Gnome Sweet Gnome

It's our flag, eh?

More verbal shenanigans between Oscar and Weed. . . . . 

It's rather common in these parts to hear someone adding "eh?" to the end of their sentences.  Apparently this has something to do with being Canuckleheads.  Oscar says It's a national trait to turn everything into a question.  By feigning uncertainty, people will think we're dumber than we really are.  This, according to Oscar, gives us an evolutionary advantage.  The rest of the world pays very little attention to us, so we can go about our business with a minimum of conflict and rivalry with other countries.

I remain very doubtful about all of this.   

Oscar, however, also had something to say about Weed's use of "eh?" during a recent stop at the local coffee cathedral.  He said he detected a distinct "h" at the beginning of the utterance.  This made it sound like "hey?"

Weed said this was ridiculous.  The two actually argued about the subject for several minutes.  

To get a bigger rise out of Oscar, Weed started to say "hey?" intentionally.  Oscar, however, said it was no joking matter.  He said there was a possibility that Weed had suffered a minor stroke.  Small changes in speech patterns, he claimed, could be evidence of this.  Apparently, he had watched a TV program on this very subject.

Weed replied that it was actually Oscar's health that could be in peril.  He said he had watched a different program about aging and hearing loss.  This could be the "beginning of the end" as far as Oscar was concerned.  

This is how we spend our time in the suburbs as civilization erodes around us.

***

Things have been quiet at Burning Manor lately.  Norma, Ben's wife, says it's because Dirk has got himself a new job.  She garnered this news at Tuesday Night Bingo.  This is where some of Dirk and Dora's people hang out.

Dirk at work

According to Norma, Dirk has found employment with another oil rig in the North Atlantic.  He was laid off from his previous rig earlier this year.  Now, he's back to working three weeks at a time, followed by three week furloughs back in the Sack.

While it may be quiet at Burning Manor, this doesn't mean the place has kept a low profile around the Sack.  Dora, it seems, may be going a little bit crazy.  This piece of information didn't come from Tuesday Night Bingo, either.  Instead, it comes directly from your agent's eyeballs.

I pass by Burning Manor several times a day.  During the last two weeks, I observed a bizarre transformation on its front lawn.  The process started slowly, then picked up pace rather quickly.

Dora appears to have some kind of new and uncontrollable affection for lawn ornaments.

***

Waiting for a lawn near you.

I knew something was up when a full-sized lobster trap returned to the circular garden area in the middle of the lawn.  Dirk introduced the cultural item as lawn ornament a few years ago.  It didn't make an appearance last summer and there had been no sign of it this year.  Sack observers thought they had seen the end of it.

Oscar says Dirk put the trap away because, aside from once snaring young Doo, it failed to catch a single land lobster.  I remain doubtful about this, too.

Dora, unfortunately, didn't stop with the lobster trap.  A day later, a small stone statue stood beside the lobster trap.  It was a cherubic angel posed seductively against a small water basin.  Oscar, of course, was the one who described it as seductive.  It didn't do a thing for me.

The next day, the entire lawn was bordered by solar lights.  Oscar said this was so Dora's father, Teddy McGnarly, could avoid parking on the lawn after a night at the tavern.  For a change, he could be right about this.

***

As time passed, more lawn ornaments appeared on the front lawn at Burning Manor.  This included a fibreglass imitation of an Inukshuk.  It seemed rather incongruous beside the lobster trap and the cherubic angel.  Oscar, however, said the inukshuk was likely for the benefit of Burning Manor's boisterous visitors.

The right path.

"It means, You're on the right path toward beer," said Oscar.

Before the two weeks ended, a mish-mash of ornaments were added to the mix.  Some have colourful propellers and other wind powered whirlygigs.  The final piece of the puzzle was the biggest.  It was a small wishing well.  It appears to be made of hard plastic and weighted to stay stable on the lawn.  A planter sits inside the well, although, Dora hasn't filled it yet.

To say the least, Burning Manor's front lawn is looking a little busy these days.

***

Sack residents, of course, have been mostly appalled by Dora's creative endeavours.

Gordon and Gordette won't stop talking about it.  Elizabeth is brimming with sarcasm, claiming that she's already contacted Canadian House & Home magazine.  Weed keeps taking pictures of the lawn and sending them to his friends.  Oscar wants to kidnap the seductive cherub and place it somewhere in Gordon's backyard.  Big Doug says he feels like "doing a few donuts" on Burning Manor's front lawn with his pickup truck every time he drives past the place.

Young Doo and some of the other Sack kids are mesmerized by the ornaments.  Doo has taken a few tentative steps onto the lawn to the get a closer look, while the rest, despite curious gazing at the variety of gizmos, have kept a respectful distance.

***

From my point of view, however, Dora's lawn ornaments can't be an entirely bad thing.  Burning Manor might be an eyesore to some, but it's better than being an earsore.  Things have been very quiet there for the past month.  This is a welcome respite from late night arguments and drunken shenanigans.  If a lobster trap, a stone cherub and a fake wishing well keeps Dora in a state of bliss, then I'm all for it.

I just hope Dirk doesn't cause any oil spills in the North Atlantic.

***

Watching Television

See ya later, alligator.

