What Did I Get Meself Into?

12 July 2026

1185

R. Linda:

There I was, expecting to enter the evening as more of a spectator, when it gradually dawned on me that I was responsible for making it a good evening for everyone. That put me where I usually end up — at the centre of events against me will!

Tonya and I were invited to a murder-mystery cocktail hour/dinner party at the home of a couple living in the village centre. This couple is heavily into the Public Broadcasting of British mysteries. It doesn't matter if it's Miss Marple, or Hercule Poirot, or even the great Sherlock Holmes; if it's murder, they are there. So much so that they have transformed their old colonial home into what they imagine to be an English country manor!

The antique stores had to be bought out at first glance in the hallway. Somewhere, they purchased two suits of armour that stand on either side of a large, studded, and caged (at the top) door that hits you square in the eye as you come in. The outside entrance door, also a heavy piece of ex-castle decor, creaks when it's open. When we arrived, I almost expected the Addams Family Lurch to open the door. Well, it wasn't Lurch, it was Harry Spears, the sweeper-upper at the local general store, decked out as a 1920s butler who greeted us in. I had to hold back me laughter; he was looking not a thing like an English butler. Let's say Harry's look was rather on the relaxed side, not impeccable.

Harry (photo courtesy of Tonya)

We were all assigned elaborate characters, and it was a written rule that once the "mystery" got going, we would not break the house rule: Everyone must stay in character the entire evening. I got a special role, since I am a professional journalist, I was assigned the detective role. I hated it immediately upon opening that invitation a week ago and said so. Tonya, naturally, thought it hilarious until she discovered she was the official photographer for the evening, which I found hilarious.

Tonya had a flapper costume from a Halloween party she had made it for, all beaded, complete with a headband, and even flapper shoes, so she was all set. She looked beautiful, actually. I had to rent an old-fashioned tuxedo-type outfit, which made me feel more like a gangster than a detective. Everyone went all out for this, and I believe there were maybe 10 couples, quite possibly the entire village I live in. 

When we received our mailed invitations, they included a description of who we were, a bit about the manor and its occupants, and a note about what to expect and from whom. The evening started with each of us getting our first clues, which Harry handed out at the door. 

At cocktails, we all got to know who was supposed to be who and had a pretty good time of "acting" and talking about our false lives to each other. 

The gong, yes, there was a gong that was rung, and we were ushered into the dining room, which, if I didn't know it was 2026, I would have thought I went back in time to 1924. 

We had just sat down, chatting quietly and marvelling at the old-fashioned decor, awaiting the soup to be brought out, when an entirely unexpected scream rang out. This had most of the men on their feet, looking around. Suddenly, the swinging door from the kitchen swung open, and a maid (dressed in the part) was old Betty Langford, the local golden cane (walking stick awarded to the oldest resident) recipient, with her maid's dress full of blood, a knife in her right hand and a horrified expression on her face. She dropped the knife and dramatically looked at us.

Poor Betty! 

"Ee's deed." She said, her English accent not quite making the "He's dead" distinguishable. 

"Whose deed?" Our host, Charlie (call him Charles for the evening), ventured to ask.

"The…the…the butler."

"The butler is standing right there." Charles corrected, pointing to Harry standing by the banquet table.

"OH! I mean the FOOTMAN, Robert!" She looked astounded and quite a bit frazzled when she said that. Her eyes were wide, and she looked as if she knew she had misspoken the first time and was embarrassed, but not sure. It was almost laughable, but we all kept it in.

"Robert? Who's Robert?" The hostess asked, looking distressed.

No one knew. 

"There's no Robert here for real or otherwise," Charles' wife said under her breath.

Of course, the ladies at the table all put their napkins to their lips in distress, and a few feigned ohs and oohs were murmured in false horror. 

"Rodney, don't you think you should go see?" Charles addressed my character.

I cleared me throat and nodded as I started off to the kitchen.

Betty caught me arm and whispered, "Not the kitchen, the library."

"Library? But…" She shook her head at me. "Where is that?" I whispered back, catching on.

She pointed in the opposite direction, to my further chagrin, adding to the general confusion.

"Here, old chap, I'll go with you," Someone said, and then many of the gentlemen said the same, and before I knew it, a sea of black tuxedos was on its way to the so-called library.

Well, the library was a sunroom where books were hastily (it looked) thrown around, including Little Red Riding Hood, open, with the wolf stalking grandma. One man in particular, a man I hardly know but who has a reputation for intensity, was at me side as we looked down on Jesse Preston, AKA Alec Fawnsfoot, footman (and son of the host and hostess). Well, that's what his nametag (yes, for the forgetful among us) said.

"Looks like he's been stabbed." The genius next to me observed. "With a knife." That last was when I knew I was not with the brightest bulb in the box. 

"Well, the maid had the knife, so we know who 'done it'," I announced, thinking good, the mystery is over, dinner to be served. 

"NO! NO! NO! I did not kill James, I mean Jesse, I mean ALEC!" Betty shouted, all agitated and alarmed.

"I saw you with the knife, that knife," I pointed to her hand holding the offending article, "and look at you all covered with blood," I observed brightly.

"NO, I was in the kitchen trimming a brisket." She shook me arm, "THIS is the library!" This last said like I was some mental midget. 

