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.

***

Expecting the Worst

If you were thinking about holding a press conference in front of a tree full of goldfinches, I wouldn't recommend it.


As my press conference continued, the goldfinches broke into another barrage of questions. I couldn't make heads or tails of anything. Once again, I asked for order. The birds were in the midst of calming when suddenly, they flew away. Your befuddled agent stood before an empty press gallery.

I was about to go back in the house when a shadow moved at the corner of my eye. Little Doug's cat, Stephen was perched on the deck rail. He was out on one of his bird-hunting trips. The mystery behind the abrupt end of the press conference was solved.

For a few moments, Stephen gave me an accusing glare, as if it was my fault that his prey had vanished. I returned his gaze with a look of indifference. Eventually, he hopped off the rail and toddled down the deck stairs.

I was about to return to the house when I heard a sharp, distinct sound. Glancing into the trees, I spied the distinct markings of a Downy Woodpecker. He was about six feet away on an upper tree branch.

"Is the press conference still on?" he chirped.

"I guess so," I replied. What else does one say to a Downy Woodpecker?

"Okay, then, he answered quickly, so what's up with Maxwell these days?"

***

Maxwell, Britney Bitterman's beau has not disappointed Sack observers during the last nine months. His antics have continued to amuse and amaze.

For the uninformed, Maxwell is a wheeling and dealing n'er-do-well who has ensconced himself in a comfortable Sack home on the sole strength of his talent for procreation.

Maxwell, Britney and their two rug rats, Hekyl and Jekyl have been living in the Sack with Britney's parents for several years now. Despite occasional rumours of a move to their own apartment, they seem destined for long-term residence in the Bitterman home. Mr. Bitterman said as much during a recent driveway chat with Oscar.

According to Mr. Bitterman, only a big lottery win is likely to terminate the current living arrangements.

***

Mr. Bitterman has good reasons for pessimism. During Maxwell's tenure at the Bitterman home, he has consistently demonstrated his inability (or perhaps, unwillingness) to earn a regular income.

Of course, Maxwell would be the first to explain about his extraordinary bad fortune when it comes to matters of commerce and employment. From his point of view, he has been on the cusp of economic success on numerous occasions, only to see his aspirations crushed by the devilish Lady Luck.

Cutlass Supreme Painting would be Maxwell's best example of this. This is the commercial painting business for which he serves as sole proprietor and chief
executive officer. The company's assets consist of its namesake, a battered 1995 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, a stolen fourteen-foot ladder, a box of simple text business cards, and whatever quantity of weed that Maxwell possesses at any given moment.

According to Maxwell, Cutlass Supreme Painting has been on the verge of securing numerous lucrative painting contracts. In the end, each gig has failed to materialize. As a result, the company's total revenue since inception remains somewhere close to a number resembling a maple sugar donut.

***

With the scarcity of work at Cutlass Supreme Painting, Maxwell faced the indignity of employment in the public domain. After a series of short-term gigs with other commercial painting outfits (amateurs who didn't appreciate the talent of the best interior painter east of Montreal), he found a full-time gig with the old town's waste management brigade.

Working under the supervision of his illustrious cousin, Doug "Dougie" Duggan, it first appeared that Maxwell had found his niche. After an extraordinary run of several months, he claimed that he was on a fast track to commanding his very own waste management crew.

Sadly, the job went awry after Maxwell suffered a shoulder injury at work. Apparently, he was demonstrating his acclaimed "Look, ma, no hands!" trick while perched on the back of a waste management truck. The resulting fall caused him to miss a considerable period of work. When he returned, his hours were sporadic. Eventually, the waste management profession determined that his services were no longer required.

***

For most of last year, Maxwell kept his distance from anything resembling paid employment. His only source of income seemed derived from peddling pot from the porch of the Bitterman abode. Thankfully, his delightful partner, Britney continued to bring in some cash from her part-time gig as a cashier with a government-operated liquor store.

In the fall, however, Maxwell stunned Sack observers with his announcement that he was stepping into a new career. He told Weed all about it during an impromptu discussion at the local coffee cathedral. This is where he takes his pot peddling activity when the weather turns cold.

