Where There's Smoke, There's Cheesecake!

 

10 June 2025

Story #1137

R. Linda:

I will say that both Tonya and Mam are established cooks. They can cook up some very delicious dishes and have often thought of opening a bistro, but I be selfish, I want the eats to meself, please! Anyway, you'd think they'd know better when it comes to someone else's recipes. If it doesn't look right or raises a nagging question in the back of your mind, maybe they shouldn't try to cook it.

Tonya has gone on Facebook and found some very lovely pictures of dinners and desserts. She mentioned one to Mam she thought would be an easy, tasty-looking crockpot recipe. Since the two of them were going to be out on one weekday, she copied it down and got the ingredients, to which Mam offered to throw it together, and voilà, dinner in a crockpot was ready for when everyone came home. 

However, upon reading the instructions, Mam thought something was missing from the recipe. As she put it together, she decided to add what she thought that was. As a result, that night we enjoyed a very delicious chicken and gravy dinner. They congratulated themselves on serving a recipe that was different from theirs, and was, as we all called it, "A keeper."

Then a week later, Tonya came across another recipe that she and Mam were thinking of cooking. Me Mam makes a wonderful Eggplant Parmesan, but she doesn't make it often because frying all that eggplant be not a favourite thing with her. The eggplant recipe Tonya found on something called Paula's Cookery (where she had also seen the crockpot chicken) called for baking the breaded eggplant, rather than frying it. This would save time, so they both decided to make it together. Once again, Mam, the more experienced of the two in cookery, thought something was odd. There seemed to be hardly any seasoning. So, when Tonya wasn't looking, she threw in some Italian Seasoning mix, and once again, Bob's your uncle - instant flavour. However, because she didn't put much in, the instant flavour wasn't as flavourful as it could have been. This bothered her during the cooking of the eggplant parm, and sure enough, it needed seasoning. Of course, Tonya said that the recipe called for fresh oregano and basil to be sprinkled over the top upon serving, but nah, that would not have done it.

While Tonya had been in Paula's online recipe box, she had found a cheesecake recipe with bananas and strawberries that looked (in the picture, at least) delectable. Well, Mam saw the recipe lying on the table, and thought that while Tonya was out, she'd make it for dessert. She thought something was odd because the picture of the dessert showed sliced strawberries and SLICED banana in a cut piece. The recipe called for mashed bananas. Against her better judgment, Mam mashed the bananas, and when she put the mixture together, it seemed very runny, but she figured it was due to all the fruit. But the picture...

She put the concoction in her pristine oven for the 70-minute baking time and took herself off to the back deck to read a book. It was 70 minutes later that she went to check the cheesecake, and it was very soupy in the middle. She set the oven timer for another 10 minutes and returned to her book. It was perhaps 5 minutes later that she heard the peculiar sound of the house fire alarm. She ran into a very smoky kitchen, turned off the oven, and then rushed to the alarm system, only to realise she didn't remember the code to turn it off. Nothing she could do, so she ran to open windows, turn on the oven fans and wait for the fire department. 

Yup, with the alarm blaring, she went out and sat on the steps of the front porch, defeated that there was nothing more she could do. I was phoned by the ADT people that me house was burning down, so I ran from me neighbours, where I had been enjoying a cold brew, to find I was racing, not one fire engine, but two with lights flashing down me long driveway. There in the distance, I could see Mam camped out on the steps. What be going on? I wondered.

I got up to her first, and she hurriedly told me there was no fire and what had happened. I ran inside, and sure enough, just oven smoke clearing out, alarms blaring, and with me choking, I ran to the system and punched in the code. The ADT person was more inclined to talk to me to calm down and THEN they'd call the fire department to not come, TOO FREAKING LATE! They were coming in the door, all helmeted and jacketed, to me, standing there with a sorry grin, as it was just the oven smoking. 

Mam didn't put a drip pan under the cheesecake, and it overflowed during the last 10 minutes she needed for baking. 

When Tonya came home, the two women were discussing fruit inside a cheesecake. We had sliced it and served it, but it wasn't the consistency of cheesecake; it was more like a custard.

"I've never in me born days. had or seen a cheesecake with fruit in it." Mam said.

"You know, I don't think I have either. I've had fruit topping, but no, I don't think I've ever had a cheesecake with anything inside."

"Well, there ye go," I said, "this be Paula recipe number 3 that you both found something either lacking or too much of, like fruit inside a cheesecake."

"Especially mashed banana, that was soggy to begin wit," Mam interjected.

"And fresh cut strawberries would add to that sogginess," Tonya noted, then looking at the picture of Paula's cheesecake, she added, "And lookit here, those bananas are sliced, not mashed."

"Oooh, so dey arr." Mam agreed, looking at the photo. "Maybe next time I should jus slice da bananas."

"NO! No next time, no sliced bananas, no Paula! I think you both hit on the fact that fruit should not be inside a cheesecake, but on top of it. So NO. You need to not get any more of that Paula's Cookery stuff because she obviously is heading readers of her drivel to fail." I stepped back, as if me word was final, but inside me head, I saw Weasil with a wooden spoon smiling on Paula's page.

El Cheesecake or Custard Cake

I don't know who this Paula person is, or if there be a person at all, but some moron, with pretty pictures that don't go with the recipes, caught the two seasoned cooks in my house, but good. 

In looking over Paula's page, it is sadly lacking in ingredients. You see an involved dish with three ingredients and no instructions. WOW. 

I said, "Ladies, you need to look before you leap." And I showed them the few recipes I found for them. 

Footnote: Mam saw one easy dessert on Paula's Purloined Recipes for something called Man Bars. Yup, she did. This time, she Googled the Man Bars to find that they are actually called Amish Man Bars, with the same picture on a different website. And guess what? MORE ingredients! 

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

Ex-boyfriend: "Come Get Your Shite!" OR, Amazon Driver: "I Picked Me Up Some Free Stuff" - Only In New Hampshire

05 June, 2025

Story #1136

R. Linda:

I have been told by me Jersey girl wife that people in New Hampshire are quite a bit different from those in other parts of the country. Not just people, but things in general have a distinct edge to them than elsewhere in the "more refined world," according to Tonya.

This is half complaint and half explanation of why things and people are the way they are in this very scenic state. Being from Northern Ireland, everything here presents a cultural challenge. 

Besides having few street lamps and lots of dirt roads, there is the matter of garbage pickup. There isn't any. You pack your bins and take them to the dump, also known as a transfer station, to those with a bit of decorum. This has created the problem of what to do with heavy furniture, especially if heaven forbid you don't have a pickup truck. Because if you have one of those, you can unload your unwanted tables and chairs at the dump, and THEY just happen to have a section called "Second Pickings!" Yes, it's free junk if you want whatever is dumped there. But not everyone has a pickup truck. However, the problem is solved easily by leaving it at the end of your driveway. Some put a 'FREE' sign on the items, while others just dump them there and hope they disappear overnight. 