A recent news story in the old town was the subject of conversation at the local coffee cathedral.  Oscar, Little Doug and your agent were in attendance.

The story concerned the slow, but steady removal of outgoing mail delivery boxes on the old town's streets.  Apparently, it won't be long before they disappear entirely.  If you want to mail something, you'll have to go to a postal outlet.  These are typically located in grocery and drug stores.

Little Doug said he hadn't realized his attachment to the iconic red mailbox until he heard about its eventual demise. He thinks it will be a shame to see it go.

"I like putting my own mail in a mailbox." said Little Doug.  "I don't know why, but there's something satisfying about it."

"When was the last time you mailed something?" asked Oscar.

Little Doug thought for a moment and said, "Probably a few years ago."

***

Maxwell rolls into the Sack.

Last month, Oscar and your agent were drinking tea while reclining on his front steps.  It was slightly after the dinner hour on a Thursday evening.

A white pickup truck motored into the Sack.  It carried a large object in the back.  This was covered by a blue tarpaulin and tied securely to the vehicle with rope.  We watched as the truck backed slowly into the Bitterman's driveway next door to Oscar's place.  The passenger door opened and Maxwell, Britney Bitterman's beau, appeared.  His illustrious cousin, Doug "Dougie" Duggan, emerged from the driver's side.

Entertainment circa 1999

Maxwell and Dougie immediately began to untie their cargo.  Eventually, the tarp was removed and Maxwell's latest acquisition was revealed.  The object was a monstrous rear projection television.  It was clearly a used, older model.

Oscar guessed that it was at least fifteen years old.

***

Maxwell and Dougie had to unload the humongous television from the back of the pickup.  First, they circled it a few times, wisely considering the most effective manner for getting it off the truck and into the house.  After a brief conference, they moved to opposite ends of the television. Maxwell positioned himself at the rear of the truck.

There were a few false starts as they started lifting the unit.  When they finally got it up, the television wobbled dangerously for a few seconds, before Maxwell and Dougie regained control of it.  The same thing happened when they tried to lift it again.

In Britney's opinion. . . . .

Britney Bitterman must have been observing these efforts from her front window.  She appeared at the front door and bellowed at them.  This was followed by a stern summary of what they were doing wrong and a shrill reminder of what they should be doing instead.  When she finally ran out of steam, Maxwell barked angrily back at her.

When the ensuing five-minute argument finally petered out, Oscar said, "I'll say it again.  This is why this place is still better than watching digital cable."

***

Eventually, Maxwell and Dougie maneuvered the TV off the truck.  They carried it through the garage and presumably into the basement space that Britney, Maxwell and the kids use as their main living area in the Bitterman house.  Given the size of the space, Oscar said the TV would certainly dominate the entire room.

"Of course," he added, "maybe that's the idea."

About a half-hour later, Maxwell and Dougie returned to the driveway.  After a quick fist pump, Dougie got into his truck and left the Sack.  

It's that time again. . . . .

By this time, Oscar had retrieved several bottles of drink to replace our empty teacups.  He said it was as good a time as any to enjoy the first cold, outdoor beverage of the season.  Your agent could find no reason to disagree.

When his cousin drove away, Maxwell noticed us for the first time as we sat on Oscar's steps.  We had been partially concealed by the stair railings while the driveway shenanigans were going on.

Maxwell quickly sauntered towards us.  There was a broad smile on his face.  As he drew near, Oscar said, "Got yourself a new boob tube, eh?"

"Yeah," Maxwell laughed, "Boobs are gonna look pretty big on that thing."

According to Maxwell, he bought the television from his cousin, Darren.  He's one of a legion of extended family members Maxwell has scattered throughout the old town.  Apparently, Darren is some kind of wheeler and dealer in used goods of questionable value.

Maxwell said he bought the TV for one hundred dollars.  "A C-note," he said, "that's it."

"That's a bargain," I replied.

"Damn straight," said Maxwell.

***

Oscar was curious about Maxwell's reason for making such a purchase.  After all, it was an older model that had probably seen better days.

Maxwell grinned.  "Not this one.  It used to belong to a Legion.  They only used it to show Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights.  Besides, I saw it running before I got it.  We've got it set up great right now.  It's kick-ass. 

"Anyway," he continued, "I got it mostly for the kids.  When the new baby comes, Britney's gonna need something to keep the other two busy, at least 'til the older one starts school."

Britney, of course, is due to give birth this summer.  Mr. Bitterman had already provided Oscar with this update.  Apparently, he is less than thrilled about this latest addition to his household.  Maxwell and Britney already have two rug rats, Hekyl and Jekyl.  Mr. Bitterman said he loves his grandchildren, but he's not crazy about having to pay for them.  

This is because Maxwell, according to Mr. Bitterman, never seems to have a pot to piss in.

***

Things are looking up.

Maxwell went on to inform us that things have been coming up roses for him lately.  He's working full-time now in the world of traffic management.  One might imagine that this involves standing at road construction sites with a two-sided traffic sign.  Maxwell, however, gave us an insider's view of the occupation.  Apparently, it's much more complex than the average citizen would expect.

The rear-projection television, according to Maxwell, was his first big purchase since getting a full-time pay cheque.  This had occurred about five hours ago.

