Chickens on Ice

It has been a dreary winter here in the old town. A thickening layer of ice now covers the deep snowfalls of January. The streets and sidewalks have grown narrower with every passing day. The Sack's centre circle looks like a crude ice castle.

It's a frigid place right now.

Oscar says the neighbourhood looks increasingly like a remote village in the high Arctic. He says it won't be long before we're getting around in snowmobiles, rather than cars. Weed, on the other hand, likens it to the planet Krypton as shown in the first "Superman" movie. Despite threats of global warming, he says we're really on our way to a new ice age.

Both observations, of course, are a little over the top.

Big Doug seems to be more level headed about the matter. When your agent encountered him the other day, he captured the essence of the weather in a single sentence. He also offered a note of optimism.

"It's a freeze-your-arse-off kind of winter," he said plainly. "It'll pass."

***

Oscar, Weed and your agent made plans for an outing to the local coffee cathedral. It was a Wednesday afternoon.

Oscar was in the midst of his workday. This meant he had nothing better to do but venture out for coffee. Weed, on the other hand, was on his third official day of unemployment.

So far, Weed said his unemployment experience was going swimmingly. He was slowly erasing his "personal sleep deficit". Apparently, this is your accumulation of lost sleep hours over a lifetime.

Weed says he's determined to get what's owing to him.

***

In addition to some severance pay, Weed says he has ample employment insurance to cover him over the next twelve months. He's targeting September as the time to locate a new job. In the meantime, he's going to chip away at his sleep deficit.

This is probably a good idea, too. Starting in June, Weed's going to be at home with his three-year-old son, Baby Doug. He'll be a stay-at-home dad throughout the summer.

Oscar says Weed's going to need all the sleep he can get. He could be right about this.

***

Weed said the opportunity to take a job like Oscar's would be the only reason he might stray from his current plan.

This was the third consecutive day they would go to the local coffee cathedral for an extended period. So far, Weed hadn't seen any evidence that Oscar had lifted a finger toward anything work related. In fact, the pair had enjoyed a two-hour breakfast at a local diner on the previous morning.

"I could ace a job like that," said Weed.

***

Your agent was present at the daytime trip to the local coffee cathedral on account of a "mental health day" away from work. Apparently, I'm entitled to such a day every year.

The fiscal year, of course is drawing to a close. If I didn't take the day off soon, I'd lose it. By "lose it," of course, I'm referring to my mental health day, not my mental health. I might live in a frozen suburban cul-de-sac, but I haven't slipped into the abyss quite yet.

Touch wood.

***

We walked past Gordon's house on the way to the local coffee cathedral. His longish, sloping lawn was covered in a smooth layer of frozen snow.

"It looks like a perfect sheet of ice," Oscar remarked. "You could walk right up to Gordon's front window like you're walking on pavement."

"Nah," said Weed, "you'd wipe out before you got there."

This reply, of course, ignited a fierce debate about whether one could walk up Gordon's ice covered lawn without falling. This was also how it was decided that an actual race should ensue. The three of us would compete against each other.

The idea was to race from the bottom of Gordon's lawn up to his front windows and then back toward the snowbank at street level. The loser would spring for coffee and a round of maple sugar donuts.

***

Even though Gordon's lawn was ice covered, there was a much thicker level of brittle snow underneath it.

Your agent and Weed had almost reached the house when Oscar legs plunged through the ice and into the deep snow. He was encased in Gordon's lawn right up to his crotch. Later, he would blame the plunge on the excess weight of his man boobs.

On the race back from Gordon's front windows, Weed suffered the same fate. Your agent's slight frame turned out to be a key advantage.

I won the Sack's first-ever race across Gordon's ice lawn.

***

Oscar had already extricated himself from the snow when Weed broke through its icy cover. He left two deep leg holes behind him as he laughed at Weed's predicament.

It took Weed a minute or so to free his first leg from the snow. He had to lie back on the ice to free his other one. Eventually, his other foot rose successfully in the air. Unfortunately, it was shoeless.