That brings us to dating in the great state of New Hampshire, or the lack thereof. I know, Gabe is off-topic, but hear me out; this bit ties in. I have only heard and seen transplants of a certain age who actually 'date.' The native population does what it calls meet-ups at the sandpit, or the quarry, or at the local imbibing establishment. No one dates, no one knows what that means. Case in point: Tonya's friend Dawn. Ah Dawn, I don't think she finished high school or maybe elementary school, no matter Dawn is all about Dawn and no one else, unless it is some guy she sees is going to buy her presents (and we aren't talking jewellery, we are talking potato chips, a candy bar, yup, a cheap date). Her relationships, for want of a better word, are filled with chaos. Always a crisis going on, never her fault, never. She prefers a man who may have her come live rent-free with him, where she can bring her furniture, cat, and car. Yeah, that kind of guy will do very nicely. And don't be fooled, there are a lot of those guys up here. The problem on both sides is that if they aren't doing drugs, they are heavily into alcohol or both. So, no one expects much, or even has dreams of the corporate world. Instead, it's dirt biking, camping, fishing, 4-wheeling, cutting down trees (of which they will never make a dent, as there are so many), drinking and the ongoing weekend partying! Mostly the latter.

Now that you know the mindset and culture, let me delve more into Dawnie. Her last job was a gift card scam. The individuals who ran this scam have since been caught, and if you watched the national news, they made headlines. After that, Dawnie decided to become a DoorDash driver. In this environment, that is a step up. However, Dawnie has a gambling habit, and well, most of her paycheck goes to the casinos in Massachusetts. The pay and the habit put the cabash on Dawnie paying rent. What to do? You find a guy and move in with him. And that's precisely what she did. 

She told Tonya she was in love with this man. And Tonya met him and thought he was more in love with Dawnie than Dawnie was with him. But within a week or so, things went south. He told her to leave. She said she couldn't, so she stayed. They tried again, but nope, it was the same situation all over again. This time, she called a couple of her girlfriends, and one of them took her in (the husband not happy about this). She hadn't been in her new digs but a day before she went out to a bar that she knew the former beau frequented, and what did she do? She met another guy to make the old beau jealous. Well, it did make him jealous, but it also made him see her for what he thought she was, a mooch. To rub salt into his already festering wounds, she left with the new guy and had a sleepover, which the old flame knew was happening. 

A day or so later, after many angry texts between Dawnie and her old flame, he told her to come over and retrieve her furniture from his house. When she didn't do it, he loaded everything up at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. and put what he could in his truck, then drove to the house where Dawnie was staying. He dumped it all at the end of the driveway and then texted her to let her know that the rest of her furniture would be left at the bottom of his driveway, and she could come get it herself. 

You can see where this is headed. The text woke Dawnie up, it did. She looked out the window, and sure enough, most of her stuff was at the end of her friend's driveway. Well, this started a texting war back and forth, and while this was going on, the Amazon deliveryman pulled in to deliver an overnight package to the owner of the abode. As he went back to his truck, he inspected the furniture and decided it was free (as is usually the case) and began to load it into his van. 

That woke Dawnie up instantly. Throwing on some clothes she ran out yelling at the driver to "Put my shit back!"

The delivery driver was stunned and apologised, saying he thought it was free. Given the big van, you can imagine the rest. He unloaded it all and took off, never to be seen again. However, Dawnie had another problem: the rest of her belongings were sitting at the bottom of another driveway, four towns over. 

Wondering if the Amazon man was headed in THAT direction, she realised he was!

Well, rest assured, she zoomed over there after calling several friends with trucks to help her, but none were available, so she packed up what she could in her compact car. What she couldn't, she left. Yes, just left it there. She has no idea what she has or what she left behind. OR, if the Amazon man had beaten her to it. Yes, I'm sure this coming weekend she can go back over to the ex's abode to the yard sale I'm sure he will be having. When he said he wanted her stuff out, he meant it, by golly, by gee. 

And the Amazon guy? Who knows, but I did see something that said, "I picked me up some free stuff at a delivery stop this a.m." Hmm, could it be?

Just a slice of life in this here old state of New Hampshire. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

News Here At Home: OR -- Do Your Wash, Bullied At School, The Dog Smells, And Who's That From CBS?

28 May 2025

Story #1135

R. Linda:

In me abode, the kiddos, except the youngest, do their own laundry. I work, their Mam works, and their Mamo has arthritis, so she can't do their wash as it's too much for her. We have encountered a problem of sorts, known as 'Who dumped their dirty laundry and left it?' This the two boyos do with a frequency that angers their Mamo and gets their Mam upset, she can't get in to do the youngest's laundry.

"How would you like to be the stinky kid in your class wearing the same clothes day after day because your brothers have taken over the laundry and your Mom can't get in to wash yours?" Their Mam would ask them. 

The eldest's excuse is that he dumps his dirty laundry in the washroom because his middle brother usually has clothes in the washer, and he can't get in.

The middle child's excuse is that he doesn't have time, but he does his wash at 2 a.m. when he can, and then he's tired for school the next morning and forgets where the laundry room is located. What that means I've notta clue.  

Meanwhile, in the hallway, bags of clothing line the left wall. Three of the bags are to be donated to clothing bins because they no longer fit Guido. The rest is clean clothing, but he has no room in his closet for it, and why is that? Because he has a vast collection of trainers. I am not talking one pair, but rows of these designer shoes that are rare or so expensive they've only made a few pairs. So we have an obstacle course in the upper hallway that looks awful.

Three left, three donated

Add to this, he has two windows that face the front of the house, and crammed into those windows are "collectables" he has no place for in his room.

Nerf gun, umm, valuable, right, uh huh

It looks like a hoarder lives up there. I would love to post pictures of his room, but I'm too embarrassed by all the junk (oh excuse me, valuable items) that are scattered haphazardly. We call his room Hoarder Central. But wait! He isn't the only one; the eldest also has a room full of junk, I mean, valuable collectables that he bought from an antique and curiosity emporium. And he, too, complains that he has no room for his clothes in his room or closet. We call his room the Star Wars Garbage Barge. We often refer to that part of the house as "the ghetto." Me sainted Mam used to clean their rooms, which annoyed me because they wouldn't clean them; they were happy with her doing it. The clean rooms lasted only one day, and then it was back to dumpster diving heaven.

Don't get me started on the attic. They dump the collectables they are tired of, along with old clothes, up there. We had an attic you could walk through; now, you get to the top of the stairs, take a look, and turn around - it's that cluttered. So there's a project for this summer, un huh. 

That's two big problems.

 

Then there is the bullying at school. Not any of mine, but me sister Sheila's eldest kiddo, Finn. Finn be a toughie, he be. I do not know who he takes after, but he gets into fights and all kinds of trouble. Sheila rings up our Mam to complain about Finn and what troublemaking he's been up to. Sheila sometimes feels overwhelmed and thinks she should consider moving into the headmaster's office at school, as she spends a significant amount of her time there. Mam has tried to give suggestions, but nothing seems to work. However, one piece of encouraging news was shared with us today. Sheila's youngest, Aoife, a third-grader, tries to help a classmate who is being bullied mercilessly. The youngster asked Aoife why she wasn't bullied, and Aoife said, "One word . . . Finn."

So there is that.

Mam almost killed herself by spraying the dog with doggy baby powder scent spray. Mr. Collie Dog came in from outside smelling rangy. Tonya and Mam were having coffee and chatting as is their morning routine, when they both decided Collie Man was too potent to be around. Mam took him to the mudroom, didn't turn on the light, and sprayed at him, not sure if she had hit him, so she double-sprayed. She came back to her place on the couch, and Collie Man sheepishly came out of the mudroom and lay down next to them. The smell had gone from rangey to a distinctly old-lady smell. The poor thing couldn't stand the new smell and got up, rolling around the floor trying to get the spray off. 

"Ooh, Collie ye don't smell of Old Spice, ooh!" Mam said, holding her nose, before having a coughing outbreak.

"No, he smells like an old lady, too much powder!" Tonya choked. 