As he prepared to leave, Britney reappeared at the front door of the Bitterman house.  Apparently, there was something wrong with the newly acquired television.

"What's the matter with it?" Maxwell called out.

Britney reply was short and sharp.  The sound wasn't working.  She told Maxwell to get his ass in the house and fix it.

Maxwell asked her if she was "farting around" with the remote control.  This response sent Britney into a tizzy.  She said her "show" was coming on in fifteen minutes.  She added a vague warning about what would happen to Maxwell's carcass if he didn't do something about it pronto.  The front door slammed behind her as she disappeared back into the house.

Maxwell gave Oscar and your agent a quick salute.  "Well," he said, "I guess I should get going.  As he turned away, he quickly added, "If you guys are interested in getting one of those TVs, let me know, eh?  Darren's got a few of them.  I can probably get you a good deal."

Oscar said he was satisfied with his current TV situation, but if he changed his mind, Maxwell would be the first to know about it.

"Same here," said your agent, "but thanks anyway."

"No sweat," replied Maxwell.

***

Last Wednesday, your agent was reclining in the Wonders' front room with his nose in a book.  I was interrupted by a phone call from Oscar.

"Look out your window." he said.

It's common for Oscar to call with instructions that I should look out my front window.  Sometimes, there's something amusing going on.  On other occasions, it's something appalling.

When I looked out the front window this time, I saw Maxwell's giant rear-projection television at the curb outside the Bitterman home.  It was surrounded by their substantial weekly trash.

"That's too bad," said your agent, as Oscar chuckled on the other end of the phone.

"I'll say," he replied, "I was thinking about getting one, too."

***

Traditional Fare

Flowers growing somewhere else.

For folks in these parts, Easter brings the first long weekend of the year.  The provincial government has been nattering on for years about creating a February holiday, but nothing ever comes to pass.  

Oscar says the absence of a statutory holiday during the dark days of winter is disgraceful.  At the very least, he thinks a mid-winter break would be good for everyone's mental health.  He could be right about this.

For many Sack residents, the Easter long weekend is a four-day affair.  On this basis alone, it's a highly anticipated break.  It also represents an informal end to the grayish tones of another Maritime winter.

On Good Friday, your agent encountered Oscar as he ambled down his front steps into the glorious morning sunshine.  The weather, as it would be throughout the weekend, was spectacular.

 "Four days off," I called out in greeting.  "It doesn't get any better than this."

Oscar smiled broadly in agreement.

"All I can say," he replied, "is thank God for Jesus for getting us some time off."

*** 

Cheese!

It's a pity there wasn't a roving photographer in the Sack during the Easter holiday weekend.

In the course of their weekend activities, Sack residents provided numerous opportunities for some interesting snapshots.  Some people displayed the mundane and routine aspects of suburban life.  Others certainly reflected its oddities.

Good Friday at Big Doug's house.

Big Doug offered a good example of both sides of this spectrum on the first day of the long weekend.  Generally, he's known for his fervent attention to lawn maintenance and snow removal.  April, however, is the no-man's-land between those seasons.  It's too late to shovel and too early to mow.  This leaves Big Doug with only one other significant activity to pursue.

He washes his truck.

***

While this may seem like a routine matter for some, it's serious business as far as Big Doug is concerned.  He doesn't just wash his vehicle, as much as he gives it a thorough, loving cleansing.

Shortly after half-past eight in the morning on Good Friday, Big Doug's open garage door revealed a flurry of activity.  For the first half hour, he organized the various tools and materials required for the job.  His preparations seemed almost ritualistic in nature.

Big Doug as a kid.

Once everything was assembled, Big Doug carefully and repeatedly washed his truck inside and out.  It was a sight to behold.  His concentration and attention to detail was astonishing.  Every nook and cranny bore inspection and careful cleaning.  In total, the entire process took about four hours.  I don't think he took a break during the entire period.

To say the least, Big Doug's truck received a very serious washing.

***

Oscar was most impressed by the fact that Big Doug actually washes his truck.  He said he couldn't remember the last time he washed his own vehicle.  It never seems to cross his mind as something to do.

"Besides," he added, "I thought that's what rain is for."

Weed, however, was awed by Big Doug's marathon truck washing effort.  He said people do a lot of crazy things, but as long as they're not hurting themselves or others, we should give them our respect.

"If washing your truck for four hours floats your boat," he said, "then knock yourself out."

***

A curious lens would surely have fallen on Computer Doug over the Easter long weekend.

Your agent first encountered him early on Good Friday afternoon.  This wasn't long after Big Doug finally finished washing his truck.  I was returning from a pleasant run in the old town.  Computer Doug was picking up his morning newspaper.  We stopped for a brief driveway conversation.

Not Computer Doug

Computer Doug has a distinctive flair when it comes to suburban leisurewear.  On this particular day, he wore a pair of orange sweatpants and a faded, baby blue Tears for Fears concert T-shirt.  On his feet were his customary bear claw slippers.  A tangled mass of hair swirled atop his skull.

Computer Doug explained that he had just recently awakened from a lengthy slumber.  He said he was enjoying a brief period of wakefulness before returning to bed for an afternoon nap.  Apparently, his wife, Marion was gone with their kids until the supper hour.

"That sounds like a good way to spend a day," said your agent.