The murder in the sunroom, I mean, the library

"She is correct." The local Realtor and professionally trained interior decorator informed us. He later told me he was trained to notice tiny discrepancies that nobody cares about. Well…OK. He was taking the game far more seriously than anyone intended. Yeah, Samuel DeGeorges, mystery self: George Blabberton. Sam was someone one avoided for his lack of tact, and his direct and blunt observations about one's person or abilities, yes, that was Sam.

After a bit of discussion, with the ladies wandering in and appropriately feigning horror before swooning back into their chairs in the dining room, Harry announced that soup was on the table. And, looking at each other, a little confused, we went back, sat down, and discussed what to do with "THE BODY."

The soup was cold strawberry, so seeing a bowl of what looked like red blood did little for the old appetites. Of course, Betty was serving the soup along with two others, still wearing the blood-spattered maid's outfit. Sam was sitting next to me and said, "So, we meet again." I looked at him, ah yes, so we do, and the recent memory was not a good one. "That isn't blood on Betty, that's soup." He said, ever his observant self.

"But she said she was trimming brisket." I reminded him, pushing me bowl away at the thought.

He smiled at me like, Come on, it's soup. Then he said, "Sounds more like a murder mystery to say brisket."

As we awaited the salad course (which was served by a catering company that was also dressed for the occasion), conversation burst out almost at once. All kinds of theories were going around, and by dessert, we still had no murderer, but clues were coming in disguised ways, like a maid dropping a note in a woman's lap, or Betty, pointing at someone across the table so another would notice and then she'd shake her head like, 'yes, it's her.'

After-dinner drinks were served in the main salon, which was really the living room converted to a hodgepodge of knick-knacks on tables placed between platters of cheeses and crackers, finger sandwiches, and tea pastries. That was odd, and I told Tonya that the Prestons (our hosts) needed to study English etiquette a little better because this was all wrong. 

Meanwhile, Duchess Agatha (Harriet Pritchard) came running into the room, bringing drama with her as she announced, "He's GONE!"

"Who?" Was shouted in unison.

"Why the murdered man, Robert. I mean, Alec!" This said with a hand to her forehead like she was going to faint, and she started to, but no man was close enough to catch her, and PLUNK! Down she went like the Titanic. 

Harriet goes PLUNK!

Within ten minutes of confusion, and Mrs Pritchard having the 'vapours,' I was approached by Sam.

"I don't think Mrs. Pritchard was in the library when she claims she was."

"Mrs. Pritchard was playing a fictional duchess, and there is no library." I quipped.

"That's exactly what she wants you to think." He quipped back.

Duchess Agatha (Harriet Pritchard) was overdoing her role big time. I think she thought she was doing a wonderful impression of Maggie Smith's Violet Crawley. I can tell ya, not so much. More Angela Lansbury imitating the Bride of Frankenstein. 

I was discovering, after a few more of Sam's observations, that the man was good at this. And the reason he was good at it was that, as it dawned on me, the mystery was badly constructed by our host and hostess. Clues were missing. Someone accidentally ate a clue because it was hidden beneath a piece of cheese on the cheese platter. One guest forgot who he was supposed to be, and another refused to reveal information because she had decided her character "wouldn't trust detectives." Add to that, our hostess kept disappearing into the kitchen to Google the rules!

Meanwhile, me new partner and I began solving an entirely different mystery. Sam noticed somebody's car had been moved. At first, I was like what does that have to do with what's going on in here? He didn't know, but he noticed it. Ok, note taken.

Then he elbowed me in the side as we entered the sunroom, which we were all told was a library, and said that a valuable antique had disappeared. 

"I noticed that right off when we first came in there. It was a Limoges box, a tiny porcelain box handcrafted in France, worth what? Thousands of dollars? AND, there were muddy footprints where there shouldn't have been any by the sunroom door, where the missing car was. PLUS, someone keeps sneaking outside, AND I think an actual crime is taking place during a fake murder!"

I dismissed him at first, but he pulled me through the sunroom and pointed to where the Limoges box had been; hadn't I noticed it, how could I not? Well, I told him how not, I am not an aficionado of small porcelain boxes. Then he pulled me to the doorway, "Look at the footprints." Well, okay, there were muddy footprints that came in the door and out the door, and yes, I did remember a car being parked near the door that wasn't there now. UH OH! 

Sam's evidence was becoming annoyingly persuasive, and me journalistic instincts (forget the detective business) were kicking in. I covertly started interviewing me neighbours in the next room as Sam kept producing observations. 

"You notice Henderson changed his shoes?"

"No."

"He arrived wearing loafers."

"How do you know?"

"I don't trust a man who wears loafers in July. Bet he changed them because they were muddied."

Soon, we established a headquarters in the Butler's Pantry (really the rear hallway).

Me and Sam in the faux butler's pantry discussing our clues, photo courtesy of Tonya

It was then that Tonya found us whispering over a hand-drawn map of the house.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing."

She looked at my detective notebook and looked surprised. 

"Gabe, you're investigating the guests."

"We're eliminating possibilities, and yes, of course I am, I be Rodney Stouthart, the detective."

"You've been in here for forty minutes." She accused. 