"I overdid it wit da spray, I did," Mam stated the obvious and started choking on the drifting fumes. 

"Are ye tryin' ta kill yourself?" I asked her. 

"No, she's trying to kill the dog," Tonya croaked. 

"If I hafta go, yer all goin' wit me includen' da dog," Mam said.

I tell ya.

Lastly, I was invited out to breakfast by the Weasil. I hadn't seen him in a while, so why not? I know what you're thinking, am I out of me mind or what? We were going to meet halfway between where he was staying and me abode. It was decided that we'd go to this little place we'd been to a few times. This was on a rainy Saturday. The food isn't particularly good, but in a pinch and because of the weather . . . Anyway, we met up early, me having had only one cup of joe, so I wasn't with it and wasn't noticing Weasil's apparel. The place was decidedly not crowded, for one, the weather, and two, the food. I started to notice (after two cups of joe in me) people covertly glancing at us. I thought nothing of it until Weasil shifted in his chair, and I saw his zip-up hoodie. It was a professional news network blue, and on the left side, it said 'CBS News'. I don't wear me own news jacket, and here he was . . . there are no words.

"Where did you get that?" I said, pointing at the outerwear.

"A friendie of mine let me borrow it." He said, like, no big deal. 

All I could do was shake me head. When we got up from the table, the rest of the diners, three tables full of old ladies and one gent, watched us go. All was silence as they wondered who the blond CBS person was. 

There is a takeout bake shop at the front of the restaurant, and the Weas told me they had kronuts and we needed to pick some up. He knew I'd never had one, so this was a must-stop. On the word kronuts, I completely forgot about the CBS thing. But I was suddenly reminded of it when I saw the man behind the counter waiting on us, sneaking glances at the Weasil's logo jacket. The Weasil was busy chatting him up about the baked goods, so he never got a chance to ask, "Just who are you from CBS?" But I knew he wanted to ask. We left without a hitch, and I am pretty sure that the man behind the counter and all his cohorts were looking out the window at the Weasil, wondering just who he was. I was sure he must have said, as soon as we were out the door, "DID YOU SEE THAT GUY FROM CBS NEWS WAS IN HERE?"

Yup.

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

Local Network Faux Pas

 22 April 2025

Story #1134

R. Linda:

Ah, to live to 989 years old! Yes, that was flashed before our eyes yesterday when a news bulletin of the Pope's passing was broadcast on all our New Hampshire tellys. It was Mam who first spied it. She put down her knitting, slid her readers down her nose, and looked at the TV screen hard. She shook her head in denial, then threw the knitting down and got up, staring at the screen as she got close to it. Then she said, Jayus, Mary an' Joseph dats not roight!"

I put down me tablet and asked her what was not right. 

She took the remote and backtracked until she reached the flash bulletin on the screen. She paused it and, with raised eyebrows and a nod toward the screen, said, "Do ye see wot I see?"

This was what she saw

I got up, too, and approached the TV, and yes, yes, I did. The birthdate on the screen was way wrong. 

"Fake news!" I blurted out. "He doesn't look a day over 88!"

"No, the man passed. He did, but he wasn't . . . " She stopped to calculate in her head. "He wasn't 989 years old. He was not."

"Uh oh," the eldest child sneered. "Someone fecked up." 

Before Mam could get on him for the F word, even if it was said as we Irish say it, I took the remote and fast-forwarded it. Sure enough, it was corrected within minutes with another banner with the correct date. 

"That wouldn't happen on the National News stations," Jersey Girl Tonya said from the doorway. "Someone's head would roll with the importance of that news being broadcast to the world."

And she's right. 

The local news has improved in the thirty-five years I've been here. I know that local news stations give new presenters their start, hoping they can transition to the bigger national news networks. My New Jersey relatives were horrified at some of the presenters because they did not have the polished, fashionable, or professional makeup faces of what they were used to in the New York area. When they visit, they look at the Boston networks for the slick broadcasts. Like I tell them, everyone has to start somewhere, which apparently goes for the local news graphics department. 

I'm sorry Pope Francis has passed. In Ireland, John Paul is still the big favourite with that Catholic nation, but Francis was special to me. His policies were sound and modern. I will miss him very much. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time, Meanwhile, At The Flower Show

31 March 2025

Story #1133

R. Linda:

Ah, yes, when it rains, it pours, but it shouldn't do that inside the house. But it did. Let me tell you a little about the abode. While it is a lovely home, it has taken us some years to find it isn't all it was said to be. Yes indeed. The former owners, an airline pilot/preacher man of God with a hippy wimpy wife and ten kiddos, cleaned the home up for sale in the cheapest way possible. (See When Is A Radon System Not A Radon System 14 September 2016) and (Dream House? Nah, Money Pit 05 June 2017). Through the ten years we have lived here, we have had to replace many things we never thought we would in the time we've been here. Most of it is things you don't see, like radon systems, furnaces, etc., and some you do, like every single appliance in the kitchen. 

Right now, we are dealing with sinks that don't drain well and faucets that don't have water. At first, we thought this was caused by the drought. Then, after the water softener was serviced and things slowed even more, we thought the serviceman might not have turned the water on to full force. However, we are finding those thoughts don't add up. We have all concluded that the pipes are full of gunk, keeping the water from flowing and draining. We had this problem in a lesser way when we first moved in, so no surprise.

O'Hare thought he could fix the problem in his and Guido's bathroom by buying new sink fixtures. I said go ahead if you think you know how, and he seemed to think he did. He bought a lovely brushed nickel faucet and drain and went to it. He did an excellent job and has one more to go since they have a double sink. Meanwhile, Mam muttered about her double sink and said one did not work. Hearing this, O'Hare, fresh from plumbing success, offered to clean the drain and see if he couldn't tighten the lines and get that sink to work. He got under the sink and, with a flashlight, perused the lines and declared whoever put the workings in was a moron. 

"Must be the same person that did mine!" He declared. 

"Well, kin ye fix it?" Mam asks.

"Yup, I connected the lines because they weren't connected and cleared the drain, but it's missing a ring, so I will get that and put it in tomorrow, and you'll be good to go."

Hum, if the kiddo is this good at plumbing, he should look at the laundry room sink and see if that needs clearing because the faucet stopped working, and well, it doesn't drain. Sure, said he. He told me in his best plumber voice that I should consider replacing the faucet and drain like he did. The system wouldn't work because the same moron put in cheap fixtures and didn't know what they were doing when they tried hooking everything up. Well, OK. 

The new fixtures

So Tonya picked a lovely brushed gold waterfall faucet and left it to O'Hare to install. 

Meanwhile, there was an orchard show in the Gate City that Mam wanted to go to. Every year in Belfast, there is a flower show (primarily roses), and Mam never missed a year. However, since moving across the pond, she has pined for a flower show; finally, one arrived this year, and it's a do-not-miss-it event for her. 

There was no way I was going with her, so I sort of shoved Tonya in her direction and bingo, off they went to springtime in Nashua. 

As they were leaving, Tonya told O'Hare she was excited to see her new fixtures when she returned. He smiled big and said, "No problem, Ma." 

I saw he had on his tool belt (a very professional laddie), had opened the box, and was reading the directions. I told him I was around if he needed help. He thanked me and went on reading. I sat in the lounge, looking at me phone, when he entered the laundry room and started working. A few minutes later, I heard cursing to wake the dead.

As I got up to see what was the matter, I heard water flowing at an alarming rate, and when I looked in the room, the floor looked like an ocean. 

