Learning The Hard Way - Winter In New England

01 February 2026

1149

R. Linda:

Looks pretty . . . but

The heavy snows of a New England winter can be tough to live through. If you don't have a fireplace (which is rather unheard of in New England homes), and you don't have a generator, you are truly roughing it. 

This problem of having nothing to keep your home functioning happens mostly to the New England transplant from another state. Yes, indeed, R. Linda, they expect the nor'easters, the blizzards, but they don't think ahead on how to live through that sort of thing.

I got a heavy dose of it when I moved up here. I had no power for almost five weeks, and I had to keep warm by camping out in front of the fireplace. I used a handheld blowtorch to keep me water pipes from freezing while I froze doing it. There were no places open for food, petrol, or snow shovels, because no one had electricity. It was rough, cold, and hunger can be a bitch.

There were times I looked at our parakeet nestled in his feathers next to the fireplace and thought about roasting him. But I'd never hear the end of that. And he would have been but a mouthful. Sigh.

I remedied the problem by paying through the nose for a full-house generator, so I would never have to go through that again. So, it pains me when I hear of a new transplanted family finding all this out the hard way. Take the newbies in town. They are from South Carolina; he came up here for a better job in Boston, moved to New Hampshire because it has no income tax, and getting to Boston is a breeze. The family has six members: the youngest, 14, and two older teenage sons and a teenage daughter with a mouth on her. 

Well, the big storm came in, as you know, and the family went out and bought food and shovels, thinking they were all set. The local news had shown residents running out to buy food off supermarket shelves and at the hardware store, piling up salt and shovels. They did all that by paying attention. The local news also gave a warning about petrol-powered generators and space heaters. So they knew about that, but didn't buy a generator, thinking they didn't need one. They did buy a small space heater, not sure they'd need that either, but they'd have it just in case.

The power went out, so the plug-in space heater would be of no use. The home they bought was new construction and didn't have the usual fireplace or woodstove, so as far as heat went, it was gone with the electricity. This situation also turned off the refrigerator, so any meats or dairy would become useless if not consumed within the first day or so. Of course, there was no cooking meat because the stove was ... you guessed it, electric!

Knowing no one, they had no place to go. SO, they got knit hats, heavy jackets, gloves, blankets and pillows from their beds and made a circle in the den, their bodies close together for warmth. Well, it was uncomfortable to say the least, but they had cards and games they were able to play to while away the hours before the electricity was returned, only that didn't happen as soon as they hoped. They also had to put up with a daughter who had no phone service (battery dead) and was, upset to say the least. Can you imagine listening to a complainer all day and all night, and not being able to get away? To add insult to injury, a day of bitter cold came and went, with the promise of even colder temperatures the next day. 

It was a bone-chilling night, but the problem was compounded when the pipes burst, and water poured through the ceiling onto sleepy, cold heads. But this wasn't the end of it. No, no, by no means does this awfulness end, it continued.

Finding a local shelter, the family moved there while the husband went back to the house to get a few things they needed. While at the shelter, the husband had watched local news reports about heavy snow on roofs causing them to collapse and ice dams that were preventing melting snow from draining properly, instead draining behind the walls of the house, ruining walls, insulation and floors. In other words, it ruins the home and becomes an expensive fix. That was all he needed on top of everything else. So while he was there, he just happened to have a trusty blowtorch on hand, and well, he tried to melt the ice dams, only to set the house on fire.

The fire department had a heck of a time trying to quell the blaze, and it took half the house. So much for bright ideas. I suppose their plan to move back to South Carolina was nixed when the snowbomb hit there yesterday. They'd be in the same predicament as they are here. From one big lesson learner to another learning the same lesson, only a worse way of learning it, all I can say is, welcome to winter in New England!

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Storm Fern - Too Much Snow

27 January 2026

1148

R. Linda:

You will be delighted to know we have snow totals over 24". Kiddos shovelled, and I car ploughed, so we are good. However, we had one situation that warrants I share with you. After all was said and done, we were missing O'Hare's car. Then we were missing O'Hare, until I saw this:

O'Hare's legs in the air

Uh-oh. I had to shovel me way over to get him out, and it took a good amount of shovelling, I can tell you that much, but I upended him and asked him what on God's little white acre he was doing. He told me he was looking for his car. And it was no wonder, his car was over near the garage, buried in the snow from Storm Fern. See here:

 

If it weren't for O'Hare's strange behaviour, I'd not have seen it

Well, we found it, and we shovelled, and we shovelled, and we shovelled, to find the back tyre had gone flat. How to add insult to injury, eh?