We looked at her like two idiots. She seemed concerned, not because she thought I was in any danger, but because I was enjoying meself a bit too much. 

It was then that Sam left us for something that popped into his head. I looked at Tonya and said, "I know people find him annoying, but I think I have accidentally found me perfect village friend."

"Really? The village friend you avoid when you see him. The same village friend who you say talks too much, the same one that appears without warning, who owns equipment for every conceivable emergency, talked you into a pie-eating contest without you knowing it? Has strong opinions about septic systems…is your new bestie?"

"Uh…yup." I said, "Yet this evening I have slowly been realising the man is intelligent, observant, loyal, and just odd enough to make perfect sense to me."

Tonya nodded like I had lost me mind. 

Sam re-entered, and she left us "to it." 

"I know what happened to the Limoges box. I asked Charles if he knew it wasn't on the table in the 'library,' and he said he told his son to get it, along with a few other things, while we were at dinner. Seems he bought that stuff for the son's collection. That's who left the muddy footprints and why the car was gone, and guess who the son is?"

It took me no time at all.

"Robert Fawnsfoot, the murdered man, or it's Alec Fawnsfoot, I believe."

"He is an antiques dealer. He didn't want to leave the valuable items out too long, so Charles told him when he was "dead" and everyone was out of the 'library' to take the valuables out." He looked steadily at me as if this were normal.

"Mystery solved."

Great, just great! Sam had solved that mystery, but we both completely forgot about the fake one. We went in to join the others when our host triumphantly gathered everyone together and, with no warning to meself, asked me to identify the murderer, and I had no idea what he was talking about. 

"The murder, Gabe, I mean, Rodney."

"What murder?"

"The reason we're here."

Sam leaned toward me and whispered, "I told you we should've kept better notes."

Before I could say I didn't know who the murderer was and make a jackarse of meself, Betty burst in, waving a wooden spoon over her head that had what looked like raspberry jam dripping down it, shouting, "I did it! I admit it, I did it! I stabbed him with the spoon!" She looked back at me and winked. She knew I had no clue who the murderer was, and she saved me arse. I guess she's not as bird-brained as I thought, but then I changed my mind at the admission she "stabbed him with the spoon!" 

The next morning I awoke pleased with meself. I survived a crazy evening with crazy people. I helped Sam solve a mystery, sort of, and I may have made him a friend. 

Then Tonya looked out the window.

"Gabe?"

"What?"

"Why is Sam DeGeorges coming down the driveway carrying a metal detector?"

Well, it seemed old Sam decided after last night's crime-solving fiasco that WE, yes, he and I, are an investigative team. So here be a new source of misery and a new complication entering me life.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

How Many Ways To Be Humiliated At A County Fair

10 July 2026

1184

R. Linda:

All week, there has been the New England equivalent of a county fair in a very horsey town about 40 minutes away. When the kiddos were very young, Tonya and I would take them on the rides and, once a year, indulge in unhealthy foods like fried dough, cotton candy, and the like. 

The fair runs all week long, so yesterday Tonya thought it would be a nice idea to take the kiddos to the fairgrounds, since we hadn't been in a few years. The two elder boys weren't really interested; they would rather stay home and play video games, but we weren't having that. 

We piled everyone in the car, including Mam (no forcing her, she was all about getting out), and off we went. The first thing on everyone's mind was food. So off to the concession stands we went. There was every imaginable fried junk food. Once filled up on greasy hamburgers, overflowing chilli dogs, and fried dough, we wandered over to the rides. Tonya wanted to go on the Ferris wheel, not my favourite ride, but everyone convinced me we all should get on. Well, I did, and I regret it now, and I have not let any of me family hear the end of it from me.

You probably know those Ferris wheel seats swing in the air, giving one the impression they could swing enough to put one upside down and off to the ground, where one would tumble to possible death or become paralysed. THAT is what I hate the most about that ride. However, I steeled meself and up we started. Also, as you probably know, the damn ride starts up and then stops with a jolt, and there you are swinging in the air, not a feeling I particularly relish. Then the ride continues up, up and up until you reach the top, where some love the outstanding view of the countryside, but I, I be terrified of the view to the ground!

We made it to the top, and there we swung and swung and swung. And I looked at me watch and realised we'd been up there at the tip-top for about 10 minutes. It was as I opened me mouth to announce this, that someone shouted the ride was stuck, and wouldn't it be me luck, I WAS AT THE SCARY TOP!?

I don't panic easily, but me Mam muttering, "Oh dear, oh dear," while looking down at the DROP did not help with the situation. The kiddos below us were laughing and rocking their seats, much to me horror; they could be pelted out and, well... I don't even want to think about the rest. However, they weren't the only ones; other teens on the ride were doing the same thing, which unnerved yours truly further. 

Finally, and with a great jolt that sent us against the safety bar, the damn ride started moving. I was ever so thankful, until it started going back UP!!! I was like WTF? 

"Ye be actin' like a little girl, dare Gabriel." Me Mam said. This from the woman who was white-knuckling it a few minutes ago.

I was squirming in me seat. I was a case of nerves like you would not believe. I just looked at her and conjured up a dirty look, but she 'tsked' at me and shook her head like she was saying, "I don't know about you sometimes."