According to Maxwell, he was about to enter the rarefied air of the white-collar world. Starting on the following week, he would assume an inside-sales position with a local lawn maintenance outfit. It would involve selling service packages over the telephone to an unsuspecting public.

Maxwell noted that his new career included a significant bonus scheme. With success almost guaranteed, he would likely quadruple his salary without breaking a sweat. In anticipation of this future wealth, he fully expected to take Britney and the kids to Disneyland by the time March rolled around.

It's very common for Maxwell to count his chickens before they hatch.

***

Of course, Maxwell's white-collar career lasted less than three days. He was two days shy of completing the weeklong training program.

Maxwell didn't say much about what lead to his departure. Apparently there was something about the company's misrepresentation of their bonus package. Most certainly, it had nothing to do with his absence on the second day due to an apparent "wicked toothache."

Mr. Bitterman provided the latter explanation during another driveway chinwag with Oscar.

***

One might expect that Maxwell would withdraw from the cruel world of gainful employment after yet another setback. And that's exactly what he did for the remainder of 2009.

In January, however, Maxwell displayed steely determination by landing a part-time job. He anticipates that it will become a full-time gig when spring arrives.

Your agent was the first to learn about this latest achievement. I was driving in the downtown quarter on a cold Tuesday morning. Traffic had come to a halt. The freezing temperature had somehow contributed to a broken water main. A work crew was holding up traffic to allow cars in each direction to navigate a single lane.

When I reached the worker holding the temporary stop sign, a very curious image materialized. Sitting on an upturned bucket beside the worker was Maxwell. He wore a white construction hat and a neon traffic vest. A take-out coffee was in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Maxwell smiled broadly in recognition and held up his coffee in a celebratory toast. I replied with a congratulatory 'thumbs up' and then lowered my window for a brief chat. Maxwell explained that he was on his first shift as an employee of a traffic services company. With great authority, he said it was the company's responsibility to manage traffic flow during significant road construction and repair.

Naturally, I had arrived during his first morning break.

***

Later, Weed learned that Maxwell secured his new part-time job through his connection to an existing employee. This was none other than his cousin, Dougie Duggan. Apparently, his career in the waste management profession had also turned sour.

Maxwell also told Weed that it's virtually certain that he'll be employed on a full-time basis when spring road construction begins. He expects to be rolling in cash before summer arrives.

His Disneyland plans abandoned, Maxwell has apparently turned his attention to a loftier goal. He says he's planning to save his hard-earned money until next year. At that time, he expects to have enough for a down payment on the Bitterman's Sack abode. Mr. and Mrs. Bitterman, he explained, would likely buy a condominium somewhere in anticipation of their future retirement.

Weed was emphatic that Maxwell outlined this plan with a straight face.

***

Sack observers agree that it's quite prudent for Maxwell to save his money for the future. This is especially so, given the most recent update on his fortunes.

Three weeks ago, Weed's partner, Daisy garnered some fascinating news during a conversation with Britney Bitterman.

Apparently, Britney had visited her doctor a few days before. This is when she learned about an impending change in the number of inhabitants at the Bitterman home.


Britney and Maxwell are expecting their third child in early July.

***

At the moment, there's no information available regarding Mr. Bitterman's awareness of this matter. As far as reactions are concerned, one can only expect the worst.

Resident Alien

The press conference continued. Poised in the trees off the Wonders' back deck, a flock of American Goldfinches acted as my audience. Once again, they sang out their questions simultaneously. It was impossible to make sense of anything.

"If you aren't going to be civilized," I said with authority, "this press conference will be over."

An immediate hush descended on the trees. After a few seconds, a sharply coiffed goldfinch in the front row sang out his question. A press pass tucked under his right wing identified him as a correspondent for the dreadful Finch News Network.

I made a great show of ignoring him.

Seizing the moment, another bird chirped in with a different question. It was actually a Pine Siskin. Sometimes they hang out with goldfinches.

"Come again?" I replied, making eye contact with the bird.

Realizing that she held the floor, the Pine Siskin cleared her little throat and sang, "Are there any new residents in the Sack?"

***

During a midweek morning last June, a small cube van entered the Sack and backed into Gordon's driveway. A few moments later, a car arrived and pulled in behind the van.