Well, that was yesterday, late in the day. Today I'd like to say the sun is shining, the air is crisp, and all is done with the snow. But no, it be overcast, and there are "snow people" floating about in that air, still gracing the already white landscape with more of the white stuff. 

I know what you're going to say: this is Greenland getting even with us. But I had nothing to do with THAT. Anyway, back to more shovelling. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

He Grows What? And She Sells It?

26 January 2026

1147

R. Linda:

Where to begin? Crazy times make for crazy people and their choices. I live in a state where marijuana is not legal. But if you go to Maine, there are weed shops all over the place. Obviously, weed is legal there. With such a drug problem (fentanyl mainly) in the recreational state of New Hampshire, it is no wonder most are shy about legalising the recreational drug marijuana. So much for recreation. 

Anyway, you can imagine me surprise when, yesterday, in the midst of putting up the Christmas decorations (oh, don't get me started on THAT), the phone rang, and it was Tonya's Auntie Arlene. Now Tonya was in the attic with Guido, and to be honest, if I disturbed the putting away of decorations, they might not get put away. So reluctant to call Tonya to the phone, I told Auntie Arlene that Tonya was WAY UP in the attic, but she could chat with me while I put Christmas ornaments in boxes, and I'd relay any message she had for Missy Tonya. Well, the woman asked about the family and wanted pictures of the growing kiddos since she hadn't seen them in ages. I was thinking she's never seen any of them since they were born, but OK. Perhaps it is age, and she doesn't remember having seen any of them.

In turn, I asked about her not-so-wee ones, both adults and married with kiddos of their own. I was told that neither went to college and that both are doing well as a result. That gave me pause. College age was a long time ago, but OK. When did the subject of college come up? Had I missed something? She was talking about her grown kiddos, not her grandchildren. But if that referral was to NOW, I'd say, yeah, college doesn't guarantee a position anymore, but these people are around me age, which means when we were all college age, we either went or didn't. They did not, Tonya and I did. But to each his own, and I was a little confused as to where she was going with this. Why does that matter NOW?

Anyway, Auntie Arlene told me that her grandson and her daughter worked for the same establishment and had found their dream jobs (in spite of having no college for either (shrugging shoulders here)). I was thrilled for the mother and son. How nice, no college education and they made out anyway, bravo for them. Then Auntie Arlene said, "Yes, Jeffrey's a grower, and his mom sells it."

"What does he grow that she sells?" I asked, curious.

"He is a marijuana grower for the State of New Jersey, and she sells it."

At that time, both Guido and Tonya had come down for another load of Christmas decorations, and as I had the phone on speaker, they paused for a moment to listen. The accent is what got them both. Guido asked Tonya quietly, "Is that a New Jersey accent?" To which she nodded, and then quietly said to moi, "Is that Aunt Arlene?" To which I nodded, indeed, it was, you lucky girl!

Meanwhile, Auntie Arlene was expounding on how both had to take courses to get their certificates to grow and sell weed. This put Guido into fits of silent laughter as he went into the kitchen, unheard. This was all very interesting to him. He whispered so only Tonya and I could hear him, "I didn't know you could become a professional junkie supplier?"

As for Tonya, she was no better, holding her sides to keep from bursting out laughing; she thought it was crazy talk. Well, it could have been for all I knew. Auntie's conversation was subtly peppered with off-subject subjects! I felt like I was on a ride and had no clue where I'd end up. 

Auntie Arlene's daughter, as far as I knew, was a manager at a clothing store, doing very well, since she was a single mom raising Junior. I had no clue what Junior had been up to, but having seen pictures of him dressed rather strangely in high-fashion clothing, I was under the impression that his mother dressed him. I dunno. Was just weird.

To appreciate Tonya and Guido's reactions, you have to know that we are a non-tolerant of drugs family. If it isn't prescribed by the doctor, we don't indulge. We have seen too many drug deaths and been to too many funerals, so we don't see the good in masking reality when a sober reality keeps your brain functioning. Therefore, in experiencing life, we take the hurt with the laughter and appreciate the blessings we have, and instead of hiding from the negatives, we learn to deal with them and try to turn them into positive learning experiences.  