"I lost my sneaker," said Weed with dismay. With some effort, he retrieved it from the three-foot hole on Gordon's snow covered lawn.

Eventually, we reconvened on the street. There were now two distinct pairs of holes in evidence on Gordon's property. There was also a line of footprints leading to his front windows and then back again.

"That's going to drive Gordon crazy," said Weed. "He's going to think that Inuit terrorists are after him, or something like that."

"You've got that right," replied your agent. "Or maybe, giant raccoons."

Oscar nodded his agreement. "Then I don't mind buying the coffee and donuts. It's money well spent."

***

On the way to the local coffee cathedral, another dispute erupted. Oscar suddenly turned to Weed and said:

"What did you mean when you said, I lost my sneaker back there?"

Weed looked perplexed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Oscar smirked and said, "You said sneaker. That's the American term. You meant to say running shoe. That's the Canadian term. We've always said running shoe."

"No," said Weed flatly, "I meant to say sneaker. That's what it is."

Oscar looked indignant. "That might be what you think. But you should be saying running shoe." He wagged his finger at Weed and added, "You, my friend, are watching too much American TV."

"Get out of town," Weed retorted, "I watch CBC all the time."

"Yeah," said Oscar dismissively, "just to watch the hockey games."

Weed bristled and added, "And I listen to CBC radio in the car all the time."

"Right," said Oscar, "just to get the hockey scores."

And so it went from there. The pair argued about the matter all the way to the coffee cathedral. They were still going at it while we waited to place our order.

***

My mental health day had so far yielded a race across Gordon's icy lawn, casual involvement in a debate about the linguist merits of sneaker and running shoe and finally, a discussion on the erosion of Canadian culture caused by the preponderance of American media.

I thought a mental health day was supposed to be good for you.

***

Later that day, I decided to chip away some of the ice on the Wonders' driveway. Despite our best efforts, we haven't been able to shovel some of the snow before it froze.

As I toiled mindlessly at this task, Computer Doug emerged from his house.

Computer Doug, of course, is the most experienced unemployed person in the Sack. He has been without work since early November. That's when his employer went "tits up."

Since before Christmas, Computer Doug has kept a very low profile around the Sack. He rarely seems to venture outdoors. Whenever anyone does catch a glimpse of him, he's dressed in the same attire: A pair of faded pajama bottoms, a bland T-shirt and his trademark bear-claw slippers. His face is usually unshaven, as well.

On this particular occasion, however, Computer Doug was clad in a bright red pair of sweatpants and a yellow pullover. On his feet was a pair of black Wellington boots.

To say the least, it was very peculiar attire.

***

"You must think I'm a fashion disaster," Computer Doug quipped, as I strolled over from the Wonders' driveway. He was standing beside the open door of his car.

"What do you mean?" I replied, feigning ignorance.

"Every time you see me out here, I'm dressed in the first thing I can find." He held his arms out and looked down at his own garb.

"Well," I said slowly, pointing at his feet, "I certainly like your Wellington boots."

"My what?" he replied.

"Your Wellington boots," I said. "That's what those are."

Computer Doug shrugged. "Oh, yeah? I've always called them rubber boots."

"Well, now you can call them Wellingtons, if you like," I said with a grin.

Computer Doug looked at me doubtfully for a moment, before saying, "I'll try to remember that. But I don't wear these very often. I just couldn't find my sneakers.

***

We stood beside Computer Doug's car and chatted for a while longer. Apparently, he came outside to search for some lost bananas. He said they might have dropped out of a bag when he returned from the local grocery emporium.

As far as his welfare was concerned, Computer Doug said he was doing reasonably well. He said he had no employment prospects on the horizon, despite a daily online search. When the weather warms up, he planned to become more aggressive in this regard.

When asked how he spends his days, Computer Doug simply shrugged and said, "Most of the time, I just sit around and surf the net all day. And sometimes, I play mindless games on the computer."

"That must get boring after a while," said your agent.

Computer Doug nodded. "Yeah," he replied, "but I'll probably be finished with it soon. I've been on the Internet so much, I think I'm close to the end of it."

