-fat blueberry muffin. It was discovered in the middle of the driveway.

On another occasion, a small, but perfectly-intact pile of Caesar salad appeared near the foot of the driveway. It wasn't on the driveway itself, but it was close enough to be deemed intentional.

It would be hard to imagine, therefore, that another food mystery would arise. But that's exactly what happened this week.

Your agent was on the street talking with Weed. He had stopped his car for a brief chat as he was leaving the Sack. He was telling me about his aforementioned fender-bender. After concluding our conversation, I walked back toward the Wonders' home. As I headed up the driveway, a small shiny object caught my eye. It was lying in the same general area where the low-fat blueberry muffin had been discovered.

The object was a small, chocolate Easter egg. It was covered in shiny, green foil. It was about the size of a loonie.

***

A reasonable explanation of the matter isn't too difficult to imagine. Easter passed less than a month ago. The chocolate egg could've fallen from a garbage bin or from the pocket of a rambunctious Sack kid.

Your agent, of course, leans toward healthy skepticism when it comes to mystical matters. And, of course, I'm not even a food person. But the appearances by a low-fat, blueberry muffin, an intact Caesar salad, and now a shiny, green Easter egg, can certainly cause a man to wonder.

Oscar thinks the food objects may have some kind of secret meaning. He says it's my job to decode the message. I told him I had no idea about such things. Then I asked for his opinion on the matter. He thought for a moment and said he hadn't the foggiest idea about the message.

"It's a head-scratcher, man," he said with a shrug.

***

Personally, I'm trying not to think about the matter very much. Some mysteries are best left unsolved. This could be one of them.

Weed, of course, agreed with my position when I told him of this latest development. He said it would be a grand waste of brain power to search for an explanation for the mysterious driveway food.

Everyone, he explained, is born with a finite amount of brain power. He said it's best to conserve this power for when you find yourself in a real jam.

"At least," Weed said with an experienced look, "that's what I try to do with my brain."

***

So there it is. The Wonders' driveway has now yielded a low-fat, blueberry muffin, an intact Caesar salad and a shiny, green Easter egg. If you can see the meaning in this culinary message, then you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

In the end, the mysterious driveway food might be best viewed as the suburban equivalent of crop circles.

***

Preemptive Strike

Florence, the Wonders' next-door-neighbour has purchased a new vehicle. She bought a Smart Car.

A number of Sack residents have congratulated Florence on her choice of an environmentally-friendly vehicle. Gordon claimed he was going to buy one as soon as the lease on his SUV expires. He acquired it about three months ago. The lease expires in about five years.

Oscar, on the other hand, was more interested in the car's size. He said it probably wouldn't be difficult to actually pick the car up and move it. As he talked about it more, he realized that we could easily play a prank on Florence. If Weed and Little Doug helped us, he said we could move the car, late at night, to a spot on the street.

I said I was suffering from a groin injury and wouldn't be able to assist in the caper.

***

And so it begins anew.

It was after two o'clock on Sunday morning. Mrs. Wonders and your agent were fast asleep. One can only assume that most Sack residents were doing the same.

Suddenly, some familiar sounds echoed through the street. A party was coming to a partial conclusion. Two noisy carloads of people were leaving at the same time.

The party, of course, was being held at Burning Manor.

***

A week ago, Dora was rushed to a hospital from Burning Manor after an unhealthy mix of alcohol and prescription drugs. Jeff Christ and his uncle, Ben found her in a stupor on her livingroom couch.

After a five-hour stay in the hospital, Dora returned to the Sack in a taxi. According to witnesses, she looked as good as new.

Ben and Jeff Christ, of course, became the first Sack residents ever to enter the bowels of Burning Manor. Before this, we had only our imaginations to rely upon.

Pressed for information on the matter, Ben said he had very little to report. "They've barely got a stick of furniture inside that place," he told me this week.

***

The livingroom, according to Ben, contained a dated, maroon-coloured couch, a narrow coffee table and two folding chairs. A floor lamp stood forlornly in one corner of the room. Dominating the rest of the space was a big-screen television. Ben estimated it to be a fifty-two-inch affair.

Most striking, Ben reported, was the complete absence of pictures, ornaments or other personal touches. Even the kitchen lacked any sense of its inhabitants. In the dining area, there was only a simple wooden table. It was surrounded by more folding chairs.

"There must've been a big sale on folding chairs down at the Wal-Mart," Ben said with a shrug.

***

Jeff Christ caught a brief glimpse of the downstairs rec room, when he went to check on the whereabouts of Dora's big, barking dog. He said the room contained a queen-sized mattress (on the floor), a number of cardboard boxes and some more folding chairs. This was also where he found the big, barking dog.

