During the last two weeks, the old town has experienced two sudden snowstorms, a tantalizingly sunny day with low two-digit temperatures, and then a maddening number of days with every type of weather a meteorologist could imagine.
Oscar, Weed and your agent discussed this matter during a recent sojourn at the local coffee cathedral. At issue was the proper name to attach to this in-between season. It should be no surprise that a dispute erupted between Oscar and Weed.
***
Oscar was in favour of "wring" as the moniker for this arduous valley between winter and spring. He said it was a time where one could do nothing else but wring one's hands in frustration.Weed, on the other hand, was fond of "sprinter." He felt this was an appropriate name, given one's propensity for running back and forth to change clothing or adjust the furnace according to rapidly changing weather conditions.
Your agent thought both monikers had merit. As a result, I had no preference that would allow either man to claim victory in the debate. This ensured a continued argument at the coffee cathedral and no hope of a resolution.
***
The Sack's word of the month for April has been chosen. Once again, it's a phrase rather than a single word. Around the Sack, we're rather loose about this sort of thing.If there has been anything consistent during "wring" or "sprinter," it would be the fog. This should be no surprise to anyone living in a port city along the North Atlantic.
The old town, of course, receives fog in spades throughout the year. However, it seems even more prevalent these days. During the last few weeks, we've seen fog in the midst of a snowfall and during a predominantly sunny day. The rest of the time, the fog has simply hung over the old town like a dense, low-lying white cloud. At times, you can almost reach out and touch it.
Your agent, of course, is a big fan of fog. I like the surreal lighting it creates when it settles over the old town. I also appreciate its appearance when you rise in elevation somewhere and can look down upon it. At times, I even enjoy the cool dampness on my skin when I'm out and about on a foggy day.
Oscar, on the other hand, doesn't look fondly upon fog. He says there's something sinister about it. In his opinion, foggy days and nights are when crazy people are more likely to run amok.
"Only a serial killer gets a charge out of fog," Oscar said firmly, poking a piece of maple sugar donut in my direction.
Weed, however, agreed with your agent. He said he had no problem with fog. In fact, he said it had one major benefit in comparison to other types of weather.
"My hair," he said proudly, twirling a curling, wavy lock that dangled from under his pork pie hat, "is way more manageable on a foggy day. You wouldn't believe the difference it makes."
According to Weed, there's no product on the market to rival fog as a hair conditioner. He said it was too bad you couldn't bottle the stuff and sell it for that purpose.
"I could make millions," he said confidently.
The old town, of course, receives fog in spades throughout the year. However, it seems even more prevalent these days. During the last few weeks, we've seen fog in the midst of a snowfall and during a predominantly sunny day. The rest of the time, the fog has simply hung over the old town like a dense, low-lying white cloud. At times, you can almost reach out and touch it.
Your agent, of course, is a big fan of fog. I like the surreal lighting it creates when it settles over the old town. I also appreciate its appearance when you rise in elevation somewhere and can look down upon it. At times, I even enjoy the cool dampness on my skin when I'm out and about on a foggy day.
Oscar, on the other hand, doesn't look fondly upon fog. He says there's something sinister about it. In his opinion, foggy days and nights are when crazy people are more likely to run amok.
"Only a serial killer gets a charge out of fog," Oscar said firmly, poking a piece of maple sugar donut in my direction.
Weed, however, agreed with your agent. He said he had no problem with fog. In fact, he said it had one major benefit in comparison to other types of weather.
"My hair," he said proudly, twirling a curling, wavy lock that dangled from under his pork pie hat, "is way more manageable on a foggy day. You wouldn't believe the difference it makes."
According to Weed, there's no product on the market to rival fog as a hair conditioner. He said it was too bad you couldn't bottle the stuff and sell it for that purpose.
"I could make millions," he said confidently.
***
This month's word is fog-related. Ben uttered it during a discussion with Oscar and Weed. At the time, they were standing at the foot of Ben's driveway on a foggy wring afternoon in the Sack.
Exaggerating his own Newfoundland accent, Ben apparently looked about and said, "Dat's some t'ick fog, b'y."
Oscar and Weed looked at each other immediately and then replied in unison, "Dat's the new word of the month."
***
Ben, of course, was thrilled that his phrase was selected as the Sack's word of the month. He's a big fan of these shenanigans.
Oscar said we should present Ben with a commemorative plaque to mark the achievement. However, Weed was opposed to the idea. This was mostly because Oscar wanted him to construct the plaque himself using Little Doug's vast array of woodworking tools.