"Turn the water off!" He screamed at me in a panic. "I can't turn it off here; it is broken!"

I ran down the basement, and damn if I knew where the water turnoff was. I ran around the basement, getting soaked, looking for anything that looked like a water turnoff. Water was coming down from the top floor like a waterfall. Finally, I found a section of valve handles. I turned the first one off, and thank God that was the ONE! Meanwhile, the water is raining through the floor from upstairs onto the pool table, the bar top, the floor, the furniture . . . 

Luckily, O'Hare was in the laundry room, took Tonya's clean towels, and started mopping up. I got anything that would hold water under the drips, which were really torrents, and suddenly, Guido appeared with towels, which I suppose O'Hare told him to take to me in the basement. When he saw the pool table getting a soaking, he went berserk. I mean, he lost it! It was no big deal that his Da was looking like a drowned rat; it was the sacred pool table that was important. That behaviour didn't help matters. While all this cursing, upstairs and downstairs, was going on, the rain shower in the basement began to slow, and the ocean was wrung out and towels put in the washer. 

I sent Guido to his room to shut him up because all that was happening was upsetting enough. We had a sufficient flood that if that valve wasn't shut off, we would live in an ark. The pool table was not damaged; it had a waterproof cover and was fine, not that that can be said for Moi, who was a dripping mess. I checked it, so the pool shark is now reassured that all is well and that he can keep hustling his friends. 

At the flower show, Mam was in seventh heaven. She dragged Tonya to this display and that display and talked her ear off about orchards, which Tonya had zero interest in. But she made the most of it, she said. She was happy to see Mam animated over something she loved, and the flowers were beautiful. She said she found herself increasingly interested in the exhibitions as they went along. After the first half hour, Tonya said the arena was becoming crowded and, at some exhibits, elbow to elbow and slow going because some enthusiasts would linger over the displays and tout their knowledge in loud voices everyone could hear. Having enough of that, Mam led Tonya over to an aisle of tables that were filled with flowers one could purchase. Just as Tonya was about to read the card describing the flowers she was thinking of buying, a man stepped between her and the table and stood there watching his wife a table over. 

"What the heck?" Tonya muttered to Mam, who shrugged. 

Tonya moved around him but couldn't get to the flowers she was interested in, so she moved along. 

"Surely, he knew I was looking at those orchards." She said to Mam.

"I dunno, dese old people are set in dere ways." That was all Mam could offer as she sighed in resignation, completely forgetting she was one of the "old people. "He was a rude one, he was," she threw in as an afterthought.

The orchards Tonya was trying to read about

As they perused the tables, Tonya leaned forward to read about an orchard she was thinking of purchasing, with 12" between her and the table, when some woman put her head in front of Tonya's to read the card that Tonya had been reading, but no more. Me poor wife could see nothing but the back of the woman's head.  Neither Ton nor Mam had the orchards they wanted but came away thinking how rude "flower people" are, especially orchard aficionados. 

They stopped for coffee and thought, "Nah, we need something stronger after that experience." If I had known I would have joined them, I needed something strong too! I think my sloshing around in hot and, I mean, HOT water made for a horror of an afternoon compared to old people who probably can't see. That's why they stepped in where they weren't wanted and had their heads glued to the exhibition cards because they were nearly blind. Me only question was why neither Ton nor Mam said anything to these clueless people. Neither are known for holding their tongues. Instead, speaking their mind can be long and loud.

Well, they are home admiring the orchards they did buy and none the wiser about the flood on the first floor and the rain shower in the basement. Though Tonya could swear that she had washed and dried all her towels before she left. O'Hare did tell her the hot water valve under the sink was broken, so he couldn't install the fixtures. I am looking for plumbers since I know we are out of our depth in the plumbing business. BIG WET SIGH.

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

The Captain's Story On Snuff - A Blast From The Past - And Recognised Unintentionally

 

28 February 2025

Story #1132

R. Linda:

With government firings and general job confusion, not to forget the price of eggs (and everything else), is it any wonder people are frightened they won't have money to live on? It isn't just federal employees, but the rest of us in media. If we say something that someone doesn't like, does that leave us open to revenge by firing? No one knows what will happen, including yours truly, who mostly minds his own business. 

Recently, I ran into the captain of all people in Boston. I was leaving a bistro where I had lunch, and he was early to meet a friend. He looked at the bar and asked if I would have a drink with him to 'catch up'. Well, sure, I had 40 minutes left, so we went to the bar. After we caught up on family, friends, and health in general, our conversation turned to current events. 

"I don't think I have to worry about work," the captain said. "I can work on the fishing boats if push comes to shove, or logging. I've had experience in those and the guys I know in both are always asking me to come work with them."

"Yeah, you are lucky, and I hope neither of us finds ourselves unemployed," I said. "I'm not sure what I'd do if I suddenly found meself jobless. I have savings for half a year, and then . . . " I trailed off in thought.

"I know exactly what you can be doing," he said, "Snuff!" 

I felt me eyes widen at the memory of me eldest kiddo urging me that if anything ever happened to me job situation, I should grow snuff. He was but a little tike at the time, and we laughed back then. I wrote a story for you on that discussion (see I Know . . . Let's Grow SNUFF! 04 October 2011). Even more memorable was the Captain's comment after he read that story.

"What was the story about snuff you told? It was very entertaining," I said.

"Oh, the snuff story," he laughed. "I was in my Captain costume fresh from a gig when I read that, so I told it as Captain Jack."

"So tell it to me now, I could use some entertainment," I said, looking around. There were a few people at the bar, and they were at the other end laughing together loudly, so I figured he could get away with telling it as Captain Jack, with no one the wiser. 

"I have no problem with that, mate," he said, already in Captain Jack's persona.

"The subject of snuff, yes mate. Snuff stuff, the aristocracy's way of inhaling tobacco! Reminds me of when I sailed back to England with Sir Walter Raleigh. He went before the Queen and her court to show them the large, broad leaf "weed" called tobacco. He said, and I remember this well, mate, "Queenie, you take this weed and dry it out, parley? Then you chop it up into little bitty pieces, roll it in a piece of paper, light it with fire, put it in your mouth, and inhale the smoke."

"I stood there waiting for her to yell, "Off with his head! Do you think we are stupid? Why would we dry out an old weed, chop it up, roll it in paper, light it up (of all things), put it in our mouth and inhale the smoke? I've never heard of such a dumb thing in all my days!" But she was in deep thought, staring at the leaf. The two Indians next to me were laughing, and I overheard one whisper to the other, "Stupid pale faces they do anything you tell them, ha ha ha ha ha!"
The Queen looked up and addressed us all. "I think we should dry the leaf, chop it into small pieces, and stick it up our noses instead!" 

"I had to leave, mate, the two Indians and I, that is. We started laughing and trying to hold it in, so we back-stepped, bowing out and shaking with mirth. The English—pffffff, I mean THE ENGLISH! Ha ha ha ha! I can say this: Being of French ancestry, I laugh at you, English. Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Unbeknownst to us, the bartender (who had been shining glasses) came over laughing. "You know Mr. Depp, we don't call attention to celebrities when they come in just for their privacy, but I have to tell you, that was priceless. I wish you would make another Pirates movie."

Talk about speechless. The two of us looked at each other, and then it started. The Captain was in full Johnny Depp mode. He quietly told the man he appreciated the incognito and would like to keep it that way, as to another Jack Sparrow movie, maybe one day. Before the man could ask for an autograph, he paid the bill, took me by the arm, and led me out of the establishment. 