***

Given the frigid temperature and his flimsy attire, Computer Doug hastened his search for the errant bananas. After a brief search of the car, he pulled a blackened bunch of the things from under the backseat.

"Oh, well," said Computer Doug.

"How long ago did you buy them?" your agent asked.

"About a week ago," he replied. "Finding them has been on my list of things to do."

"I guess you can check that box off now, eh?" I answered.

"I guess so," Computer Doug said, as he closed the car door.

***

Besides checking the box on his list of things to do, Computer Doug had another reason for locating the bananas. Two weeks ago, he decided to become a vegetarian. Apparently, he's taking a step-by-step approach in this direction.

"So far, I'm off all meat, except chicken," he said with pride.

"That's great," your agent replied. "Does that include fish?"

"Yup," he answered. Then he added, "But I never ate fish anyway. I don't like it."

According to Computer Doug, his step toward vegetarianism is for health reasons. Since becoming unemployed, he said he has gained fifteen pounds. At this, he lifted his yellow pullover and showed me an ample belly.

"See what I mean," he said flatly.

"I get the picture," I replied.

***

During his two-week venture toward vegetarianism, Computer Doug said he hadn't lost any weight. In fact, he thinks he might've gained a few pounds.

"I've been eating a lot of chicken," he said with quick smile.

In fact, Computer Doug said he had been eating turkey bacon for breakfast every morning. For lunch, he said he was frequently enjoying some boxed chicken nuggets available from the local grocery emporium.

"Turkey bacon?" I said with a puzzled tone. "I thought you were only eating chicken."

Computer Doug shrugged again and said, "Well, it's still poultry. I'm down to poultry only. By spring, I should be a complete vegetarian."

"That's good," I replied, "I guess the chickens will be happy about that."

"I guess so," he grinned. "Well, I better take a run out and get some new bananas. If I'm gonna get off the chicken, I gotta start eating more fruit."

Computer Doug locked the car door and then moved toward the house to get his coat. As he waved a friendly good-bye, he pointed down at his boots.

"I'm gonna take my Wellington boots off first, though," he said in a formal tone, "and put on my sneakers."

***

Smorgasbord

We return to the blogging machine with a smorgasbord of Sack news.

***

Smorgasbord was the Sack's word of the month for January. The word was chosen only a few days after the month began.

The word of the month is a very informal piece of business. If someone spontaneously utters an amusing word around the Sack, all you have to say is, "That's the new word of the month." That's all it really takes. The word is spoken, someone identifies it and presto, you've got your word of the month.

Presto, by the way, was the Sack's word of the month last September.

In some cases, the word of the month can be a phrase. Even then, it's still known as the word of the month. In this neck of the woods, logic is often in short supply.

This neck of the woods was the Sack's word of the month last March.

***

Smorgasbord was chosen after hearing Oscar's tale about the New Years Eve party he attended. Apparently, there was a well-stocked, open bar at the event. Oscar called it a "smorgasbord of free drink." Both Weed and your agent jumped on the word right away.

Once a word is designated as the Sack's word of the month, it tends to be uttered with some frequency. Weed, for example, has since used it to describe the donut counter at the local coffee cathedral. He called it a "smorgasbord of sugary delights."

Computer Doug has also uttered the word. After the old town's waste management professionals left a trail of garbage behind, he lamented the "smorgasbord of crap" at the foot of his driveway.

***

The word of the month for February has already been chosen. It was selected a few weeks ago. This was a very unusual decision. Until now, the word had always been picked in the current month. It has never been selected in advance.

Oscar and your agent made the decision to break from tradition. Given the circumstances of the word's usage and its rarity, we agreed that an exception could be made.

Last week, Weed made an announcement at the local coffee cathedral. Apparently, he will be laid off from his job at a nearby call centre. He had been assured about the security of his position only the week before. But now, the place will be closing its doors.

Weed said he was gobsmacked when he heard the news.

Gobsmacked is a slang term of UK origin. It's not commonly used in this neck of the woods. Weed, however, couldn't say why it suddenly emerged from his mouth.