Computer Doug nodded his agreement.  He said there was only one thing on his to-do list for the entire day.  Later, he had to go out to pick up an order of fish and chips for the family meal.

Eat me.

According to Computer Doug, Marion insists on eating fish for supper on Good Friday.  She says it's a tradition that she's bound to follow regardless of his opinion on the matter.

Despite being the only item on his to-do list, Computer Doug expressed some dissatisfaction with Marion's requirement for fish and chips.  He couldn't see anything wrong with having an old fashioned Easter ham.  

Marion's requirement for fish, according to Computer Doug, had nothing to do with her religious beliefs.  He said she was simply honouring her late mother's devotion to the same tradition.  Marion's mother, he noted, observed the practice for the same reason.  Her mother forbade her family from eating animal meat on Good Friday. 

"No one in her family has been religious for two or three generations," said Computer Doug, "so no one has the slightest idea why they only eat fish.  But apparently, Marion's mother and her grandmother will be rolling in their graves if we barbeque a steak on Good Friday."

"God forbid," replied your agent.  

"You've got that right," said Computer Doug.  With a wave of his newspaper, he hitched up his orange sweat pants and walked back to his house.

***

Go fish.

On Easter Monday, I encountered Computer Doug again.  He was leaving the local coffee cathedral with a take-out order.  I inquired about his welfare and whether he enjoyed his Good Friday fish and chips.

"Please," said Computer Doug, "don't get me going.  Fish have caused me a lot of trouble lately."

Apparently, a lot of people in the old town are crazy for fish and chips on Good Friday.  The first place Computer Doug visited was packed with customers.  He said the anticipated wait for take-out orders was over half an hour.

"That's ridiculous," he said.

Unwilling to wait, he went to another fish and chip shop.  There was a big line-up there, too.  It was even longer than the first one.  This one extended onto the street.

Computer Doug said there was only one other fish and chip in the old town that came to his mind.  He was en route to this establishment when he passed a roadside purveyor of fresh fish.  This is a common sight in the old town.  Commercial fishermen make some extra money by selling their catch from the back of a pick-up truck.

On the spot, Computer Doug decided he would stop to investigate the fisherman's goods.  A handwritten sign by the truck indicated there was smoked mackerel and scallops available.

"I thought it would be even better than fish and chips," said Computer Doug.

He purchased a quantity of both products.  He was the only customer, so he didn't have to wait.  Even better, the seafood actually cost less than a family-size order of fish and chips.

***

Holy Mackerel!

Computer Doug said he was unprepared for the negative reaction to the seafood when he got home.  He was expecting to be congratulated for his ingenuity and adherence to Marion's suspect family tradition.

Instead, he discovered that Marion has no stomach for mackerel.  She only eats scallops to be polite.  Computer Doug's two young boys were equally disappointed.  His youngest declared the mackerel to be "gwoss."  The eldest believed the scallops to be revolting, if not a little bit frightening.  More important, both were livid about the absence of french fries.

"In other words," said Computer Doug, "I blew it."

***

There was only one way to rectify the situation.  

He went back to the first fish and chip shop and stood in line.  The wait was even longer than when he first visited.  He said it was well after seven o'clock in the evening when he got home with the family's Good Friday supper.  Marion was still upset with him.  The kids were cranky.

The next day, he gave the smoked mackerel and the scallops to Little Doug.

***

If you're going to have a tradition, Computer Doug says you should at least believe in the reason for practicing it.  This way, you'll put a lot more energy into things.  He said he would've been happy to stand in a long lineup for fish and chips, if he felt it was a righteous thing to do.

"But I guess I'm not prepared to line up at a fish and chip shop just because my mother did it."

***

Sound Bites

'Splendid' is the Sack's word of the month for March.  Your agent was solely responsible for the selection.

I used the word about three weeks ago when Computer Doug casually inquired about my recent visit to the US.

"It was a splendid trip," I replied.

Later, I pondered my use of the word.  It's not one I utter frequently.  I don't hear others using it very much, either.

I supposed I liked the sound of the word, because I started to use it more often.  Florence, the Wonders' next-door neighbour, purchased a new car recently.  When she asked my opinion of it, I said it was splendid.

I said the same thing when Big Doug asked about my welfare.  In that case, of course, I said I was doing splendidly.

The word was invoked later that day during a conversation with Oscar and Weed at the local coffee cathedral.  Weed was talking about our recent spate of sunny skies and double-digit temperatures.  Nodding my agreement, I said it had been a splendid spring, even though it was really wasn't spring yet.  Oscar immediately announced that 'splendid' should be the Sack's word of the month.

"That," I replied, "would be a splendid idea."

You have to find your amusements somewhere in the waning days of winter.

***

"One man's noise is another man's music."

Weed made the above comment during a discussion on the front steps of the Wonders' house.  It was early in the afternoon on a splendid Saturday in the Sack.

The subject at hand was a phenomenon that occurred on the previous Thursday.

On this occasion, it was just after the supper hour.  The sun was still shining and for the first time since autumn, the temperature outside was quite agreeable.  As your agent and Mrs. Wonders concluded their evening meal, a strange sound suddenly emanated from the street.

It was the sound of children playing.

***

Kids today.