Against one wall were several dozen empty beer cases.

"It looks like they're saving them for a big trip to the recycling depot," Jeff Christ said optimistically.

***

The dispersal of guests from the Burning Manor party was unremarkable. From a historical perspective, it was simply more of the same.

There was, of course, the obligatory argument among the departing guests. This one involved two inebriated women. They were hurling threats and accusations against each other as they prepared to depart in separate cars.

"If you know what's good for you, girl, you'll keep them eyes off my man," one of the women exclaimed robustly. She was a short, squat figure in the dull glare of the street lights. There was a white baseball cap on her head.

"He got no interest in you, little girl. You just don't know it, yet," replied her rival, a tall, skinny woman with big hair.

The combatants continued with similar exchanges before cooler heads prevailed. Both were eventually persuaded to enter their respective cars. After some unnecessary blaring of car horns, silence descended upon the Sack once again.

Discussing the matter on the following day, Oscar noted that the illustrious friends of Burning Manor seem to have something in common.

"Their grammar," he said thoughtfully, is almost always atrocious."

***

In the morning, several cars remained on the street and in Burning Manor's driveway. The house was still and silent.

Early in the afternoon, a haggard-looking man in his fifties strolled outside. He lit a cigarette as he walked. The man entered a nondescript vehicle parked on the street and then promptly drove away.

On the back of his car was a bumper sticker in support of Mothers Against Drunk Driving.

***

Late in the afternoon, a large, black pick-up truck motored into the Sack. It carried a queen-sized, blue mattress, some furniture and a number of boxes. The truck stopped in front of Burning Manor.

A bald, bowlegged man in his forties left the vehicle. He was thickset, with a very muscular upper body. Nevertheless, he also possessed an enormous belly.

Oscar referred to the man as "No Neck," since his muscular shoulders appeared to completely engulf his neck area. It's a rare thing, he added, to see someone whose shoulder muscles almost touch their ears.

No Neck carried two cases of beer with his beefy arms as he entered Burning Manor.

***

Several hours later, a trio of men emerged from Burning Manor. No Neck was amongst them. They began to unload the truck and carry the belongings into the house. Dora was nowhere to be seen.

The front door remained ajar, as the items were carted into the house. Naturally, the big, barking dog took advantage of this opportunity. It started to romp around the Sack with a look of joy on its face.

One of the men, a rough-looking character in his fifties, started to call out to the dog. His voice was thick and gravelly. He had the kind of voice that makes one immediately wary of a man.

The big, barking dog evaded the man for a few minutes. He tried to make a grab for the animal at one point, but only succeeded in twisting his ankle. He cursed loudly when it occurred. This prompted laughs from his fellow movers.

Eventually, the truck was emptied and somehow, the big, barking dog was persuaded to return to Burning Manor.

It was at this point that the Wonders' telephone rang. Oscar was on the line to report something that was already quite apparent. Somebody was moving in with Dirk and Dora.

***

Tuesday night bingo is an important part of Sack life.

The bingo emporium is where Norma gains intelligence on the lives of Dirk and Dora. Several of Dora's extended family and a host of her past and present enemies attend this same game of chance. Norma keeps her ears open for information. Sometimes, she'll even make casual enquiries about the fortunes of Dirk and Dora.

On this past Tuesday night, Norma was keen to learn more about the delivery of personal effects to Burning Manor. Was someone new moving in, or did these additional items simply belong to Dirk and Dora?

Thankfully, Norma successfully completed her mission.

***

There are now two new residents of Burning Manor. Dora's sister and her common-law boyfriend have moved into the house.

According to Norma, Dora's sister is named Dixie. She's in her early twenties and has dark, dishevelled hair. Like Dora, she's rather plump, but has a powerful, bulldog-like frame.

Oscar caught a glimpse of Dixie this week. He said she has a very disagreeable face. Apparently, she looks like she's in constant readiness for an argument.

"Dixie," Oscar said with authority, "is a hard-looking egg."

***

Norma said Dixie's boyfriend is a part-time longshoreman at the old town's container ship terminal. She said his name is Andre.

Oscar said Andre is tall and muscular and wears a permanent angry smirk. Even though he only caught a brief glimpse of the man, Oscar said he was quite certain about the angry smirk.

***

Dixie and Andre have brought along a new addition to the Sack's landscape. It's their car, a battered, white Ford Fiesta.

Your agent, of course, is woefully inept in the matter of automobiles. Nevertheless, even my own disinterested eye could tell the front passenger's door has been replaced.

While the rest of the car is white, the passenger's door is dark brown.

***

Gordon was irate about this latest development at Burning Manor.