Despite being unemployed at the moment, Weed said he had far more important things to do than make trophies for other Sack residents. His only exception, he said, would be in the construction of a plaque awarded to Oscar.
"It's gonna be called the "Dink of the Month" award," he said wryly.
Oscar said we should present Ben with a commemorative plaque to mark the achievement. However, Weed was opposed to the idea. This was mostly because Oscar wanted him to construct the plaque himself using Little Doug's vast array of woodworking tools.
Despite being unemployed at the moment, Weed said he had far more important things to do than make trophies for other Sack residents. His only exception, he said, would be in the construction of a plaque awarded to Oscar.
"It's gonna be called the "Dink of the Month" award," he said wryly.
***
"Dat's some t'ick fog, b'y" has been uttered numerous times around the Sack since it was acclaimed as the word of the month. Weed used it three times in one conversation before Oscar told him to shut his "cake hole."
"Shut your cake hole," by the way, was the Sack's word of the month for March.
Dora, the queen of Burning Manor, used the phrase during a confrontation with Elizabeth about her illegally parked car. That's a story for another day.
"Shut your cake hole," by the way, was the Sack's word of the month for March.
Dora, the queen of Burning Manor, used the phrase during a confrontation with Elizabeth about her illegally parked car. That's a story for another day.
***
Despite the fog and the onslaught of sprinter, there have been a few signs around the Sack of the approaching spring.
In the first instance, we note a change in young Doo's play behaviour. Now that the block of ice in the Sack's centre circle has melted and the surrounding snow has vanished, the boy has discarded his various digging implements. His bicycle and a hockey stick have replaced those tools.
Doo rides his bicycle in a clockwise direction around the centre circle for what seems like hours at a time. It's no casual ride, either. Most of the time, he pedals like he has a particular destination in mind.
When he tires of the cycling marathon, Doo retrieves his hockey stick and proceeds to strike it against the pavement, the curb or the ornamental rocks in the centre circle. Sometimes, he simply scrapes the stick along the pavement as he wanders aimlessly up and down the street.
Doo's hockey stick shtick has proven to be rather unpopular among Sack residents who live around the centre circle. The sound of wood against stone has become a familiar part of the Sack's wringtime soundscape. Not surprisingly, someone will usually open his door and tell Doo to give himself a rest.
That's when Doo gets back on his bike and races around the centre circle once again.
In the first instance, we note a change in young Doo's play behaviour. Now that the block of ice in the Sack's centre circle has melted and the surrounding snow has vanished, the boy has discarded his various digging implements. His bicycle and a hockey stick have replaced those tools.
Doo rides his bicycle in a clockwise direction around the centre circle for what seems like hours at a time. It's no casual ride, either. Most of the time, he pedals like he has a particular destination in mind.
When he tires of the cycling marathon, Doo retrieves his hockey stick and proceeds to strike it against the pavement, the curb or the ornamental rocks in the centre circle. Sometimes, he simply scrapes the stick along the pavement as he wanders aimlessly up and down the street.
Doo's hockey stick shtick has proven to be rather unpopular among Sack residents who live around the centre circle. The sound of wood against stone has become a familiar part of the Sack's wringtime soundscape. Not surprisingly, someone will usually open his door and tell Doo to give himself a rest.
That's when Doo gets back on his bike and races around the centre circle once again.
***
The second instance of the changing seasons can be found in the street debris revealed by the departure of ice and snow.
In the centre circle, there's a piece of aluminum siding lying in the brown, muddy grass. It's the same colour as Computer Doug's house and seems to match an area of missing siding high on his west wall.
Computer Doug, however, denies that the siding originates from his house. Despite the evidence to the contrary, he claims it must belong to someone else.
Oscar says there could be two reasons behind Computer Doug's denial. If Computer Doug acknowledges that the siding belongs to him, then he must admit that his home requires some maintenance and repair. As long as he denies it, there's no need to do anything about it.
Secondly, Oscar says it's plausible that Computer Doug is simply following a commonly held convention among Sack residents. If there's a particular piece of debris on the street or even on your own property, you're not obliged to pick it up if it doesn't belong to you. The real owner of the debris is responsible for this.
This is also why there's been a plastic, camel-coloured shoe tray in the middle of the street for the last few weeks. The wind has blown it onto several lawns (including the Wonders') but no one (including the Wonders') has taken the initiative to pick it up and dispose of it.
In the centre circle, there's a piece of aluminum siding lying in the brown, muddy grass. It's the same colour as Computer Doug's house and seems to match an area of missing siding high on his west wall.