About what seemed like a year later, we reached the ground, and I was off that mother like a runaway train. I took meself to the beer stand to fortify me nerves while me family had a laugh at me expense. They took off for some of the game booths while I nursed me humiliation with a second beer.

Feeling disgusted with meself for "whimping out", which is what me boyos said of me antics on the "wheel," I decided on one more beer to bolster me bruised ego. As I was waiting for me refill, guess who found me? Samuel DeGeorges, the town know-it-all, all-around annoying guy, and someone I hardly know. There was no getting away; it was too late. He saw me, he was standing next to me, and I was stuck! As I was looking for me family to reappear and save me, I heard about septic systems and the like and was thinking if murder was legal, Sam would be me choice to go first. Because I was thinking how to "do it" in me head, I hadn't been paying attention to what he was saying. He had me sign what I thought was a petition for the rehaul of the town septic works when, in reality, I had signed meself up for a pie-eating contest.

I tell ya! I was amazed when Mrs. Cunningham came over to fetch me for the start of the contest. I was like what? She showed me my entry form, signed and delivered to her, the judge. Just as I was being pulled off to the table, the family reappeared, and instead of helping me get out of this situation, they were encouraging it! 

"Just whose side are you all on?" I shouted at them. Everyone laughed; they thought I was being funny, but I was not. I had stuffed meself prior, had one too many beers, and now I was going to eat pie as fast as I could. Not my idea of a good time.

I was sitting next to Sam, who had entered (by choice, I might add) and was very enthusiastic about the pies. 

"Mrs. Avant, Mrs. Merkle, and Mrs. Collins stayed up all night baking these beauties." He said to me with a huge, hungry smile on his face.

Joan Elders, our town clerk, had a toy gun that, when you fired it, a fabric piece that said "Bang" dropped down, and this was the start gun. OK. What choice, eh?

Well, let me just say, me piehole was bigger than Sam's or anyone at the table, and I freaking won for eating the most pie. Let me say this about pie — I NEVER WANT TO SEE A PIE AGAIN IN ME LIFE! Me award? A blue ribbon for me trouble. Yup, not a certificate that I was the biggest pie pig of the day, or a trophy with a slice of pie on top and me name on the bottom, no, no, nothing at all but bragging rights and a ribbon. 

In the middle of this, Sam interrupted me to tell me Mrs Avant had the best-tasting pie. I just looked at him like he was a nutter, and he is.

To take me mind off me further humiliation, my wife decided we should see the pig judging contest because it was happening not too far from where we were. Off the crew went with me standing there like a dolt, staring at the blue ribbon.

In a pie trance, I followed the family like a sheep to the pig pens. The judging went just as you'd think, with the 4-H kiddos pulling their squealing animals around in an open pen and two farmers standing with pads, ticking off points as they squealed around the ring. I was feeling poorly from all that pie and beer, and told Tonya and Mam I was going to stand over by the pens where the bigger piggies were enclosed so I could lean against a fence to keep from falling down ill. 

As I was shuffling me feet, trying not to barf, I made me way to the bigger pig pens. I inadvertently caught me hand against a gate latch and oh my God, out came the prize-winning pig, a pig so big it almost trampled me, busting out of the gate like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby!

Everyone around me had their mouths open in shock, and then they bolted after the pig. I looked at the cardboard certificate and the blue ribbon on the gate and realised I had released the prize pig and top pig of the entire fair!

"Just don't stand there, go!" Me Mam pushed me. 

Well, let me just say it wasn't me that caught that pig; it was like twenty farmers who surrounded it and finally got it back to its pen, not to mention the hundreds of fairgoers who almost got mowed down by the thing. To make matters worse, wee kiddos would point and, in loud voices, say, "There's the guy who let the pig out." I wanted to crawl into a hole, I did.

Looking back, I suppose I should've been grateful. Nobody seemed to remember the 'pig' who won the pie-eating contest. But they all remembered the eejit who accidentally let loose the champion pig. Some folks leave their mark on a county fair by winning trophies. Me? I left mine by starting a stampede.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Weasil Reaches New Heights

06 July 2026

1183

R. Linda:

Ugh! The young scamp, aka Mr. Weasil, sent me the photo below and asked me to post it. He said, and I quote, "I wenta alotta trouble ta climb datty dere pole fer yer arse in da heatie of 111 F, da least ya could do is post it."

RIGHT. So, without any further ado, I present Mr. Weasil, a fan of my blog. Who knew? I should have known that someone who would rappel illegally off the Cliffs of Moher would also climb the Empire State Building. Therefore, here be the young whippersnapper in all his climbing glory before I assume he was arrested by the police. 

And there he is, ladies and gentlemen. Yeah, I believe it. Photo courtesy of Weasil.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

The Tidal Pool Photograph

05 July 2026

1182

R. Linda:

We decided to visit the outer Cape and take the bike ride through the Cape Cod National Seashore to the Cape Cod Light. It was a perfect, sunny day for a bike ride, with a nice breeze off the water, and everyone seemed delighted to do something as a family. 

We spent most of the morning and early afternoon biking and sightseeing. We worked up hefty appetites and headed off for lunch. We went to a place called Captain's Choice in Truro, with tents outside where you could eat in the great outdoors while enjoying the sights and sounds of the Cape. 