"Hold on a sec," he said, pulling out his phone. Then, he called the person he was to meet and changed the venue. 

"Ah, once cover is blown . . . " I said, laughing.

"I don't know what it is," he said shaking his head.

Of course he knew what it was. Gees the man! 

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

In A Hurry And Then . . . A Lot Of Shouting

17 February 2025

Story #1131

R. Linda:

Not long ago, Tonya and I went to lunch at an Irish restaurant that opened in Peterborough. I have to say, I felt like I was back on the old sod. The interior was much like you'd find back home. The dark panelling, the cosy atmosphere, the huge bar, and the menu! To die for! 

We lingered over after-dinner drinks a wee bit too long and found we would be late when the wee one got off the school bus. Mam had gone out for the day, so he'd be alone. We had promised to pick up milk and eggs for Mam on the way back, so we decided to go to the Dollar General store on our way home. It was usually deserted, so it would be quick to get in and out.

As we were in a hurry, it figured we'd get behind a lumbering box truck on a double-line road. It was going about 35 mph, but as soon as we came to hills, it would slow to about 15 mph. This was painful, considering we were running behind. Finally, the road opened to two lanes, and we could speed on past. 

We debated if we had time to stop at the store and decided to take a chance. As we got to the Dollar General, a car in front of us turned into the side street leading to the parking lot. I drove up to the car's bumper and found it was going two miles an hour, and when in a rush, this was the last thing one wants. We could see the white head of the old lady driver as she laboriously turned the wheel and righted her vehicle. Then she put on her blinker, and you guessed it drove up into the parking lot, us bumper to bumper behind her, no way to pass. 

"Get past her to that spot right in front of the door, Gabe," Tonya said, pointing to the empty spot. 

The old lady turned into the parking space we had spied for ourselves right by the door for quick entry and exit. We pulled six cars away from her, a little further from the store door than we'd have liked.

"I bet we make it out of the car before she does," Tonya said, whipping her purse strap over her shoulder and getting out.

Sure enough, we did. The oldster was still in her car, engine running, as she rumaged through her purse. We were in and away. I went to the back of the store for the milk and eggs. Tonya went to the cookie section to pick out the wee one's fav cookie munchies.  As I neared the checkout, this young thing with a toddler stepped out in front of me and got to the counter first. She had a few things, but as you know, by the counter are candy bars, beef sticks, chewing gum, drinks, etc., and yours truly was stopped dead. Tonya joined me within seconds, and there we stood, listening to the young momma ask her kiddo what kind of candy bar he wanted, if he wanted a pop to go with it, and how about some chips? All this she could have gotten in the aisles, but no, it was counter shopping, and of course, the child didn't know what of anything he wanted, just that he wanted something. 

I was near to going up to the counter and picking up a few candy bars and paying for them so they'd move on, but just as I was about to become a pain in the arse, the kid grabbed a Snickers bar out of the tray and pointed at a cola drink. Bob's your uncle; we were in business, except for the chitchat between momma and the counter clerk. He was flirting, and she was giggling, Tonya was sighing heavily, and I was shuffling me feet, and then it dawned on me, the oldster would probably catch up with us and find we were waiting our turn and take the opportunity to yak at me riding her bumper.

I looked around and didn't see her, so I mentioned it to Ton.

"She's probably still getting out of her car," she said, not believing her own words.

And she was! As we finally exited with our purchases, she was still in the car, getting herself together, and the engine was still running! I tell you.

We made it home just as the school bus pulled up, so we gave our charge a ride to the house. Once inside, the ungrateful child asked where a candy bar and a Coca-Cola were. He didn't want cookies. Whose idea was cookies? 

Do you know how listening to a complaining 11-year-old can make one want to crawl into a hole and hide for a few weeks? Do you know how quickly they can make a lovely day turn sour? Well, that's what I had going for me. Complain to his mother? Nah, his dad had the day off, which entitles dear old dad to be the chosen one to gripe at. But I was relieved of that when the eldest got home. Yes, he plays 'dad' to the younger ones, much to their annoyance and their mother's horror. 

Yes, he came in just as the wee one crossed his arms over his chest in a snit position. Having the courage to ask what was the matter, the wee one spilled his chargrine at the feet of the eldest, who, then changed from concerned brother into dear old dad! You haven't lived until you witness this change in O'Hare. He has worked at the Boys and Girls Club since high school and has had years of dad experience. Yes, he has. This may work on charges you don't know or are related to, but well, at home, it has the opposite effect. 

I won't go into the gory details of what happened next, but just be apprised it was a lot of yelling and screaming on the wee one's part with the eldest getting his feathers ruffled at his reasoning, which I be sure he thought was sound, sage advice. Yes, he'd used the word "spoiled," which would trigger the wee one. I knew to leave him on his own to figure it all out and not suggest anything reasonable to him unless I wanted me head handed to me, which would end with him banished to his room by his evil mom and me pouring meself a Jameson in the room furthest away from the angry laddie. If left on his own devices within an hour, he'd be right as rain, but try talking him down, nah. And, there is no stopping me eldest from his beloved role of DAD. It gets loud and long-winded when they go at each other. There is no getting a word in, so I admit to giving them the floor and leaving their mother to sort through. Which she does, being an elementary school teacher; she has all those tricks in the bag. The only problem is that she blames me for starting it. No matter how many times I remind her, she is the one who bought the cookies. Yup.

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

A Day Of Snow, Dental Instruction, And Recipes Without The Correct Ingredients

09 February 2025

Story #1130

R. Linda:

The day started out calmly enough. I was sitting at the kitchen counter sipping coffee with Mam, listening to the lovely sound of O'Hare shovelling the back deck of snow. Nice that it was his young self instead of me. Previously, he complained about shovelling, accusing me of not having a proper shovel. The one I had, you have to put your back into it, and well, according to him, he has this problem where he favours one side of his body to the other, and doctor says (so he tells me) he has one hip muscle up and the other down, which causes back pain. OK. I have the beginnings of sciatica, and when I shovel, I don't come in like a broken wreck, and I am way older than he is. Anyway, he bought a $30 shovel for himself, and he was out there shovelling 18" of the white stuff so I "wouldn't have to."

Secretly, he was getting a certain satisfaction at having his very own shovel he purchased himself. But who am I kidding?

I sat there enjoying the sounds of someone else labouring instead of meself. Meanwhile, Mam's kitten, which isn't a kitten anymore and thinks it's a dog, was being a pest, begging for treats at our feet. It comes running if you call it (something my experience with cats just never happens), it rolls over like a dog, it begs on its hind feet like a dog, and I be sure it thinks it is a dog.  It loves catnip-flavoured Temptations Cat Treats. If one dares go in the kitchen, he expects a treat because Mam spoils his smug self. I was about to throw a few down to El Gato when O'Hare came in, stamping snow off his boots. 

"Oh, I see Maruu is begging for treats. Those things are sweet-tasting." He came in for the gloves he had left on the countertop and then went out.

Mam looked at me, and I looked at her. At the same time, we said, "How does he know that?"

When he came in, we asked him how he knew what the cat treats tasted like. His face reddened as he realised what he had said and now had to explain himself.

"Uhhh, I got a handful of the Valentine's heart candies. The cat heard me and came running, so I got the cat treats in the other hand. I was tired and didn't realise I threw the hearts down for the cat and popped the cat treats in my mouth. As I went up the stairs, I realised they tasted different and had a different texture. I spit the mess out and saw I had popped the cat treats in my mouth. That's how I know."