Computer Doug, however, denies that the siding originates from his house. Despite the evidence to the contrary, he claims it must belong to someone else.
Oscar says there could be two reasons behind Computer Doug's denial. If Computer Doug acknowledges that the siding belongs to him, then he must admit that his home requires some maintenance and repair. As long as he denies it, there's no need to do anything about it.
Secondly, Oscar says it's plausible that Computer Doug is simply following a commonly held convention among Sack residents. If there's a particular piece of debris on the street or even on your own property, you're not obliged to pick it up if it doesn't belong to you. The real owner of the debris is responsible for this.
This is also why there's been a plastic, camel-coloured shoe tray in the middle of the street for the last few weeks. The wind has blown it onto several lawns (including the Wonders') but no one (including the Wonders') has taken the initiative to pick it up and dispose of it.
***
In addition to the errant siding and the plastic shoe tray, there's also a dark, damp piece of clothing on the pavement near the top of the circle. It's closest to Weed's residence (at Little Doug's house), but he claims no ownership of it.
The most common type of debris on the pavement, however, is shards of jagged, colourful plastic. These appear to be the crushed remains of children's toys.
Like the rest of us, young Doo declined any knowledge of this debris. When your agent asked him about it, he simply shrugged his shoulders and then went back to striking his hockey stick against the curb.
The most common type of debris on the pavement, however, is shards of jagged, colourful plastic. These appear to be the crushed remains of children's toys.
Like the rest of us, young Doo declined any knowledge of this debris. When your agent asked him about it, he simply shrugged his shoulders and then went back to striking his hockey stick against the curb.
***
Your agent also discovered the flattened, wet packaging for a hair colouring product on the Wonder's driveway. I've yet to encounter anyone who's willing to accept ownership of it.
In the coming days, I'll be keeping my eyes open for a Sack resident with Medium Bronze brown hair.
In the coming days, I'll be keeping my eyes open for a Sack resident with Medium Bronze brown hair.
***
Our final sign of the impending spring occurred a few days ago. Oscar and your agent were chatting beside his parked car at the time.
As we bantered about, the front door of the Bitterman residence opened. A barechested Maxwell emerged into the foggy afternoon air. Ample portions of striped boxer shorts were visible above his low-slung blue jeans. On his feet was a pair of battered black slippers.
Maxwell stepped onto the top of the front steps and casually scratched the dark hair on his exposed belly. He lit a cigarette and then coughed noisily after the first drag. This was followed by a looping curve of phlegm that he spit across the steps and onto the lawn.
After a few more hits on the cigarette, Maxwell walked down to his unlocked and inoperable 1993 Cutlass Supreme. He rummaged in the back seat and then emerged with a small plastic bag. After tucking the bag under his arm, he took a few more quick drags from his smoke, before firing it onto the street with a practiced flick of his fingers. As he wandered back into the Bitterman residence, he scratched aimlessly on his left butt cheek.
Oscar and your agent watched Maxwell's appearance without discussion. The sight of a barechested, ass-scratching Maxwell is akin to seeing the first plump robin on your front lawn.
After Maxwell had disappeared into the Bitterman house, we continued to stand in silence. Oscar simply gazed out at the ceiling of white fog that hung over the Sack.
Finally, he turned to me and said, "Dat's some t'ick fog, b'y."
As we bantered about, the front door of the Bitterman residence opened. A barechested Maxwell emerged into the foggy afternoon air. Ample portions of striped boxer shorts were visible above his low-slung blue jeans. On his feet was a pair of battered black slippers.
Maxwell stepped onto the top of the front steps and casually scratched the dark hair on his exposed belly. He lit a cigarette and then coughed noisily after the first drag. This was followed by a looping curve of phlegm that he spit across the steps and onto the lawn.
After a few more hits on the cigarette, Maxwell walked down to his unlocked and inoperable 1993 Cutlass Supreme. He rummaged in the back seat and then emerged with a small plastic bag. After tucking the bag under his arm, he took a few more quick drags from his smoke, before firing it onto the street with a practiced flick of his fingers. As he wandered back into the Bitterman residence, he scratched aimlessly on his left butt cheek.
Oscar and your agent watched Maxwell's appearance without discussion. The sight of a barechested, ass-scratching Maxwell is akin to seeing the first plump robin on your front lawn.
After Maxwell had disappeared into the Bitterman house, we continued to stand in silence. Oscar simply gazed out at the ceiling of white fog that hung over the Sack.
Finally, he turned to me and said, "Dat's some t'ick fog, b'y."
***