"I was too gobsmacked to think of anything else, I guess," he said with a shrug.

***

Weed will be officially unemployed next week. He becomes the second Sack resident to suffer this fate in recent months. Computer Doug's employer went "tits up" several months ago.

Tits up was the Sack's word of the month last November.

While Oscar was saddened to hear about Weed's job loss, he was also elated that he would have more company in the Sack during the weekday.

Oscar, of course, works from his home. This doesn't seem to involve any particular labour on his part. As a result, he's always on the look out for someone to play with during the day.

During Computer Doug's recent unemployment, Oscar has been less than pleased with the man's participation in weekday activities. Despite numerous invitations to engage in daytime shenanigans, Computer Doug has spent most of his time at home in his pajama bottoms and bear-claw slippers.

"If I could only get the guy out of his pajamas," Oscar lamented, "we could start having a little fun."

Both your agent and Weed were a bit gobsmacked by Oscar's choice of words.

***

Aside from a few brief appearances following a heavy snowfall, Sack kids are rarely seen outdoors these days. Not a single street hockey game has developed near the centre circle. A raucous, long-lasting snowball fight has yet to occur.

This is not a new phenomenon. It has been a growing trend for a number of years. Sack kids, it seems, don't play outside in the winter anymore.

Weed thinks this situation is a crying shame. He says that kids, at least those in this neck of the woods, have been drawn indoors by an increasingly digital world. Eventually, he argues, they'll rarely be seen outside during the rest of the year.

"Digital communication has driven them indoors," he said with a frown, "and global warming will keep them there. They'll be mole people when they're older."

Oscar wasn't pleased with Weed's apparent pessimism in this matter. In tandem with Computer Doug's blue mood, he said it didn't bode well for some daytime fun in the weeks ahead.

"It looks like I'm going to have my work cut out for me," said Oscar.

***

During this dreary winter, there has been one exception among homebound Sack kids. Eight-year-old Doo has been marching to the tune of his own drummer. He's outside every single day without fail.

Young Doo, it seems, doesn't change his habits with the season.

A solitary figure in the Sack's centre circle, the boy spends almost his entire time outdoors after school and even into the early evening. On weekends, he puts in double shifts. It doesn't matter how cold it is, either. He's out there without fail.

When Doo is outside, he engages in only one activity. He digs in the accumulation of snow and ice in the Sack. That's all he ever does.

At times, it can seem almost disconcerting that Doo spends so much time alone in this manner.

It's known that Doo's mom has placed strict limits on the boy's access to electronic doodads like television and computer games. Without these amusements, there seems to be little else to hold his attention indoors.

Following a snowfall, Doo spends his time shoveling the snow on the street toward the centre circle. He looks like he's trying to emulate the Sack adults doing the same thing on their driveways. In Doo's case, however, this is a rather purposeless endeavour. A passing snowplow will eventually perform the same function.

Thankfully, this doesn't seem to matter to young Doo. His attention seems focused on the shoveling journey rather than the shoveling destination. I've asked him numerous times if he would like to help me shovel the Wonders' driveway.

Aimless street shoveling, however, seems to be more his style.

***

When the snow has been cleared from the street, Doo's attention shifts to the small mountain of snow in the Sack's centre circle. This is when his digging efforts really begin.

Again, however, there doesn't seem to be any particular intention in Doo's behaviour. The boy digs with reckless abandon. Depending on the hardness of the snow, he'll use any kind of digging implement he can get his hands on. Lately, the small mountain of snow has been transformed into a giant, crudely formed ice cube. Doo has been whacking at it daily with some kind of metal rod.

Your agent's curiosity about Doo's activity in the circle has mounted as time has passed. A few weeks ago, I ventured over to him to inquire about the purpose of his labours.

"What are you doing?" I asked pleasantly.

"Nuthin'" the boy replied. He barely looked up from his digging.

Doo was standing atop the mountainous lump, while your agent stood at ground level. Scattered about his work area were the tools of his trade: a garden spade, a hockey stick, several two-by-fours and a three-foot metal rod. It was a veritable smorgasbord of digging implements.