He looked sheepish. I'm sorry, but we burst into gales of laughter, and he had a sloppy smile on his face, knowing full well how outlandish that was. 

"I taught onlee yer fatha did tings like dat," Mam gawfawed. "Rememba dose banana dog treats, Gabriel?"

The smile was wiped off me face at that. Of course I did. 

"Mus run in da fambly." She said, satisfied she knew the cause of the youngin's faux pax.

Well, look at it this way: now two of us will never live down the fact that we prefer dog and cat treats to human food. 

Can you tell the difference?

The day didn't get better; it was really worse for moi. I had a dental appointment that day. I had chipped a tooth (no, it wasn't from biting into a dog treat) and wanted it fixed. Because it was the tooth next to me insisors, I felt like I looked the hillbilly. The appointment could not come soon enough. 

Because of the snowy roads, it took an hour to get to the dentist both ways when it should have been 30 minutes. I arrived in one piece (the roads were terrible) to find that the dental assistant hadn't made it in, so Doctor pulled in his hygienist to help. She hasn't assisted since the 1980s, so it was a trip. We both learned about updated dental procedures together. Doctor painstakingly explained everything he was doing and showed us both how to bond a tooth and everything that goes with that procedure. The result: tooth fixed, and two of us are a lot smarter than before. She has information she can use, and me, with information useless to me unless I decide to enter the dental profession.

Because Mam and Tonya took the kiddos to the sledding hill (a place where the town gathers to sled down hills and dales on a farm that has set aside a piece of its property for such an activity), I volunteered to make dinner. I know what a good husband I be. The kiddos enjoyed the day off, and Tonya and Mam sipped hot chocolate while watching them. Meanwhile . . . 

When I got home, I found I didn't have the ingredients for meatloaf, so I made meatballs - lots of them. I figured  I'd make a dessert because I was craving sweets; dentist visits always do that to me. I thought I had everything I needed, only to find halfway through the recipe I did not. So I switched to something else, thinking I had everything I needed again, only to find out, NOPE! So I made a disaster cake. I made my own yellow cake mix, which was reduced to using tasteless lard that masquerades as margarine. It seems the butter was used for breakfast by the O'Sullivan army of kiddos. So, God knows what my concoction would taste like. 

To top it off, I thought I had spaghetti sauce, only to find the Gober I married had bought 4 jars of pizza sauce! And I would have made my own sauce, but I don't have the f-- ing ingredients for that. I rang Tonya and told her I needed SAUCE, Spaghetti sauce! And in the background, I hear Mam saying pizza sauce is the same as spaghetti sauce, which then led to a back-and-forth argument between her and I that it wasn't and, yes, it was. To make a long stupid argy-bargy short, Tonya picked up a jar of spaghetti sauce, and all was right with Gabe. Me Mam, not so much. I was so tempted to put pizza sauce on her spaghetti, but that would only keep the excitement going. So I refrained, tempting as it was. 

Well, turns out the dessert was a keeper. Who knew? I threw all kinds of ingredients in a bowl, blended it, made a cream cheesey topping, and Bob's your uncle dessert ala Gabe. It actually was delicious. They all told me to write the recipe down, but damn, I just threw stuff in so I don't know. 

Gabe's Disater Cake - yum, yum, tasty, and who knows what's in it!

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

Name Calling

11 January 2025

Story #1129

R. Linda:

Here it is, a day before me birthday (don't ask about my age; I don't want to remember). Dragon has zoomed her way up not to celebrate my day but to visit the kiddos, or so she says. I take no offence. Why would her doing anything for me be any different from any other year? Right. 

Tonya and I have found an excellent coffee shop where we buy delicious lattes, ground maple coffee (our favourite), and various maple products. We thought of it as our own place, but like the little red house in the woods where we enjoyed gourmet meals, our maple shop has become Dragon's place to go. Those were two of my favourite places, now invaded by the woman on the broomstick. 

I understand Tonya wanting to share such a wonderful place, but really? This was our place. Now, it's Dragon's place. Am I being petty? Probably, but I want one place to enjoy without the spectre of the Dragon. Is that too much to ask? 

Anyway, we (the three of us) have gone to the maple shop several times for lunch. The breakfast and lunch menus are to die for. Very simple dishes, all made with pure maple syrup, sugar, sauce, you name it. 

One of those times, I was pretty irritated at the Dragon Lady. She was on my last nerve all morning, and it was lunchtime; I was hungry and annoyed at her, and all I wanted was a hot latte and a maple burger. Tonya was no help, taking her mother monster's side, and it seemed no matter where I went in that big shop, one of them would find me and start up on something negative about me. Like: "Gabe, would you please get a handbasket and take these heavy things and help me out, huh," in reference to a "little" shopping the wife was doing. Or: "So this is where you are hiding," said Dragon, whom I'd occasionally find in the same aisle as meself. I was hiding, to be honest. I wanted to be left Dragon-free and handbasket free, just meself looking around. 

We all somehow found each other and decided to order coffee and lunch and then go shopping while waiting for our order. Only when we got to the order counter did the two women spy something and take off, leaving me to take their orders. Well, I gave the orders, and when asked for the name of the person the order was for, I said: "Missy Tonya and Lady Bertie." The name Bertie is a nickname Big Tony (Dragon's hubby) gave her; he is the only one allowed to call her that. 

In a short while, I heard over the speaker, "Order for Gabe, order for Missy Tonya, and order for Lady Bertie is ready."

I got my order while standing near the counter, then flew behind the doughnut display to watch the ladies retrieve their lunches and coffees. 

"I beg your pardon, did you say Bertie?" Dragon confronted the girl behind the counter.

"Yes, Lady Bertie. Is that you?" The unaware but amused young thing asked Ms. Dragon.

Lady Bertie, AKA Dragon, stood there as if she was chewing her cud, unable to answer. She was angry. 

Taking advantage of the silence, her daughter stepped up.

"You have an order for Tonya?" She said.

"Yes, Missy Tonya, is that you?" The young thing brightly asked.

Heaving a sigh, Tonya answered that, yes, it was she.

"Why do I feel deja vu?" Dragon asked Tonya. 

"Because we have been in this situation before, I believe. I can't remember the circumstances, but yes, similar." Tonya mumbled, looking around for yours truly.

I took meself to the little cafe and opened the box containing me juicy maple burger, French fries, and onion rings. I had just taken a sip of me honey latte when I was found. I heard about using the forbidden Bertie name, and if there is one thing the wife does not like to have, it is Missy in front of her name. I was politely humble and apologised for my warped sense of humour. Well, I did, but not really. I mouthed the appropriate sentences but meant none of it in me blackheart, until the next time. After that, I did it again, so each time I offered to order, they fell for it and then had to hear those horrid monickers announced in the store. Especially the Lady part. That got heads to turn, much to the chagrin of the Dragon. That attention alone is a wonderful birthday present for moi.

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

Too Much Dexter

30 December 2024 

Story #1128

R. Linda:

It's been a holiday and then some! Indeed, my brother-in-law, Bruno, has the distinct honour of being the only person I know who has watched 83 episodes of Dexter in seven days—to this date, 87. Once he started, he lay in bed for three days and nights, watching this eight-part series back to back (Christmas Eve, Christmas, and part of the day after before going whole hog), nearly driving his lovely wife mad. 