Oscar, who works from home, was sitting on the steps of his front porch when the vehicles arrived. He said he was taking a well deserved break at the time. It was far more likely that he was taking a break from lying on his couch.

According to Oscar, two young men emerged from the cube van. Gordon and his girlfriend, Gordette got out of the car. One of the young men opened the back of the van. It contained a number of boxes, pieces of furniture and other personal effects.

It didn't take long for Oscar to realize what was happening. Gordette was moving in with Gordon. It was her first day as a new, permanent resident of the Sack.

***

About two years ago, Gordon's marriage came to an abrupt end. His wife had secured a new job out west. She decided to leave Gordon and their marriage behind.

This wasn't a great surprise to most Sack observers. Order and conformity are very important to Gordon. His fervent attention to his home and property is almost legendary. His former wife's nature, on the other hand, was more relaxed. She had other, more varied interests.

It probably didn't help that Gordon often rubs others the wrong way. He tends to hold people to his own standards. Not surprisingly, this leads to conflict in diverse settings.

These characteristics, as well as his irksome efforts as the Grand Poohbah of the Sack Residents Society, have earned him a reputation as a bit of a dink.

Over time, it appeared that his former spouse came to the same conclusion.

***

Gordon clearly struggled in the months that followed the end of his marriage. It took some time for him to find his stride again. It didn't take too long, however, before he met Gordette.

After Sack residents had some exposure to Gordette, it became clear to that she shares many of Gordon's values and characteristics. In fact, this is how she earned her moniker in the first place. Ben's wife, Norma calls them "two peas in a pod." Oscar says they're "cut from the same cloth."

I think we're running seriously short of metaphors around here.

***

Not long after meeting Gordon, Gordette had a nasty run-in with Little Doug. He had the temerity to park his truck along the Sack's centre circle. Gordette backed her car out of Gordon's driveway and promptly dinged the side of Little Doug's pickup truck.

In Gordette's mind, the accident was Little Doug's fault. He thought otherwise, noting that he was watching The Dog Whisperer on television at the time of the accident. A caustic verbal exchange ensued.

In the end, the matter was resolved. Gordette, however, had already proven that her union with Gordon was a match made in heaven.

***

Gordette has been living in the Sack for almost nine months. As Oscar puts it, she has only shown up our collective radar screen on a few occasions.

The most recent time was only a few weeks ago. She gave young Doo a proper, public scolding in the midst of the Sack's centre circle. Using a baseball bat, he had been striking a metal pole attached to a "No Parking" sign. He had been doing this repeatedly for about fifteen minutes. He was making an awful racket.

Gordette's appearance on the scene was actually welcomed by other Sack residents. Big Doug said he was considering a chainsaw when Gordette approached the boy. He said he was going to cut the baseball bat into sawdust. Oscar said he was thinking about chasing Doo with a chainsaw.

In a strong, even voice, Gordette ordered the boy to cease and desist with the baseball bat. He quickly recognized her formidable demeanour. When the sharp lecture was over, he turned on his heels and marched down the street toward his house, dragging the bat behind him.

***

It was appropriate that Gordette was the one to intercede when Doo was clanging his bat against the metal pole of the "No Parking" sign.

Not long after her accident with Little Doug, the old town's civic workers arrived and erected a sign on opposite sides of the Sack's centre circle. It was no longer legal to park where Little Doug's pickup truck was located when the accident occurred.

Some Sack residents were perturbed by the sudden appearance of the signs. Parking along the circle was handy when visitors arrived or when they were in a hurry. Some people wondered why they weren't consulted about the signs.

At the time, Gordon was in frequent contact with the local city councillor about other Sack-related matters. However, he denied any knowledge of the old town's decision to install the signs.

Eventually, the matter was forgotten.

***

Before Christmas, however, there was an small gathering of Sack residents at Big Doug's house. It was a low-key, drop-in affair to celebrate the holiday season. Gordon and Gordette were in attendance.

Mrs. Wonders had occasion to engage in a lengthy conversation with Gordette. Apparently, she's thrilled to be sharing her life with Gordon. She's also looking forward to helping Sack residents in dealing with the old town about various civic matters. She said everyone will be happy to know that she has some unique skills and experience in this area. This is because she has worked in an administrative capacity for the old town for the last fifteen years.