So, this conversation was different, to put it mildly. I wasn't about to hoist our beliefs on Auntie Arlene. If that is the life path chosen by Tonya's cousins, then so be it. No need to debate it. 

Then Auntie announces, "I'm a patriot!" 

I was confused because aren't we all? But then I realised she meant she was a Trumper. Well, OK, there, Auntie Arlene. This just made me realise I live in a different world. No one up here announces their political affiliation; you just "know" from how they talk and dress what they belong to. Then, to top it off, she said, "AND I believe in Jesus Christ!"

What was I, an Irish Catholic, to say to THAT? Well, I don't? Because that's not true. I thought perhaps this was really a one-upmanship conversation (onesided I will admit, as I wouldn't bite). I mean, she's entitled to her beliefs, but she must have decided that because I live in New England, my beliefs are the opposite of her own down in the Mid-Atlantic states? First, college; then weed; then political leanings; and finally, religious beliefs. 

Politics and religion don't mix, I always thought that. Who knew selling weed and college don't either? The worst kind of arguments are among family members over just those things. I gave over the phone to Tonya because I didn't know where Auntie was taking me. To drink most likely, and I don't do a whole lot of that, but now I be thinking because I'm Irish she must think naturally I be an alcoholic. 

I asked Tonya what the purpose of Auntie's call was besides giving me fodder for the blog. She said, "She wanted to stay in touch." 

"Well, OK. I thought it was all a bizarre howdy-do there, Tonya." I laughed.

"Yeah, I don't get the competition thing either, but I do remember when I lived in Jersey, everyone was very ambitious, dramatic and competitive. Nothing like the laid-back, mellow birds up here. So YOU got a taste of Jersey living." She said, laughing at me. 

And yes, yes, she is right. I know when the Dragon descends upon us, that mindset reigns until she leaves. She is always in competition with me little, apple-cheeked, grey-haired Mam when she's taken up residence. 

I have to wonder what I'd be like if I had moved to New Jersey instead of New Hampshire. I get shivers down me spine, just thinking about it. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Old Time News Reporting Proving Mathematics Was Not A Prerequisite To Report The News

24 January 2026

1146

R. Linda:

I was looking over me email when I saw my Ancestry.com flash up on the screen with an important hint about a distant relative, whose name I had never heard of and whom I had never known anyway. And for good reason on that last, he was born way before me time. I didn't immediately click on the hint; it took weeks, yes, it did, not from being lazy, but just not interested. However, when I clicked on Ancestry a little bit ago, I decided to look at the hint. It was a newspaper article from long ago. It said:

Six Men Injured in Melee at Shelby, Ind. Crown Point, Dec. 1906

At a dance at Shelby, John and Frank Lafferty were shot and probably fatally wounded. Frank O'Sullivan, who shot them, was in turn clubbed unmercifully and is in a critical condition. Six men were injured in the melee, and the scene in the dance hall was one of carnage. Three of the desperadoes are in the county jail. Two have escaped.

Okay, so let me get this straight: the Lafferty's were probably fatally wounded, Francis O'Sullivan is in hospital along with the Lafferty's. Now, three others are in jail, and two got away. Me math must be off, or the new article is leaving some "desperadoes" out of the mix. Six men were injured in the melee, but only three are accounted for in the article. If they were injured as badly as is indicated, then none of the three are in the goal. Or, does it mean 6 MORE got into it? Three of which are cooling their heels and heads in the nick, and two escaped . . . and the sixth one? Where is he? That's five accounted for, where is the sixth? All in all, there were three named individuals and six(?) unnamed, for a total of 9 personages involved in the melee, possibly. But the numbers don't add up to what the article says!

I be confused there, R. Linda! 

This relative, Mr. Francis (Frank) O'Sullivan, had left the old sod and moved to the land of opportunity in the late 1800s, way, way before I showed up on the scene. Because he moved to America, he wasn't included in everyday conversation back home, so out of sight, out of mind. His name and bad self became a distant memory, if any memory at all. As far as I know, he didn't write home, he didn't send money home, he never came back to visit, so what the deal was, I have notta clue.

I can only think this argy-bargy was nine men in their cups, fighting over either a woman, money, cheating at cards, or a family feud. Whatever it was, it turned nasty and violent, and I don't know the outcome. I have no real clue if the Lafferty's died of their wounds, or if O'Sullivan recovered or succumbed to his injuries, nor if the authorities tracked down the two escapees, or if anyone went on trial for any of that nonsense. I couldn't find a follow-up to the article, which makes me think everyone possibly went their merry way, or hobbled on their merry way. 

