Stifling a Yawn

"This place is Dullsville."

That's what Oscar had to say a few days ago. Then he yawned in a grand and noisy fashion.

We were sitting on the Wonders' front porch at the time. The Sack was deserted. Even the birds seemed to have taken a temporary vow of silence. A small white cat ambled across the street in front of us. It was the only apparent sign of life in the neighbourhood.

The only thing missing, according to Oscar, was a large ball of tumbleweed meandering up the street.

As befits this time of year, nothing of great significance occurred in the Sack during the temperate days of August. Mostly, there were only the usual events that arise from the tedium of suburban life. This week's offering, therefore, provides a smorgasbord of minor Sack news culled from the dog days of summer.

Hopefully, it won't cause the reader to yawn.

***

Almost everyone seemed to be off work during the second week of August. Most residents spent this time doing various bits of household maintenance.

Big Doug, of course, was the busiest Sack resident in this regard. He applied a new coat of wood stain to his back deck and painted the handrails on his front porch. His driveway also received another coat of black sealant. Twice, in the span of a week, he washed his truck with great care. More than a few hours of his time was spent tending to his award-winning lawn.

It would be safe to say that Big Doug's house looks fabulous.

***

Gordon spent his week emulating Big Doug.

The day after Big Doug stained his deck, Gordon did the same. On Wednesday of that week, he resealed his driveway. It was the day after Big Doug completed the same task. Even though it only left his driveway on a few occasions, Gordon also washed his immaculate SUV twice.

The only time Gordon synchronized his household maintenance activity with Big Doug was on Friday. That's when both mowed their respective lawns at the same time.

Oscar is always greatly amused when Gordon and Big Doug mow their lawns at the same time. Set to the appropriate music, he says their identical movements create a unique form of suburban ballet.

He could be right about this.

***

Last Sunday, Florence returned from her month-long stay at her cottage. Her house did not burn down in her absence.

Your agent, of course, was responsible for the safety and security of her home during that period. As usual, Florence expressed her gratitude for my efforts. As always, I replied in my usual fashion.

"It was no sweat," I said calmly.

But if you heard a loud whooshing sound emanating from Canada's eastern seaboard last Sunday, there should be no cause for alarm. It was just the release of accumulated pressure rising from the depths of your agent's soul.

Ensuring the safety of an absent neighbour's home is a heavy burden over a month-long period. Fire, flood and pestilence loom on every horizon when you occupy such a role. It's enough to drive a man to the brink of madness.

Now, of course, I've been released from these chains of responsibility. Suddenly, it seems like I'm lighter than air.

And if Florence's house burns down now (God forbid), it will have nothing to do with my stewardship.

***

Ben has been tasked for a deployment in Afghanistan. He's supposed to leave in January of next year. He'll be away for six months.

Ben, of course, is a senior cook in the Canadian Forces. A deployment of this nature has been looming over him for some time. But now, it's official.

Neither Ben, nor Norma, were overly pleased about this development. Ben has one more year to go before he will retire from the military with a full pension. They were hoping he could finish his stint without another deployment.

On a positive note, Ben says the deployment does provide some significant financial incentives. At the end of it, he says he'll have "a big of chunk of change" he wasn't expecting to have.

This means he'll finally be able to buy the snow blower of his dreams.

***

Ben has always wanted to buy a snow blower. Norma has been far less enthusiastic about the idea.

If Ben owned a snow blower, Norma says he'll disappear for hours to clear other people's sidewalks and driveways after a winter storm. Then he'll spend more time doing routine snow blower maintenance. She says he'll probably take the thing apart several times and then put it back together again.

A snow blower, in Norma's opinion, will become Ben's mistress during the long winter months.

The last time Ben wanted to buy a snow blower, Norma was successful in talking him out of the idea. They took a trip to Cuba, instead. This time, however, there will be more than enough money to do both.

Norma says she's praying for an acceleration of global warming this year.

***

Jeff Christ was also around during the second week of August. He took some time off from his job as team leader at a local call centre. It's the same place where Weed draws a precarious pay cheque.

Most of Jeff Christ's time was devoted to some serious off-road biking. Across the main road from the Sack is a provincial park. A massive wooded area surrounds a freshwater lake. There are numerous paths for the adventurous bike rider.

Each morning, Jeff Christ emerged from Ben and Norma's house clad in his biking gear. A small knapsack was on his back. Presumably, it carried his lunch and any other necessary supplies for a day spent in the woods.

By mid-afternoon, Jeff would reappear in the Sack. His clothing and bike gear would be covered in mud and dirt. But there was always a big smile on his face. When asked about his day, Jeff had the same reply every time.

"It was awesome, man."

Before cleaning himself up, Jeff would set up his bike in an upside-down position on the driveway. Then he would commence to clean it thoroughly and perform any necessary maintenance.

Sack kids, of course, hold Jeff Christ in very high regard. Whenever, he works on his bike in this fashion, they emerge from their homes as if an ice cream truck had just rumbled into the Sack. They bring their bikes with them and set them beside Jeff's bike in the same upside-down manner. Then Jeff kindly gives the bikes a heavenly tune-up.

Jeff Christ is the Sack's bike repair guru.

***

Burning Manor remains unsold.

Dirk and Dora have had their house on the market now for more than six weeks. During this time, they've received and rejected several low-ball offers on the place. One of the offers came from Rental Doug. Apparently, his offer was the highest, thus far. Nevertheless, it was quickly rejected.