Dixie and Andre, he told me on the phone, certainly looked like trouble, as far as he was concerned. And their car, he added, was certainly an eyesore. Already, he noted their propensity for parking the Ford Fiesta illegally on the street.

Gordon, of course, was instrumental in convincing the old town to install No Parking signs on one side of the Sack.

***

No one is certain about the true implications of the new residents at Burning Manor. Nevertheless, most people are anticipating an increase in shenanigans, especially as the summer unfolds.

Anything, of course, is possible. Dixie and Andre could actually be very fine people. They could even be a stabilizing influence on Burning Manor's owners, especially Dora.

It's rarely helpful to judge a book by its cover.

***

Experience, however, does suggest that additional Burning Manor mayhem will arise with the new occupants. Gordon is already talking about an emergency meeting of the dreaded Sack Resident's Society. He wants to discuss a new "Burning Manor Strategy" for the upcoming summer.

He said he has a few good ideas in mind.

Elizabeth, of course, is also upset by the additions to Burning Manor's household. She lives in the house beside Dirk and Dora.

According to Gordon, Elizabeth's husband, Phillip wants to have a word with Dirk and Dora. He wants to outline his expectations for their continued residency in the Sack.

Elizabeth says Phillip is not a man to be trifled with when he gets his dander up.

***

Phillip, of course, is actually Elizabeth's ex-husband. Recently, they reunited and he joined her in the Sack.

At the time of their separation, Phillip was experiencing a nasty gambling problem. He was also suffering from a bad case of infidelity. Elizabeth showed him the door when she discovered these matters. Their longtime home was sold and a divorce quickly followed.

That's why Elizabeth moved into the Sack on her own.

Thankfully, Phillip's ship has regained its course. He's back on an even keel. Once again, he's a God-fearing man who walks the straight and narrow path.

That's why Elizabeth allowed him back in her life.

Nevertheless, she doesn't want Phillip to undergo any undue stress. He has enough of this at his job with a local funeral home. Confronting Dirk and Dora, in Elizabeth's eyes, will only cause Phillip a lot of misery. This could imperil his recovery from gambling addiction and infidelity. She'd prefer that someone else deal with the matter.

That's why Elizabeth has voiced her strong support for Gordon's idea of a "Burning Manor Strategy."

***

Yesterday, however, Phillip had no choice but to communicate with the residents of Burning Manor. By accident, he backed his car into the Ford Fiesta.

It was parked illegally across from Elizabeth's driveway.

The Ford Fiesta didn't sustain very much damage. There was a small, softball-sized dent on its side. The damaged area was in the middle of the dark brown passenger's door.

***

The accident occurred during the day. This meant that Oscar was on hand to witness the aftermath. He had been alerted to the affair when he heard a dull thud as he was reclining on his livingroom couch.

After the accident, Phillip went to the door of Burning Manor. He was seeking the owner of the Ford Fiesta. Fortunately, Dixie was the only one home at the time. Apparently, she's unemployed at the moment.

Dixie spoke with Phillip at the door for a few minutes. Then she accompanied him to examine the damage to the car. It didn't take long before a heated argument erupted. Phillip complained about the illegally-parked car. Dixie complained about the dent.

Eventually, Philip walked away abruptly. He was using his cell-phone as moved briskly toward his car. He was calling the peelers to seek a resolution of the matter. While Phillip was otherwise engaged, Dixie quickly moved the Ford Fiesta to a legitimate parking spot.

Oscar said it was a treat to witness some daytime Sack shenanigans.

***

The peelers arrived and some lengthy discussions ensued. Oscar said more than forty-five minutes passed before the matter concluded.

Phillip was released from the scene after about thirty minutes. He returned to his car and slowly drove away. He was talking on his cell-phone as he departed. Presumably, he was on his way back to his job at the funeral home.

Dixie, on the other hand, remained with the peelers. Her arms were folded and her face was dark with anger. As she stood on the curb talking to a particular peeler, a tow truck entered the Sack. It stopped in front of the Ford Fiesta.

A second peeler approached Dora with papers in his hand. She took them without a second glance and folded them into her coat pocket.

Then the tow truck left with the Ford Fiesta.

***

No one has been able to learn anything more about this whole affair. Neither Phillip, nor Elizabeth has been available to provide a further account.

Some people are surmising that the Ford Fiesta was unregistered or lacked insurance. Others say the car was towed for both reasons. I have no idea about such things.

But this does represent the first time that Burning Manor has been on the receiving end of Sack shenanigans. It's usually the other way around.

Oscar called the minor accident a preemptive strike. He wondered if this was part of Gordon's ideas about a "Burning Manor Strategy."

"If it is," he said with a broad smile, "you can count me in."

***