With the advent of digital doodads, one could reasonably say that children don't play like they did in previous generations.  There seems to be more indoor activities now.  There's probably less group play, too.

In the Sack, kids are far less likely to play outdoors during the winter.  The only exception is young Doo.  He's outside constantly throughout the year.  Unfortunately, most of his play involves digging, shoveling and breaking things.

The rest of the Sack kids, however, rarely seem to gather outdoors during winter.  When they do, it's usually not for long.

***

Old codgers.

Your agent remembers childhood in a much different manner.  We were outside with hockey sticks in hand right after the morning cartoons.  Sometimes, we'd even skip the cartoons if conditions were particularly favourable for hockey.

Oscar and Weed recalled the same experience even though we grew up in different parts of the country.  We also agreed that we roamed further afield from our homes in pursuit of play at a much younger age.

We also recognized that we're slowly becoming old codgers.

***

When outdoor temperatures rise, today's Sack kids finally make their appearance.  Oscar says they're like migrating geese.  They suddenly show up en masse in the Sack's centre circle.

He was talking about the kids, of course.  Not the geese.

When Sack kids made their debut last Thursday, the neighbourhood soundscape was suddenly altered.  There was screaming, squealing, shouting and laughter.  The dull thud of a bouncing ball and the clatter of running shoes kept a steady beat.

It was like someone cranked up a stereo.

***

Who wants to make noise?

In the days that followed, a number of Sack residents mentioned the sudden appearance of the children.  It was interesting to hear their opinions on the matter.

Folks with kids were generally in agreement that it was good to see the little buggers get out of the house for a change.  At least, that's how Computer Doug phrased it.  It might have been noisy outside, but he said it was peaceful and quiet at his house for the first time in ages.

Big Doug, on the other hand, compared the kids' arrival to the appearance of the first mosquitoes of the season.  He said a few of them would probably benefit from a good swat on the arse, too.

He was talking about the kids, of course.  Not the mosquitoes.

***

Oscar, Weed and your agent were certainly in agreement about Sack kids and their enthusiastic play.  It was a pleasant sound indeed.

Your agent would far rather hear the sound of frolicking children than the incessant drone of lawnmowers, weed clippers and other gas-powered contraptions.  It certainly beats the noise from late night street theater at Burning Manor, too.

Sack kid in the future.

Oscar, however, did make a good observation about the current crop of Sack kids.  They are certainly noisier than the last group of kids who played on the street.  This would include Oscar's seventeen year-old boy, Dorian and his pals.  They wouldn't be caught dead hanging around a suburban cul-de-sac now.

There is probably some truth in Oscar's observation.  In fairness, the newest bunch are still very young children.  Only a handful are older than seven years.  Most of them have barely started school.

Nevertheless, Weed says there is already evidence that these kids are unique in comparison to the graduating class of Sack residents' offspring.

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt," said Weed, "they're the dorkiest kids I've seen in a long time."

***

According to Weed, one must only observe the nature of their play to see the dorkiness in Sack kids.  Haphazard, he said, is the only way to describe it.

"It's like they don't know what to do with themselves."

There is probably some truth in this, too.  It's quite a sight to observe the kids in action.  They seem to bolt out of their homes at the same time.  Each kid appears to be in a frenzy.  They whoop and holler as they sprint onto the street from different directions.

Once assembled near the Sack's centre circle, they engage in some kind of primitive street dance.  One little boy is particularly adept at pirouettes.  Another seems to have quite a knack for interpretative dance.  At least, that's how Weed describes it.

Get the round thing!

The dancing, however, is brief.  There's a sudden pause as if they're unsure about what to do next.  Seconds later, a plastic ball materializes and the throng of children pursue it like prey.  However, there seems to be no rhyme or reason for the chase.  No one seems to know what to do with the ball when it's captured.

Eventually, the ball is thrown in the air and the chase continues.

***

The ball chasing does not last long.  Suddenly, Sack kids are careening around the centre circle aboard a varied collection of bicycles, tricycles and scooters.  Most of the bikes have training wheels.

The trikes, bikes and scooters, however, are soon discarded.  The kids clamour over the rocks in the centre circle and make half-hearted, hopeless attempts to scale the small group of trees.

Alien messaging tools.

Moments later, they're writhing on the pavement with coloured chalk in hand.  A great deal of scribbling and scraping ensues.  When they're done, Oscar says their writing looks like some kind of alien message.

This artistic activity doesn't last very long either.  This is rather unfortunate because it's the only time when the kids aren't screaming at the top of their lungs.

In the next moment, they're back at the pointless ball-chasing.  Then the bikes and scooters reappear.  They run around a bit more, before returning to the pavement with their chalk.  This entire cycle of activities continues several more times in rapid succession.  

Oscar says watching Sack kids play is like watching a Japanese game show.  There's lots of screaming and squealing and it's not exactly clear about the point of things.

***

The problem, in Weed's opinion, is that the newest generation of Sack kids are lacking in any physical dexterity.  None seem to have any emerging sense of coordination or athleticism.  They also seem to have little knowledge of any formal games.  As a result, their play is scattered and disjointed.  The only common denominator is the constant screaming and screeching.

Oscar, however, says it may simply be a matter of time before they calm down.  He thinks they're still trying to get used to the fact that they're actually outside.  Once they calm down, he says we'll probably see them in a different light.  He could be right about this.