As evidence of her prowess, Gordette nudged Mrs. Wonders' arm and said, "Who do you think got us those "No Parking" signs?"

***

Weighty Matters

Where to begin after nine months of silence? If each bit of Sack news were a snowflake, there would be a small mountain of the stuff to shovel.

A short time ago, young Doo (now at the lofty age of ten) was out in the Sack's centre circle. I watched him dig aimlessly through a mound of snow. That's when it occurred to me that I should just grab a shovel and move small bits of Sack news at a time.

But where to start?

Later, gazing out at the Wonders' snow-covered back deck, the answer appeared. On the feeders, a flock of American Goldfinches was grazing on sunflower seeds.

Suddenly, the birds became a throbbing mass of inquisitive readers of your agent's past scribblings. They sang out their questions about what has transpired in the Sack over the past nine months. It was like a press conference, except with goldfinches.

"One question at a time," I said calmly, "I can only answer one at a time." The throng of birds slowly grew quiet.

"Okay, then," chirped a plump male goldfinch, "Who won the Doug of the Year award for 2009?"

***

For the first time in recent memory, there was little
debate about the Doug of the Year (DOTY) award winner. Computer Doug made it too difficult for us to ignore him.

Simply put, Computer Doug made himself larger than life during 2009. He didn't accomplish this with a sparkling résumé of accomplishments. Instead, he did it by adding about forty pounds to a frame that was already on the portly side.

Computer Doug's weight gain earned him the DOTY award for one particular reason. Throughout the year, he made frequent declarations about his devotion to a healthier diet and a more active lifestyle.

Somewhere along the way, things went awry.

***

Computer Doug spent most of the year without a job. His last few employers have shared the alarming habit of going tits up. Oscar says you should probably start looking for another job, if Computer Doug shows up at your office as a new employee. He could be right about this.

After being cast into unemployment, Computer Doug added a few extra pounds in a short period of time. He was the first to admit that it was due to inertia. However, it didn't take long for him to declare his desire for a healthier lifestyle. His first effort would be to adopt a vegetarian diet.

Computer Doug opted for a step-wise approach to change. First, he eliminated red meat from his diet. He confined his carnivorous behaviour to poultry and pork. Gradually, he would embrace a full vegetarian position. This would include a ban on fish, something he admitted he didn't like anyway.

In Computer Doug's case, however, this new diet meant consuming a lot of poultry and pork. Apparently, he developed affection for a substance called turkey bacon.

By the end of summer, it was clear that his particular brand of vegetarianism wasn't working. His weight had increased by about twenty-five pounds. In September, however, he declared war on turkey bacon. He would become a strict "daytime vegetarian." This meant no meat of any kind until supper. The only exception would be Sunday breakfast.

It has been a long-observed tradition in Computer Doug's family to have a "big fry" on Sunday mornings.

***

Computer Doug announced in October that he had secured a new job. It's outside of his field of expertise, but the job will pay the bills while he looks for something better. Fittingly, his new job is with a company in the food business. Thankfully, they're not in the turkey bacon trade.

One might expect that a return to work would have a slimming effect on Computer Doug's expanding belly. Unfortunately, his weight continued to rise despite the successful adoption of daytime vegetarianism. He said it was a clear case of overcompensation.

"By the time supper rolls around," he told me in November "I want my meat."

***

Shortly before Christmas, your agent observed
Computer Doug and another fellow as they carted
two enormous boxes into his house.

Later he would tell me that the boxes contained the makings of a new electronic treadmill. He said he and his spouse, Marion were planning to get in shape when the new year arrived.

Patting his stomach, he said he needed to get rid of his spare tire.

***

Computer Doug doesn't know about his victory in last year's DOTY contest. He's also unaware that his treadmill purchase has created a bit of wagering around the Sack.

Oscar has started a betting line on the amount of time that will pass before the treadmill is at the curb during one of the Sack's yard sales. Weed has a side wager on how long it will take before the machine is used as a clothes hanger.

However, Computer Doug has made it clear that it might be some time before any bets are settled. Your agent encountered him on his driveway last Saturday. I asked about his progress with the treadmill.

"Kinda slow actually," he replied, "I haven't had a chance to open the boxes yet."

***