Because Tonya collects shells and sea glass (she makes garden faerie houses out of them), we went to Skaket Beach in Orleans. A staffer at the Captain's Choice suggested we go there. She said she has found a lot of shells, sea glass, and sand dollars. The kiddos would enjoy chasing the crabs, and the tidal pools were good for cooling off. 

We went next door to the Salty Market for snacks and refreshments to take with us. 

By the time we arrived at the beach, the kiddos were ready to expend some pent-up car energy, and off they tumbled out of the Saturn and ran. The three of us adults followed at a more leisurely pace, me hauling the goodies, ever on the lookout for gulls. 

Tonya and Mam collected a variety of shells, and were having a great time. The kiddos finally found a few crabs, and it was the crabs chasing the kiddos, then the kiddos chasing the crabs. I warned them to take caution with those things, and for once, they listened to me, so no howling kiddo with a crab attached to his finger, or worse, a nose. 

We were wrapping up our day when Tonya and Mam brought to me attention a bride and groom on the beach with a photographer. They were posing for pictures when two tourists joined us to watch. The wind was blowing the bride's veil, and I could see the photographer taking advantage of the setting and thinking about what wonderful photos the couple would have. I mentioned that out loud, and the two newcomers joined in, and we all became quite friendly. So friendly, they asked me if I'd mind taking a few iPhone pics of them standing on the rocks. Well, why not? So I happily agreed.

A perfect ending to a perfect day. We had fun, we just met two people to chat with, and all was right with the world of Gabe.

The couple, Dave and Margie, got all set. I was determined to get the perfect angle, but as I backed up without looking, I was ankle-deep in the tidal pool. The photo was magnificent. I, however, looked as though I'd just escaped a shipwreck.

Because just as I clicked off the snap, I took a cold plunge into some surprisingly strong currents. Heavy waves came out of nowhere! I found meself gasping for breath in the freezing water and struggling to get me feet back under me, all the while holding the iPhone over me head like it was the Crown Jewels. The waves were deceptive — I mean, who knew? Somehow, I managed to keep the phone bone dry. Me, on the other hand … I looked like I'd either gone down with the ship or been spat out by a whale!

We all laughed, including the wedding photographer, who shouted to me, too late, that the spot I was in wasn't a good spot for a photo. The kiddos have not let me hear the end of it. Every time we'd pass a rocky shoreline, they'd ask to get out so I could take a photo of them and a plunge for meself at the same time. Yeah, ha, ha, funny people. 

Here is the sorry wet mess I had become, photo courtesy of Mam (who is always so helpful when you don't want her to be). I didn't know she was clicking away. I was checking to see if I got the photo and the phone worked, and yes, I did, and it did.

Embarrassing as hell, but I managed to keep the phone dry

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Message In A Bottle

04 July 2026

1181

R. Linda:

Trying to have a good time, I was determined to forget the past two days. The kiddos wanted to go to the shops in Hyannisport, so off we went. I spent a lot of time in the fudge shop and probably spent a year's salary on fudge, but it was so worth it. The two older boyos took off on their own while Tonya and Mam dragged the wee one with them to the boutiques and such, which I be sure he did not enjoy. I gave everyone a time to meet up for lunch, and then we'd go back to our private beach for the day. 

So far so good.

When we got back, I was the first to hit the beach. I was sitting there, sunglasses on, watching the waves and lost in me thoughts when me eyes jogged me brain that something was bobbing on the waves.

"Not again," I muttered to meself. I squinted me eyes trying to see what it was this time. "Probably me sub sannie from the other day." I mused. 

As it drifted closer towards the shore, I saw it was an amber bottle. Right away, I was thinking people are such prats for not putting their garbage in the bin, instead of throwing it into the ocean. I got up to retrieve the offending thing and put it in the trash when I saw it was a corked bottle sealed with red wax. 

I picked it up after chasing it in the waves for a few minutes, and wouldn't you know it, it was a message in a bottle! Well, I was thrilled, I was. What could the message be, I wondered. I was expecting pirate secrets, or something that told of a treasure, I don't know, me inner kid was coming out. I took it back to where I had me deck chair and used a sharp-edged rock to cut through the seal. Then I thought, no, I should wait for the family to come out to share me great find. 

When they arrived, I held up the bottle for them to see what I had. I shook it so they could see the rolled paper inside. Everyone was in disbelief, but then they were as mystified as I was. 

"Open it, Da, please," The wee one pleaded.

"Okay, give me a moment." 

Everyone was chattering and wondering what was written, so with a flourish I popped the cork, turned the bottle upside down, and slid the message out. 

"Okay now, are ye all ready?" I smiled.

"WE ARE!" They shouted in unison.

And so I unrolled the parchment, yes, R. Linda, it was parchment, and I was now certain it was some old treasure map! 

I had a toothy grin on me face, I was sure, and I shouted out the contents as me smile faded. 

"It says, 'Please recycle this bottle.'"

"Ohhh," they all said in disappointed unison and walked away to set their places up on the beach. 

YUP, I should have trusted me first instinct

"Well, then," I said to no one. I walked up to the porch and recycled that bottle in the trash, I did.