Sack observers point to several reasons why Burning Manor remains on the market. The first reason has everything to do with the increasing deterioration of the home's interior. Rental Doug has now viewed the place on three separate occasions. Each time, he says the state of the home has declined incrementally.

On his most recent visit, Rental Doug observed a fist-sized hole in the wall on the main floor. It was in the hallway that leads to the kitchen. No attempt was made to either hide or improve the wall's appearance.

In addition to the angry hole, there were also dirty dishes in the sink and a distinct odor of cigarettes. Even worse, in Rental Doug's opinion, was the discarded tampon in the main floor powder room. It was sitting on top of an overflowing garbage bin.

Rental Doug said this discovery alone was worth a ten-thousand-dollar reduction on Burning Manor's asking price.

He could be right about this, too.

***

Another reason for Burning Manor's continuing presence on the real estate market concerns the recent appearance of a new inhabitant.

Early in August, a massively obese woman began to appear at Burning Manor with some regularity. Sack observers were uncertain about her status in the home, but there was little doubt that she fit the profile of a bonafide friend of Burning Manor. She appeared to lack any semblance of sophistication, swore like a sailor and maintained a permanent grip on a can of Alexander Keith's India Pale Ale. Even from a distance, it appeared that personal hygiene was low on her list of priorities.

Within a week of her appearance, she also had a run-in with young Doo. For close to half an hour, the boy was using a hockey stick to smack an empty Coke can around the Sack. As Elizabeth described it later, Doo was certainly making "an unholy racket." She was just about to admonish him herself, when the gargantuan woman beat her to it. Apparently, she rumbled onto Burning Manor's porch and bellowed at the boy. Elizabeth said she told Doo to "piss off."

Upon observing the woman's imposing bulk, Doo did exactly as instructed. According to Elizabeth, he even left his hockey stick behind.

***

Norma was able to gather some information about the woman during the most recent installment of Tuesday night bingo. This, of course, is where the Sack often garners background information on the trials and tribulations of Dirk and Dora.

According to Norma's informed sources, the big woman is Dora's friend. Apparently, she was recently released from a federal institution for women after serving her entire sentence without parole. Supposedly, she's residing with Dirk and Dora until she can find a permanent abode.

Rental Doug believes that Burning Manor may actually become her permanent abode. During his most recent visit to inspect the place, he happened to walk out on the elevated rear deck to view the state of the backyard. He said he was shocked to discover the large woman lying on a lounge chair in the backyard. She was wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses and appeared to be asleep. A beer can, a package of cigarettes and a small radio were on a plastic table beside her. The radio, according to Rental Doug, was tuned to a local country and western station.

As long as the woman fails to fully vacate the premises during visits from potential buyers, Rental Doug says it's unlikely the house will fetch an amount anywhere near the asking price.

Once again, he could be right about this.

***

Sack residents have wondered about the nature of the woman's past crimes. Given her girth, Weed says he's certain she must've eaten someone. Oscar, on the other hand, says we can only be sure that it wasn't a white-collar crime.

The woman's name, of course, also remains a mystery. Thankfully, such omissions allow us the privilege of delegating a name anyway. Upon considering the matter, Oscar immediately suggested an appropriate moniker. Normally, the naming of Sack people is a controversial matter filled with arduous debate. In this particular case, however, Weed and your agent simply nodded our approval.

Burning Manor's new resident is now known as Bertha.

***

Finally, we have seen little of Weed over the past few weeks. He was away for two weekends in a row.

Last weekend, Weed and Daisy attended an out-of-town wedding. According to Weed, the trip was unremarkable except for one particular incident.

When the wedding reception ended, Weed and Daisy drove back to their motel. They gave a lift to Weed's older brother, his wife and their fifteen-year-old son, Max.

Weed said Max had enjoyed himself very much during the wedding reception. With only a modicum of stealth, he used the occasion to become acquainted with alcohol for the first time. His parents, of course, were dismayed when they discovered his indulgence. Nevertheless, they decided not to make a big deal about the matter.

"At the very least," Weed's brother said philosophically, "he got drunk for the first time while he was with us, rather than out somewhere with his friends."

Weed said he endorsed his brother's opinion until they were halfway to the motel. That's when Max suddenly engaged in a furious round of projectile vomiting throughout the backseat area.

Daisy was driving the car at the time. At Weed's strident insistence, she pulled over to the side of the road. By this time, the pungent aroma of Max's vomit had transformed the car into a hermetically-sealed sick room. Everyone, save for young Max, fled from the car. Weed, as well as the youth's mother, began vomiting into the ditch.

When everyone had composed themselves, they finally got back in the car. Seated delicately around the pools of vomit in the back seat and with all of the windows open, they finally made it back to the motel.

Weed said no one had any interest in trying to clean the car at such a late hour. It was about three o'clock in the morning. He left the windows down and hoped the cool night air would nullify the strong odour emanating from the car.

In the morning, Weed, his brother and an ashen-faced Max, did the best they could to remove the vomit from the night before.

***

The car has been cleaned thoroughly about five times ever since that night, Weed explained. But the strong odour of vomit has persisted. He now refers to his car as "the Pukemobile." Next week, he's taking it to be professionally cleaned. If this doesn't work, Weed says he's going to push the car into the Atlantic ocean.

Max, meanwhile, remains mortified by his actions in the car. He apologized profusely the next day, but has refused to speak of the matter ever since. According to Weed, the boy claimed the sudden eruption really wasn't his fault.

"I was starting to feel sick, and I thought I had it under control," he explained to his Uncle Weed. "But suddenly I yawned and everything just went out of control."

***