On day seven, she came down in the morning to coffee with his family (we were all staying at his parent's house in Cape May, New Jersey, as we do every Christmas until after New Year's). As soon as the sleepy-eyed wife melted into a chair at the kitchen table, her mother-in-law (Dragon) asked, "What's the matter with you? Didn't you sleep last night?"

"No, Mom, I did not." The black circles and bags under her eyes were shocking. "That son of yours has been watching that serial killer series until 3 a.m. for the past three days non-stop, and he isn't finished yet! He's on season eight, episode three, and 83 episodes he has watched without leaving for food, bathroom breaks, nothing!"

"Oh, dear, he must be dehydrated." The Dragon muttered, looking into her steaming cup of coffee as if there were tea leaves with a bad message floating on top.

"Dehydrated? That's the least of his problems! This morning, at 4 a.m. I awoke to this dark shadow standing over the bed. I was frightened; I can tell you that much. I was struggling to sleep while YOUR SON continued watching that awful show, and here I was, suddenly awakened to this grunting, moaning shadow standing above me. Well, you know what I thought, don't ya? I thought Dexter had come to life, and I was his next victim!"

"Oh, my, oh my," Dragon muttered, horrified at her daughter-in-law. The rest of us looked into our cups, trying to act like we weren't hearing any of this.

"It turns out he's stiff from sitting in bed for three days watching that stupid show! I switched the light on, and he stood over me. I said, "What the hell, Bruno?" he said he couldn't move to his left. His neck was also stiff, and he could only look forward and not turn his head in either direction. Did I feel sorry for him? Hell no!"

"Where is he now?" Dragon asked.

"He's upstairs moaning and groaning, but it hasn't stopped him from getting back in bed and watching Season Eight!" 

"Why would he get back in bed if being in bed for three days straight put him out of whack?" Tonya ventured.

"Because he's hooked on that show. Why does he do anything?" The wife threw up her hands, clearly exasperated.

"The good news is I think that's the last of the series," Dragon said brightly, but that got her a dirty look from her put-out daughter-in-law.

"Um, no, I think a new season is coming on January 7th, Mom," Tonya said, seemingly uncomfortable about sharing that news. 

The sound of halting steps coming down the stairs caught our attention. Shuffling stiffly into the kitchen, the subject of conversation emerged. He couldn't sit down for his life; he was so stiff. His mother looked at him disapprovingly.

"Bruno? Are you yourself, or do I need to call emergency services?" Dragon asked, sarcasm dripping from her mouth. 

Bruno struggled for his phone in his back pocket. Once he had it in front of him, he clicked it on and asked his mother for the phone number of their chiropractor.

"It is the holiday. You won't reach him, but here is the number." Dragon clicked on her phone and read it off to him. He punched the number on his phone and made the call despite what she said.

The phone rang and rang, and a message came up. Bruno didn't leave one, just sighed, defeated.

"You don't listen. I told you they weren't there. It's the holiday. Someone would have called you back if you had left a message." 

"And there he is. The man who stood over me at 4 a.m. groaning AUGHHHHHHH and scaring the crap out of me. I thought he was going to murder me." His wife said, looking at him.

"I couldn't move. I was stiff from three days in bed. I didn't realise it until I got up to use the restroom and couldn't move from a standing position. I couldn't move my head, and as it is, I still can't get it to move normally without hurting."

"And, whose fault is this?" The wife snapped.

"Please get me some coffee. I am fine, " he said, addressing his mother, knowing his wife wouldn't do it.

"No, you are not fine!" Dragon said, getting up to pour him a cup. 

He took the cup from her and shuffled off for the stairs, which must have looked like a giant mountain to someone who could hardly move. 

"Where are you going?" Dragon called after him.

"To watch my show!" He yelled back, and then the sad one step at a time could be heard, accompanied by moans and groans as he ascended to the second floor. 

"Good thing we aren't on the third floor," the wife mused with a snide smile. "Take him a month of Sundays to get up those stairs, but you know he would do it. He's obsessed, and that's not healthy."

"Well," Dragon offered, "at least you know where he is."

"What does that mean?" The wife asked, astonished. 

"My husband, sons and sons-in-law are all down the street playing bocce, except for Gabriel here, who Tonya has well-trained."

I was about to say something contrary when I got an elbow from the wife not to. The three other women, one a daughter and the two daughters-in-law, twittered. Not funny to me. 

"Our neighbor's wife had a bocce court put in as her Christmas present to her husband. With you being up in your room for three days, you didn't notice the "boys" were missing. It wasn't from any doings from the wannabe Dexter upstairs; they are all down the street acting like little kids in a candy store where the candy is free!"

"Oh."

"Yes, OH," Dragon said, looking put out. 

"I would prefer Bruno was there and not upstairs. At least I'd get some sleep, and he wouldn't be impersonating a serial killer at 4 a.m."

"All I can offer is for you to go up to the third-floor bedroom where the cat is. You can sleep in that room. Just clear the cat toys off the bed. It is made up and available." Dragon sighed, shaking her head. "Watching that and so much binging of it can't be good for his psyche. He is acting like a zombie."

 "You think?" the wife asked, agreeing. "Every night, I complain, and he says, 'Just one more episode,' but it goes on because he thinks I'm asleep."

"Well, dear, go to the third floor and make yourself comfortable. I'll take care of Dexter."

To my surprise, she took her coffee cup and herself upstairs. I wondered how thrilled the cat would be to share its room. 

"So, what's the plan? Should we unplug the television? Cancel the cable?" Tonya asked her mother.

"Ummm, nooo." Dragon said, "I'm not sure, but I'll think of something."

"But if he's on season eight, he's almost done," I offered.

"Not helpful, Gabriel." Dragon spat at me.

"Why don't we," Tonya pointed to her sister and the two sisters-in-law, go to the garage and get some plastic sheeting and a few saws? Gabe can take them to Bruno's room and dump them on the floor. Ask him, uh... oh, I know, if he wants to practice his new TV skills and you'd like to watch, and ask him who's first."

"Oh, brilliant plan, Tonya," I said, hoping she wasn't serious.

That afternoon, I returned from the errand Dragon had sent me to pick up a gallon of milk and the largest bottle of ketchup I could find. When the ladies saw me leaving the car, they ran out and grabbed the ketchup, taking off laughing. The sound of their laughter told me they were up to no good, and I was right.

As I came into the kitchen, I saw the table covered in a thick sheet of plastic covered in what looked like blood and a few hacksaws laying "bloody" on top of the plastic. Scattered here and there was what looked like flesh and hair. I was appalled, but when I looked closely, I realised I was looking at chicken bones, ground beef and tufts of dog hair. I could hear the slow steps and groaning of Bruno coming down the stairs. I heard giggles under the table and stepped back into the hallway. I wanted no part in that, but I did want to see Bruno's reaction. 

It was an intense moment when he stopped in his tracks. His intake of breath was audible, and his eyes were wide. Then he started blinking like he was seeing things. His mother came up behind him and said, in an accusing tone, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

He jumped, he did. He tried to turn around but was still too stiff. As he realised he had been had, his momentary fright turned to anger. What gave it away was the burst of laughter from under the table. 

I'd like to say that did it, and Dexter was done, but no, Bruno is a stubborn man. After shaking his fist at the ladies as they emerged from under the table and informing them, "THIS IS NOT FUNNY! Have fun cleaning that UP!"  he turned around and went back up the stairs to watch the rest of the infernal Dexter show, more determined than ever. I tell ya! 

For all I know, he's still up there. I haven't seen him at dinner, breakfast, lunch or any other time. His wife has made an appearance for meals, but for the most part, she has been sleeping with the appreciative cat to catch up with what she lost while her husband was enjoying Dexter Fest. 