"Mission accomplished," I announce upon me return. 

I was so mad at meself for letting that episode get the best of me and in front of an audience, ok, me own family, but still. 

I decided I was not in the mood to sit on the beach, so I told everyone I was going for a walk down the beach. 

"If you see any interesting seashells, will you bring them back for me?" Tonya asked sweetly. 

Well, for sure, so I left her to her romance novel, the kiddos super-soaking each other in the surf, and Mam putting sunblock on herself.

I wandered down the beach a ways collecting shells, telling meself I'll turn around "in another minute." I walked quite a way and had a vast collection of shells. I thought it was an excessive collection of shells and should start back. But then I saw another shell a few yards ahead, and so I went and picked it up. It had a crab inside it that was none too happy to be lifted in the air with its home and dropped into a pile of shells in me shirt. Instantly, I saw it, and before it could latch onto me fingers, I put it back. I told meself that was a sign, so I would head back.

Only when I turned around, the incoming tide had cut me off from the other side of the beach. I looked around and realised I was way down by the dunes, and an outcropping was above me. What to do? I would have to swim, I thought, but then I'd have to ditch all the shells. I was looking closely at the water, but it did not look very deep. I stood there for a bit contemplating me next move. I could walk back across it before the tide came fully in. Easy-peasy.

I took a step forward and was startled by a sound above me. I looked around and saw a busload of tourists getting off at the overlook to take in the view. I realised I was part of the view. 

Just as I started off, a rogue wave soaked me to the waist, just as all the tourists got to the overlook. There had to be forty strangers watching me. I was hit with another wave, this one bigger and more powerful, which almost sent me flying off me feet. I caught me shirt full of shells just in time to keep them from being swept away, when suddenly forty strangers applauded me efforts.

I did the only thing I could: I waved at them and continued on, being buffeted by the waves all the way across. When I reached the other side, I could hear them clapping for me. I tell ya, anytime I am caught in an embarrassing situation, I always seem to have an audience I don't need. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

The Dangers Of Swimming Near Jellyfish

03 July 2026

1180

R. Linda

Well, I got off to a rough start yesterday, so today I was determined no more mishaps of the Murphy's Law kind. I got up to another beautiful day, even though the weather report said we were in the middle of a heat wave. I was at the shoreline, the surf pounding, the air moist and cool, and I didn't care about heat waves or anything else but sipping me coffee while wading in the cool surf. 

It was then I saw it. A huge jellyfish was floating on top of the water. Uh oh, those things sting. Me first thought was to warn the kiddos not to go near it. O'Hare was sleepily coming toward me, towel over his shoulder and swim trunks on, which meant a morning dip in the sea. 

"No, no, you'll have to wait until later, there, Sport. See that thing floating on the water? That's a jellyfish, it is." I warned him.

He squinted his eyes and looked hard at the thing bobbing closer. 

"Looks kinda funny for a jellyfish." He observed.

I looked again, and it looked the same as when I first spotted it, so I asked him what was funny about it.

"It's too big and . . . I dunno, looks off."

I craned me neck to see better, and ok, it was large, which made me feel it was dangerous. 

Meanwhile, Guido came out dressed for a swim as well. Before I could open me piehole, O'Hare pipes up and tells him, "Da thinks that's a jellyfish and we shouldn't swim today."

"I did not say you should not swim today, I said not right now because of that," I pointed at the still bobbing transparent mass.

"What is that?" Guido asked, squinting his eyes at it.

Before I could say anything, since the three of us were focused on the 'jellyfish', there was a splash, and there, in the water, was me very own little apple-cheeked, grey-haired Mam going for a morning plunge. 

I started shouting at her; the boys pointed at the jellyfish, and she stopped, turned, and looked at us as she bobbed in the water alongside the jellyfish. She was an arm's length from the thing, and suddenly she reached over and got a hold of it, to me horror. 

"Ye mean dis?" She held up a clear plastic bag.

"Oh," I said, me face turning red, I knew from the heat I was feeling that me embarrassed red face was coming out. The boyos were beside themselves with laughter.

Yeah, the jellyfish, AKA dead plastic bag

But it didn't end there, I be sorry to say.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

The Seagull Heist

 02 July 2026

1179

R. Linda

After the sub shop parking faux pas, I got back feeling relieved not to be facing unknown strangers who were privately thinking I was a dummy for parking in a boat launch.

I said nothing about that incident, hoping I, meself, would forget the embarrassment and get on with having fun. Yes, fun or something akin to it. I was optimistic that nothing else could go wrong and that I was just knackered from the long drive, was all. 

While I was gone, the family had settled in, and Tonya and O'Hare had spread a large blanket on the sand, and everyone was eagerly awaiting their subs. Mam took the bag of subs from me, and I got the drinks, and out we went to the family setting. I looked out toward the ocean, there they were sitting patiently with big smiles on their faces, as if to say, Da, you done good. Yeah, if only they knew.

Anyway, everyone was chatty and animated, just what I had hoped for. A happy family, enjoying each other's company and their surroundings. The ocean breeze was slightly strong, blowing the sub wrappers about our sannies, but we were managing. At least they were managing, that is, until the uninvited arrived. 