So as spring descends upon the old town and summer beckons, one can only hope that Sack kids will settle down a little bit.  Perhaps their play will be more relaxed and take place at a lower volume.

Either way, their presence on the street must be seen in a positive light.  It means they're happy to be alive and that warmer days are ahead.

That's a splendid thing on both counts.

*** 

Fun and Games

On the strength of a partially completed Bachelor of Arts degree in English, Oscar fancies himself as the Sack's arbiter of grammar and pronunciation.

When the recent Winter Olympics began in Vancouver, he moaned about the lazy verbal skills of the local populace.

"Every time I turn around," he said, "people are talking about the 'Lympics'."

From Oscar's point of view, folks were cutting corners with impudence by not articulating the 'O'. He ranted about it during a recent gathering at the local coffee cathedral with your agent and Weed. The subject arose when he accused Weed of this same offense.

Weed chewed on a maple sugar donut during Oscar's tirade. When he finished the donut, he looked at your agent and asked:

"When did 'Scar get so 'pinionated?"

***

Like many Canuckleheads, the Winter Olympics drew the rapt attention of Sack residents.

Weed was so moved by the exploits of our country's athletes, he spray-painted his emotions on the pile of snow in the Sack's centre circle.  He used some green paint when he ran out of the red stuff.

Others on the street roundly applauded his efforts. Gordon, the Sack's resident hand wringer, was the sole exception.

When your agent encountered Gordon at the local shopping emporium, he was quick to point out that Weed's unauthorized use of the Olympic logo could result in legal action by the proper authorities.

Weed says Gordon has no 'Lympic spirit at all.

***

Weed's artwork wasn't the only evidence of national spirit around the Sack.

Ben, a senior cook in the Canadian Forces, proudly flew a Team Canada flag on his car throughout the Games. Florence, Marion and Gordette were observed with those ubiquitous red mittens flogged by a national, foreign-owned department store.

Oscar chose a more unique method for displaying his nationalist ardor.

When the Games began, he vowed to remain unshaven until the Canadian men's hockey team won the coveted gold medal.

If Canada didn't win, Oscar would be stuck with the beard for at least another four years. He said he had already considered this possibility, but was certain that "we shall prevail."

By the time the gold medal hockey game began, Weed observed that Oscar looked more like a criminal than a patriot.

***

The success of the Canadian men's hockey team was a very serious matter around the Sack. Amid the corporate hype and the media hyperbole, hockey really does matter to many Canuckleheads.

There are probably many reasons for this, although only a few likely have anything to do with hockey.

Big Doug's opinion on the gold medal hockey game was a good example of this devotion. He told me that none of Canada's other medals would mean anything to him, if our hockey team lost. He said it would be a real kick in the arse if the American team won instead.

Weed was also clear about his feelings on the subject. He said he couldn't imagine leaving his house for a long time if the game didn't go well. He said we probably wouldn't see him for weeks.

Oscar, who was present at the time, said maybe there was an upside to losing, after all.

***

Of course, Oscar was still adamant that a Canadian victory was essential. He said he had been praying about the outcome of the game for days. Although he's a declared atheist, he says it's always a good idea to hedge your bets.

Nevertheless, Oscar's desire wasn't entirely fueled by patriotic fervor. Apparently, his beard was driving him crazy. Gloria, his wife, wasn't fond of it either.

The next time he decides to do something stupid, Oscar says your agent should make a firm effort to talk him out of it.

"You can count on me," I replied.

***

Like folks in other countries, Canuckleheads are often communal when the big game is on television. Last Sunday, a number of Sack residents hosted gatherings to watch the gold medal game between Canada and the United States.

Little Doug's entire extended family arrived at his house. Elizabeth and her husband, Prince Phillip were welcomed at Gordon's house along with some mutual friends. Ben and Norma hosted a large number of Ben's military co-workers. Big Doug went to a gathering at his brother's house.

The residents of Burning Manor certainly did not pass up a prime opportunity for a Sunday drink-fest. The game didn't start until after 4 pm, but Dirk and Dora had a full house by half past the noon hour.

Dora's father, Teddy McGnarly was clearly geared up for the match. Just before noon, he came bounding down the front steps of Burning Manor. It was about -4 degrees outside. Nevertheless, he was shirtless and wore only jeans and a pair of slippers.

He walked to his truck and retrieved a case of beer. While he was there, some of his compadres arrived for the game. Despite his bare chest, Teddy stayed outside and chatted with them for about ten minutes before they walked into Burning Manor laden with beer.

Oscar said Teddy's half naked appearance on a cold winter day was exactly the kind of fortitude the Canadian hockey team would need to win the gold medal. As such, he said this could only be a good omen.

***

Oscar might have been right about the omen. The Canadian team eked out an exciting overtime victory. Canuckleheads everywhere went bananas with joy.

The old town's Sidney Crosby scored the winning goal. This made it especially joyous for folks in these parts.

Oscar, Weed and Computer Doug watched the game at the Wonders' house. Almost everyone wore some kind of Canadian hockey paraphernalia. Weed actually wore his hockey helmet, but took it off in the second period because it was too hot.

The drama of the game kept everyone transfixed right until the overtime conclusion. There were highs, lows and moments of great tension.