"Are you building something?" I inquired, imagining the foundation of an impending winter fort. Pausing for a moment, the boy gave me a blank, distracted look. Finally, he gazed down at your agent.

"Naw, I'm just diggin'."

***

It's now official. Jeff Christ hath forsaken us.

A few weeks ago, Jeff left for the promised land in Alberta. He has a job lined up with the oil sands project. Apparently, it will pay twice as much as his former team leader position at the local call centre. Jeff hopes to return to the old town to complete a teaching degree at one of the local universities. However, this depends on whether he gets accepted at other universities in Canada.

Weed says it should be no surprise that the call centre has gone "tits up" so soon after Jeff Christ's departure. Jeff stopped working there just after Christmas.

"Jeff didn't know the place would close," Weed explained, "but I think he had some kind of sixth sense about it."

Apparently, this is why Jeff Christ wasn't gobsmacked when he heard about the closure.

***

While Sack residents lamented Jeff Christ's departure, his uncle, Ben informed your agent that he wouldn't be surprised to see his nephew return sooner rather than later.

Apparently, the imploding economy also has affected the country's most lucrative industry. Folks from this neck of the woods have been migrating to Alberta for years in order to find well-paid employment. Now, some of them are being laid off. Many are returning home.

While Jeff's job isn't supposed to be in danger, Ben says it's still possible that more job losses could follow. Jeff, of course, was very optimistic about his chances. He said he wouldn't go if he didn't think he could make things work. Still, his uncle is concerned that he has put all his eggs in one basket.

"If his job goes tits up in a month," said Ben, "the kid's going to be gobsmacked."

Ben, of course, is a big fan of the Sack's word of the month shenanigans.

***

There are now ghosts living in the Sack.

The new occupants of Rental Doug's former abode still haven't been viewed in any detail. They moved in during December, but have scarcely been seen since then.

The matter has intensified in recent weeks. The house has stood silent for the last ten days. There are no tire tracks on the driveway. It remains unshoveled. The house is dark at night. Nevertheless, there are sporadic reports of lights on in the late evening.

Even if the young couple is actually a pair of ghosts, Weed says he's still impressed by the size of their carbon footprint.

"They didn't put out any garbage at all last week," he said calmly.

Oscar, however, has his own theory about the pair. He thinks they moved in and then did what an inordinate number of Sack residents have already done.

"They went to Cuba, man," he said confidently. "Where else would they go?"

***

Finally, we have some news pertaining to Dirk, the dark lord of Burning Manor. Apparently, he's sporting a black eye. Your agent hasn't seen it himself, but I've been assured as to the veracity of the claim. According to Oscar, Dirk's appearance was observed by Elizabeth, the regal vice chair of the Sack Resident's Society and next-door neighbour to Burning Manor.

When Elizabeth sees something amiss at Burning Manor, one can only believe that it's true. She has an eagle eye for that kind of thing.

No one, unfortunately, has any idea about the origins of Dirk's black eye. Most people assume that his fragrant partner, Dora was somehow involved. They could be right about this.

***

Like Sack kids, Dirk and Dora tend toward a low profile during the winter months.

Weed says it's unlikely that the pair is drawn inside because of the digital world. He reckons it's the drink that's keeping them there. When you spend the other seasons drinking on your back deck, he says there's only one place to go when the winter arrives.

"Drinking round the kitchen table," Weed said thoughtfully, "that's where they're taking it. And that's probably where he got the black eye, too."

***

In most cases, we could gain intelligence on Dirk's black eye through reports from Tuesday Night Bingo.

Unfortunately, Norma is on temporary leave from her attendance at this cheerful event. Along with Ben, she has been saving money for their upcoming trip to Cuba. They're leaving next week.

Doo's mom, of course, has also retired from the bingo racket on a temporary basis. She's doing it for the same reason. Her and Doo's stepdad, Sticky are going to Cuba during the March school break. Young Doo will be staying with his grandmother for the entire period.

There will be no digging in the Sack that week, my friends.

***