I was carefully unwrapping the perfect sub sannie, trying to keep the breeze from blowing sand on it, when I looked away for a second to answer Guido's question, "Did you get mustard or mayonnaise on this?" when a seagull swooped in and stole me whole sub. I sat there in stunned disbelief. What had just happened? I didn't have long to sit there and wonder, because everyone started shouting and waving their arms over their heads to scare off the flock of birds that suddenly descended on our happy little scene.

It was hell, I tell ya! Everyone ran for the house, subs and drinks in hand, while I scooped up the blanket and anything on it, then swiped with it at the attacking horde of glutonous birdies. 

I saw the one with me sannie, fighting with another one for it. It was dropped in mid-flight and splatted all the delicious sannie ingredients down over the ground. What a waste of a perfectly good sannie went through me mind. 

It was a frightening situation

Me Mam shouted at me from the sanctuary of the porch, "They want dessert!"

As I fled, I noticed O'Hare taking photos of me fending off the horde and laughing his fool head off at me. With a family like this, is it any wonder I am the way I am? No help, just smart remarks and lots of pictures after the fact, which I can't live down.

Yes, as ever, Mam was not a big help. No, "Come on quick, I'll hold the door for you," no, no. No help, just smart comments. SHE went inside as I trudged up the stairs, fending off a flock of 40 hungry gulls. No door was held open, no, I had to wrestle me way inside and slam the inner door, so I didn't have to hear them and their beating wings against the screen. 

It was, I'd calculate, an hour later that it was safe to go outside. BUT as time went on, we knew not to take food with us, because as soon as one of us stepped out the door, we were unceremoniously set upon by the white-winged army.

So, lesson learned. What could happen after THAT? Well, I tell ya, once I get me composure back.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Holiday! Yeah, For Everyone Else

01 July 2026

1178

R. Linda:

"Bring it on!" That's what I said to the TV weather guy. I was watching the weather while packing me bags for a holiday at the seaside. The weather guy was bemoaning how millions of people were going to suffer in 100-degree and possibly higher temperatures for the next few days. I smiled at him, even though he didn't know that, and said to meself, "But not I."

Yes, smug I was. I was thinking of the cool, moist breeze one gets standing next to the ocean. How cool it is and sometimes downright chilly, so no sweltering for this guy, oh no. For old Gabe, it was going to be absolute enjoyment and a brilliant time away. Much needed, I might add.

I had rented an Airbnb right on the beach. That meant no finding a parking space, no lugging beach things, no walking over hot pavement, just the pure joy of walking out one's door right to the sand, with no one to step over, the beach all to ourselves. 

The kiddos were ecstatic. They were looking forward to the arcades on the strip, the lobster rolls, and the new friends they might make. For the three old people, Tonya was particularly looking forward to reading a good book, lying out in the sun, and enjoying the peaceful sound of the waves hitting the shore. As for me Mam, she was looking forward to eating out, relaxing on the porch and thinking about nothing. For me, it was digging me toes in the wet sand, lazing around with an Arnold Palmer, and being free of Dragons, Weasils, and the like. 

We left the woodsy abode in New Hampshire for the sandy shores of Cape Cod. It was a long drive, made longer by an unbelievable traffic crawl over the Sagamore Bridge and onto the Cape. Once in Bourne, it was a drive west to West Dennis Beach, where our lovely and I mean lovely rental awaited us. 4 bedrooms with 3 bathrooms, that should be perfect with 3 boyos, the bathrooms I mean. We had a pullout bed in the living room, and the wee one got that, and for some reason, he didn't protest. I found out later because he was up all night with headphones, playing video games on the TV in the living room. I started to wonder why he looked like a raccoon every morning. He wasn't sleeping!

The Traffic on the bridge

We got there mid-afternoon, and once we dropped our luggage and looked around the house, we decided to go out for a late lunch. It was such a beautiful day that I suggested that I go get subs and we have a picnic on the beach. Splendid idea, they all thought, so I took orders while Tonya looked up the nearest sub place, and then I went off while everyone else unpacked. 

I found the sub shop, but because it was a lovely day, everyone and their mother was about the place. I circled for twenty minutes before finally finding what looked like the perfect parking spot. I backed in and was marvelling I didn't see the parking place the first circle, or the second for that matter, so I was in me thoughts, and it was a moment before I realised everyone was staring at me. I looked around and saw I had parked in a boat ramp. Before I could move it, a man crossing the road next to me smiled and said, "Planning to launch that Saturn?"

"Well," I said, "that's one way of looking at it." But I turned around, got me vehicle out of the space, and spent another twenty minutes circling until the same man who had asked me about launching my Saturn waved for me to follow him. He had a bag of subs and was leaving, so I slowly crept behind him like a stalker. 

He got in his vehicle, moved out and waved me in. I parked and sat there for a few minutes, hoping no one at the open-air sub place would recognise the jackarse who parked in the boat launch.

Yup, that was the beginning of me holiday away from the silliness that seems to find me. I should have known it wasn't going to get better, but worse.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Bats Out The Window

27 June 2026

1177

R. Linda:

THIS was brought to me attention by me former flasher neighbour, Lois:

Yes, indeed, she was surfing her hometown FB page when she stumbled across this, and, naturally, Lois always has an opinion, so she rendered it.