When Sidney Crosby scored the winning goal, everyone leapt in the air. A great amount of hooting and hollering ensued. Spontaneous hugs and high five's followed. Oscar spilled his drink and Mrs. Wonders broke her glasses. Weed danced an impromptu jig. Computer Doug wept.

When the national anthem was played, everyone sang. We were off-key and our lyrics didn't match, but no one cared.

***

The Winter Olympics are over now. The hoopla has come to an end.

The excitement of the previous two weeks and the dramatic conclusion to the hockey game seemed to take its toll on Sack residents. Conversations about snowboard cross, speed skating and the skeleton have subsided. Attentions have returned to the routines of daily life. At least, that's it what it seems like to your agent.

Oscar says we're suffering from a post-Olympic hangover. He was very deliberate in pronouncing the "O."

***

A strong dose of Maritime weather has probably compounded our doldrums.

In the old town, strong North Atlantic gales and heavy rain have been the norm. The accumulation of winter snow has slowly eroded into smaller mounds of ice, salt and mud.

Weed's Olympic artwork is now unrecognizable. The flag of the cellar dwelling Toronto Maple Leafs, has replaced the Team Canada flag on Ben's car.

I haven't seen anyone wearing those funky red mittens.

***

Following the gold medal hockey game, Oscar quickly shaved his two-week old beard. However, he left a burgeoning mustache behind. Weed was quick to refer to it as a "70's porn star mustache."

Oscar has also refused to become winter weary like other Sack residents. The Paralympic Games, he pointed out, begin next weekend in Vancouver. There will be unprecedented television coverage of the event. He says we should be regrouping and preparing to cheer for our Paralympic athletes.

In particular, Oscar says that Canada's sledge hockey team will be defending its gold medal. Their perennial adversary, the United States team, is the current world champion. Another dramatic showdown is anticipated.

In his enthusiasm for the team's fortunes, Oscar has made yet another bold declaration. Apparently, he has vowed not to shave his mustache until Canada wins the gold medal in sledge hockey.

Again, this will mean at least another four years of the mustache if the United States wins.

"What do you think?" asked Oscar, when he told me about his plan.

Recalling my vow to persuade him from foolishness, I looked at the beginnings of his 70's porn star mustache.

"I think it's a great idea," I replied.

***

Burning Issues

Press conferences are for the birds. I mean that quite literally.

My first ever press conference was held before a gallery of birds in the Wonders' backyard. A flock of American Goldfinches filled the trees before being scattered by the arrival of Little Doug's cat, Stephen.

After Stephen toddled away, only a Downy Woodpecker remained. I have no idea about his press association, but I suspect he works for some kind of anti-Guy Wonders organization. When I finished my update regarding Maxwell's latest antics, he seemed unimpressed.

"That wasn't very interesting," he said finally.

A brief silence ensued. The flock of goldfinches had been rather annoying with their barrage of questions. But this woodpecker was turning out to be a tough crowd all by himself.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way," I replied eventually.

More silence passed. Then the woodpecker asked, "You got anything else?"

"Not if you're going to be so critical," I said calmly. It takes a lot for a woodpecker to get under your agent's skin.

Another uncomfortable pause settled over the back yard. The woodpecker looked skeptical.

"Okay, he said at last, "what's been happening at Burning Manor?"

***

Dirk and Dora are long-time residents of the Sack. They are les enfants terrible of the neighbourhood.

The couple lives at Burning Manor. The house earned this moniker after it burned to the ground about five years ago.

Oscar says that event continues to be regarded by Sack residents as the "most crazy-assed thing" that has happened here. He could be right about this.

The years before Burning Manor went ablaze were like the earliest days of human civilization. Shenanigans occurred with great regularity. There were many incidents of raucous and riotous behaviour. Sleeping hours for Sack residents were nasty, brutish and short.

Back then, the old town's peelers didn't even need the couple's address when a call came in. Directions were unnecessary.

It took about nine months for Burning Manor to rise again. When Dirk and Dora moved back into their rebuilt home, Sack residents hoped the couple would approach their lives with more peace and serenity.

To some degree, that's what happened. Shenanigans still occurred, but to a lesser extent. Middle of the night street theater declined considerably. Peeler visits continued, but there were fewer arrests. Marathon weekend drunk-fests were eliminated entirely.

From an evolutionary perspective, it seemed that Dirk and Dora were proceeding in the right direction.

***

Unfortunately, your agent's Darwinian motif must end here.

During the last nine months, there has been some serious retardation in Burning Manor's development.

Shenanigans have increased significantly. Passions for alcohol and late night parties have been rekindled. Visitors to Burning Manor, according to Gordon, the Grand Poohbah of the Sack Residents Society, are up over two hundred percent since 2008.

This evolutionary regression really began last summer. Sack residents had grown accustomed to seeing Dirk for only brief periods before he disappeared for his three-week work stints aboard an offshore oil rig. As the summer unfolded, however, it became increasingly evident that Dirk was no longer employed.

Sack residents became aware of this change because afternoon parties on Burning Manor's back deck became the norm. These gatherings frequently turned into evening affairs. On one particular occasion in August, Dirk and Dora hosted what appeared to be a twenty-four hour booze bash that saw more than one visit from the old town's peelers.