Yes, these are me in-laws. They are, I am told, a typical New Jersey family. I thought the prank was excessive but said nothing. The Dexter fan sat beside his forlorn wife at the kitchen table this morning. 

"What's wrong?" Tonya asked. It was apparent that Bruno was depressed.

"It's over. I watched them all. Dexter is finished." Bruno whined.

"Yeah, until the next series starts in January. But it's one episode at a time." His wife smiled brightly. "No binge-watching."

"Yeah, well, time to practice what I learned from binge-watching," Bruno said, sneering at her. 

Yup, and Happy New Year!  

Gabe

Copyright © 2024 All rights reserved

Things That Go "Beep, Beep" In The Dark

31 October 2024

Story #1127

R. Linda:

By pumpkins fat

And witches lean

By coal black cat

With eyes of green

By all the magic

Ever seen

The ghosts will rise

On Halloween

And they did! I visited my friend, Jesse, who just bought a gigantic house. He has always lived in small homes or one-room flats. Having worked his way up, he decided to live in a large house for the first time. He could afford it; it was a lifelong dream, and why not? After many months of looking, he found what he thought would be the perfect fit. A five-bedroom, three-bath home on ten acres of woodland. He wanted to show it to me, and as a homeowner, I might give him some tips. 

I accompanied him to his new abode, an impressive palace for one person. I asked what he would do, knocking about the vast expanse on his lonesome. He said he didn't know yet. I could see he was in heaven, owning a manse. 

He had partially moved in, and I offered to help him move some furniture. At first, he declined, but then said yes, please. We worked most of the day setting things up. I thought having a woman's touch would help because we had difficulty deciding what went where. I finally suggested we call Tonya, and he said he was there for that.

When she arrived, an alarm went off that "beep beeped" in the upper hallway. 

"What is that?" I asked.

"I don't know," Jesse said, looking up toward the upper hallway.

He went up as I let Tonya in. She asked what was the matter as I looked concerned. I told her what had happened, but we didn't know the sound. Well, there is an alarm system that, when someone drives down Jesse's very long driveway, a sensor picks up the motion, and the alarm sounds in the house. He seemed amused but thought it was good, "You know, deliveries and all."

A half-hour later, Tonya had everything in place. Wow, things went fast. She knew what went where and directed us like a general. We had one room left. It was 6:30, and Tonya offered to pick up takeout. When she drove off, the alarm went off. 

"Well, it works," Jesse said, getting plates out.

At 6:49, the alarm went off. Not once, but four times in a row. Jesse looked at me, and I looked at him. It was too soon for Tonya to be back, and this sounded like more than one car. He looked out and saw no one. It was twilight and getting dark, so it was hard to see. He shrugged. 

At 7:30, the beeper went off again several times. We looked out. But it was dark now. Jesse got a flashlight, and we both searched for the beeper. We found it halfway down the driveway. A tiny red light gave it away. One wouldn't notice it because it was so small. He flashed his torch at the woods, but nothing was on either side of the driveway. We walked quietly, and you could hear snaps of branches and falling acorns, but nothing could we see. It was eerie, and it was Halloween night. We went back to the house. 

The sensor

A few minutes later, the beeper went off, but only once, and we could see headlamps coming down the driveway; it was Tonya. 

We told her what had happened while she was gone, and she suggested the sensor's battery might be low. Yet, as Jesse pointed out, it worked when Tonya drove in and out, so why would it malfunction?

We left an hour later, and I told Jesse to call if anything went crosswise. And he did. At about 10:00, I received a text that the beeper had gone off at 9:30 on the dot. He walked outside with his torch but saw nothing. It unnerved him, but he was ok. 

Well, I rang him the next day, and he was fine. He said the beeper went off again several times, and he did not sleep well, though the doors and windows were locked. This went on for a straight week. He had ideas that it was the wind, that it was falling leaves, and that it was an animal, maybe. 

He asked me to come over for an evening and see for myself because he was out of ideas about what was happening. He had put in a new battery and set up a trail camera. It had been set up for two days, and we went and retrieved it. When we looked at the card, there was nothing on it. Notta. All we saw in the photos was the sensor light.

Notice the light at the lower part of the sapling; that's the alert, and the trail camera did not capture anything. 

At 6:49, the beeper went off several times. There was nothing out there. At 7:30 sharp, the beeper sounded again. At 9:30, it went off once more. We stood outside with torches, his and mine. We walked the length of the driveway, and neither of us saw anything. 

It seemed odd that the beeper alerted at the same time every day, and nothing around us could set it off.

A week later, the strangeness stopped dead. The only time the system alerted was when someone real drove down the driveway. 

Then, suddenly, it started again. This sent Jesse to the Town Hall, where he found out a man had died on the property from suicide at this precise time of year. He had hung himself in the woods, not far from the sensor.

Jesse hasn't been able to get much info on the man. The man had his "viewing" in the house. The only information Jesse had was that the man had had a fight with his wife and had committed suicide in the woods.  

Once again, the sensor going off at nothing has stopped. Jesse shared his weird experience with a co-worker who suggested that Jesse purchase a cheap infrared camera and put it out. The trail camera picks up movement but won't show ghostly images like infrared ones. Jesse is tempted, but thinking he might see a ghost freaks him out. 

This is a classic example: Be careful what you wish for. In this case, a big home with lots of ghosts.

Stay tuned.

Postscript: 6:49 the estimated time of suicide, 7:30 discovery of the body, 9:30 body taken away. Spooky, huh?

Gabe

Copyright © 2024 All rights reserved

It's That Time Again

 07, September 2024

Story #1125

R. Linda:

Everything in bucolic New Hampshire has been as it should be before Leaf Peeper Season. The place is lush with verdure, and the trees have a hint of colour. The natives are enjoying the peace of summer's end, but hark! The rattle of political signs has begun to be heard as these posters on wire prongs are pushed into the ground overnight, and the natives awaken to the blight of the highway, political signs! Why can't we enjoy summer's end? Why must we be subject to the red, white, blue and sometimes green signs that seemingly pop up overnight on our road corners like weeds? I ask ya! I know, you'll tell me it's New Hampshire's insistence to be the First in the Nation bullshit and all that, and we have brought this upon ourselves, well maybe. I'll tell you that digging in heels to be first brings these ugly consequences. 

We even have cartoon characters running; see here:

And it's GREEN! Okay, it's spelt differently, but you get the drift

I have complained about this every year, and the signage gets worse every year. There is always more of it, and the worst of it is the sign carriers. Yes, R. Linda, the people who risk life and limb to stand on New Hampshire speedways—I mean highways—where pickup trucks speed by at 100 mph, and somehow, these minions of the political sign blight don't get run over.

I overheard a conversation by one such sign carrier that she was standing on the lip of a concrete curb where vehicles make u-turns. She was tempted to put her toe in the road to see what it felt like to be run over. I was like, WHAT? I find out she's not from here; she's from Massachusetts, and THAT, my dear R. Linda, says a lot. All I could think of was the tedious hours of standing in the hot sun or drenching rain and being mindless.

However, one cowboy in our town has taken this a step further. Yes, this guy decided if we would pollute our lovely scenery with signs, he'd put one in, too. I thought it was genius. Look here:

Yee-ah, one guy with a sense of humour that I can appreciate

Here, take a closer look:

Yup, home-grown non-pol

If you can't beat them, join them! 

Gabe

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