She asked me when I moved into me new abode, whether I had bats or flying squirrels, and which service I used. Well, it was flying squirrels since I be a favourite with the squirrel community. However, I did tell her I recently had a bat in me attic, and I used an open window and a broom to get it out. Yes, at the time I told me mother-in-law that her broom was gassed up, the window was open, and the runway was clear, so it was time to fly home.

I was sorely tempted to find this request and tell them how I had successfully got rid of the old bat, without spending a pence. Then it occurred to me that they probably wouldn't appreciate me joke. This be New England, and as I was reminded several times, New Englanders have no sense of humour or a funnybone. And no matter how many times I protested that I was not a born New Englander, I was a blood Irishman, it fell on deaf ears, or let's be honest here, ears that can't hear, or don't want to. WHICH brings selective hearing to a whole new level.

So I resisted the temptation (and oh, it was a strong temptation). These days, discretion is the better part of not getting thrown off the local FB page. But then again, I don't have an FB page to be thrown off of and probably couldn't get to that request anyway. Also, I have to take into consideration that a real bat would be far more appreciative than the figurative ones. 

Then again, these days you can't call anyone an old bat without people reporting you, a few demanding an apology, and others recommending a licensed wildlife rehabilitator, because they can't admit they didn't get the joke, and still others telling you that you need serious help. 

I decided to keep me fingers off the keyboard. A real bat would have taken the hint and flown out the window. Humans, in me experience, are much harder to relocate. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Seven-Foot Doctors And Other Mysteries

26 June 2026 

1176

R. Linda:

I am beside meself. This Dragon visit has got the best of me, it has. I want one day off from not hearing strange sentences issuing from the mouth of the Dragon lady. Usually, she reads a headline wrong, and what she spouts makes Tonya and me question her, and then we have to look for ourselves to see the Dragon lady read the headline wrong. Why is this? As you know, she's as blind as a bat. 

Now, her hearing is going. Just yesterday, I took her to the Genny (general store), and as we passed the church, there was a sign out, so I jokingly told her she should go to church on Sunday. "The sign says 'Worship at the lake this Sunday'. Perhaps you should go. The lake be a pretty place."

She looked at me aghast and said, "Horseshit at the lake? It says horseshit? What? Why are they bringing horseshit to the lake? I don't understand you New Englanders at all."

So now I be a New Englander, not "that Irishman." I don't know which is better. While being "that Irishman," I get told how I can't speak English correctly, how I dress like a hooligan, how I be lazy as the Irish are known for (this be news to me), what a drunken lot we be, etc. Now, as a New Englander, I am cold, impersonal, imperfect, more interested in my tractor (I don't have one) than in people, and on it goes. 

I have ignored all this for the most part to keep harmony in me abode. Tonya does defend me at times, but I defend meself more often than not and do a decent job of it. However, the nitpicking doesn't seem to let up, no matter what I do. If she isn't at me, she's reading off headlines that are inaccurate, and that drives me up a pole, it does. Now, this second problem, not hearing what is said or understanding what is said, is starting to get to me. 

I was just this morning saying to Tonya as she was fixing snacks for the wee ones' day at day camp, I said, "Kids make nutritious snacks all by themselves," and before I could say, he is capable of making his own, the Dragon pipes up with this gem: "Since when are kids ingredients in snacks?"

She got a "Huh" from both of us on that one.

I should have been warned, just by that. But I have taken to reading the headlines so she won't. It has backfired royally on me.

There was this. I said, "Tonya, the hospital is being sued by the 7 foot doctors, finally," and Dragon's comment was, "Oh my, you have tall doctors here." I am not even going to explain this one. 

And this: "'Police begin a campaign to run down jaywalkers,' I think that's a good thing." And her response: "Oh my, that's aggressive action if ever I heard of any. What is wrong with you, Gabriel?"

Tonya's summer class of kiddos has been following the panda bears at the zoo. And she said to me this morning how disappointed the kiddos were because "Panda mating failed, so the veterinarian took over," and there was a loud, "OH MY GOODNESS ME! MEN!" We knew what she thought. 

Then, also this morning, the bridge I take as a shortcut to the highway was still closed. I said to Tonya, "Ah, the red tape is holding up the bridge, that means detours for old Gabe." The Dragon looked up and said to me, "How does that work? You have tape strong enough to hold up a bridge?" 

Is it me? I don't think so.

I don't know whether it be her eyes, her ears, or just the Dragon refusing to let the world make any sense. Maybe it be all three working together in a grand conspiracy to finish me off.

I used to think patience was one of me finer qualities. After this visit, I know patience has a breaking point, and mine be somewhere between "horseshit at the lake" and "seven-foot doctors."

The sad part is, every morning I wake up determined to keep me mouth shut. Then I open it just once, and out comes another Dragon gem that leaves Tonya and me staring at one another, wondering if we've somehow slipped into a different universe.

So is it me? I don't think so.

Then again, if the Dragon tells this story when she gets home, I'll probably find out I've been feeding veterinarian-made panda snacks to jaywalkers while holding up a bridge with red tape. And somehow, I'll still be "that Irishman" who can't speak English.

Gabe

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