Oscar says that particular party was either an attempt at a Guinness World Record for drinking endurance or an effort to eliminate the world's supply of Guinness beer.

He could be right on both counts.

***

Intelligence from Tuesday Night Bingo (where Dora's extended family mingle with several Sack residents) suggests that Dirk was laid off from the oil rig gig, but received a healthy severance package.

This information appeared to have some credence as the denizens of Burning Manor suddenly seemed to be flushed with cash. In July, Dora motored into the Sack in a brand new car.

This was a notable event because it marked the first time a vehicle graced the driveway of Burning Manor with a complete set of hubcaps.

Within a matter of weeks, however, Dora's new Hyundai Accent appeared in her driveway with a broken taillight and a significant dent in the rear. No information was forthcoming about the origins of the damage. Sack residents, however, said a collective prayer for the poor soul who had to exchange insurance information with Dora.

***

The renewed shenanigans at Burning Manor will certainly be fodder for future endeavours on the blogging machine. However, an update would not be complete without introducing its newest inhabitant. This individual arrived in September and it appears that he'll be a permanent fixture here.

His arrival is not good news for Sack residents. In the past, Dirk and Dora have enjoyed a motley collection of colourful boarders and short-term visitors. However, none would appear to top their latest addition. Since September, he has been the focal point of the following events:

• Two visits from the old town's peelers, including one that resulted in his arrest.

• Several late night screaming matches with unfortunate cab drivers.

• Verbal altercations with Elizabeth, Gordette and Computer Doug's wife, Marion.

Observant readers of these pages will notice the similarities between the above events and Dora's past misadventures in the Sack. They would correctly conclude that an apple does not fall far from the tree.

Burning Manor's new inhabitant is Dora's father.

***

It should be no surprise that Dora's dad is a burly, rough-and-tumble character.

He's in his late sixties or early seventies, but he retains the appearance of a barrel-chested bulldog. His nose looks like it has been broken more than once. He also has an alarming shortage of upper front teeth. It has already been observed that he wears a set of dentures for special occasions only.

Oscar says those special occasions likely include court appearances. He could be right about this, too.

To cap off his rather unruly visage, Dora's father has a tangled mass of unruly grey hair. As a finishing touch, he has one other charming characteristic. By all accounts, he's a raging alcoholic.

***

Dora's father's noisy entrance into Sack life caused your agent, Oscar and Weed to grant him his very own moniker.

We decided that he resembles an aging brawler who spent his life as a hockey player in the minor professional leagues. In truth, his actual appearance is closer to a career criminal and frequent inhabitant of the correctional system.

In the end, however, we decided that an aging, minor league hockey goon persona would at least give the man an endearing quality.

After much debate, Dora's father was anointed with the name, Teddy McGnarly.

***

As a result of Dora's new car, Teddy McGnarly has been forced to park his battered pickup truck on the street. When winter arrives, however, an overnight street parking ban goes into effect. This allows snowplows to do their jobs.

Unfortunately, no one told Teddy McGnarly about this.

In December, the old town was graced with a furious snowstorm. When a snowplow arrived, the operator saw Teddy McGnarly's truck and promptly drove away. The Sack was left unplowed.

Naturally, this was observed by the usual Sack residents who stand on alert when matters of snow removal arise.

Gordon and Gordette, arms folded, stood together in their window. Elizabeth made regular appearances at her front curtains. Big Doug prowled the perimeter of his driveway like a lion, waiting to remove any errant snow caused by the plow.

At the slightest delay in snow removal or if a glaring inefficiency is noted, they're quick to contact the old town to seek satisfaction.

***

Within an hour of a telephone call, a snowplow arrived in the Sack and cleared space for a tow truck. The tow truck soon arrived and began to connect itself to Teddy McGnarly's vehicle.

That's when all hell broke loose.

Teddy McGnarly came flying out of Burning Manor clad only in an undershirt, jeans and a pair of work boots. A more appropriately dressed Dirk arrived on the scene a little bit later.

By the time Dirk arrived, however, Teddy McGnarly had already laid his hands upon the tow truck driver. The snowplow operator, who was stopped down the street, was also forced to intervene in the matter.

The peelers arrived shortly after that.

***

In the end, the peeler car took Teddy McGnarly away. The tow trucker operator removed the truck. The street, of course, was plowed to the satisfaction of the heavy hitters who lead the Sack Residents Society.

Thankfully, Dora wasn't home at the time or, at least, she was sleeping when the shenanigans occurred. No one is certain about this.

It also remains unknown whether Teddy McGnarly was charged with an offense. He was seen at Burning Manor the next day. His truck, however, did not appear for another week.

Elizabeth lives next door to Burning Manor. A few days after the affair, she had a verbal encounter with Teddy McGnarly. He accused her of calling the tow truck and the peelers. Oscar tells me that Teddy concluded his tirade by casting a pox on Elizabeth's house. At least, this would be the most polite way of expressing it.

Elizabeth, of course, was unperturbed by the casting of a pox upon her home. After all, Teddy McNarly's daughter, Dora has already done this on numerous occasions. Showing an uncharacteristic sense of humour, Elizabeth says it probably won't be the last time.

Unfortunately, she could be right about this.

***