This sounds not at all unusual for nine Irishmen (I'm assuming that was the case) drinking together, with one accusing another of something and the rest joining in. I tell ya! There are a lot of good, upstanding, law-abiding O'Sullivans in this world, and I don't have the full story on old Francis here, but that bit of information has done nothing of importance to me family tree, so why? I guess it's a story to pass down, but not all the information is there. So Francis could have been the instigator, or he could have been the victim of something he took exception to. 

It baffles me as to why I needed to know that? However, if I need to read that article, so do you, for no other reason but the knowledge, early reporters did not know their mathmatical equations, OR, they weren't really at the scene of he crime, and so with sketchy information published second hand information that as you see is not too much different from todays reporting of events . . . or anything for that matter. Nothing has changed, has it? 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Me Mental Sanity Severely Challenged At This Time Of Year

 21 December 2025

1145

R. Linda:

I be not one to complain about Christmas decorations, either inside or outside. But lately, it's been havoc driving home with all the flashing lights. I wish everyone would just have white lights, gently lit (no flashing), or the coloured kind, again, none of the in-your-face flashing stuff. 

There be one corner in southern New Hampshire, where I have to come to a full stop before continuing onward. At that corner is a Griswold light-covered house with every imaginable lit decoration taking over the entire yard. The flashing is sporadic as one thing flashes and then another, and it is just so random, that as I sit there, almost blinded by the lights, trying to see over me steering column if I can proceed or not, I find meself beginning to go into an altered state of consciousness. Yes, R. Linda, yours truly feels he may experience something close to an epileptic fit from flashing lights of all colours and sizes.

What must the neighbours think? Well, the one on the right has a lit-up sign that says "DITTO", and the other seems to be in competition with the Griswold house, with just as many lights, only in white. It's a snow scene they have created with animated deer, and the only coloured lights are the Santa and EIGHT reindeer they somehow attached to the top of their roof! The Santa waves and shouts, "HO HO HO! Merry Christmas!" The first time I heard that me windows were up (naturally, it was fridged out). I thought, as I sat there at the Stop Sign, that someone was shouting at me. Looking around, I saw no one, so I opened me window, and then I heard and saw it. Yup. And, the reindeer move up and down to boot. Yes, if one is prone to fits, this is the place to give you a whooper of an experience and make you think you're hearing things at the same time.  

Lastly, I'd like to say to all of me good neighbours in me quaint little New England village, I don’t mean to be a Grinch of the first magnitude, no, I do not. However, to those of you who are placing Christmas lights and decorations in your abode yards, would you, could you, please avoid anything that has Red or Blue flashing lights? Every time I turn on me road, I think it's the police. I have to jam on the brakes, toss me Guinness out the window, quickly fasten the seatbelt, throw me phone in the backseat, turn the radio off, and push my handgun under the seat. All while trying to drive. It's just too much drama, even for Christmas. Thank you for your cooperation and understanding.

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

Oh, Me Goodness!

20 December 2025

1144

R. Linda:

We (brave souls that we be) invited Big and his Dragon to Thanksgiving dinner this year. Yes, we bit the bullet and decided that if we invited them for Thanksgiving, we'd be by ourselves for Christmas. That last is yet to be seen. Anyway, I knew the Dragon was having a root canal and would probably not accept our invitation. However, I was wrong, as usual. She did accept, toothache and all. That's what I wanted for me holiday, a complaining Dragon. All I could see in me warped mind was a Dragon sitting across from me at Thanksgiving table, looking like Jacob Marley, a bandage around her jaw tied in a knot at her crown. 

She had gone for one root canal appointment, hoping it would be the only one. However, the Endodontist discovered that her root ran in another direction, and she needed the crown on the infected tooth removed so she could reach it. Well, needless to say, the Dragon was in pain. She couldn't get an appointment to have the crown removed until the week after Thanksgiving because her dentist was on vacation. So that meant her root canal appointment would not be until the week after that. Oh, the pain!

She was given low-dose antibiotics, which did not do much for her. She has high blood pressure, so Tylenol is the only painkiller she can take, and well, not much help there. 

The day arrived, and the usual long limo pulled into our humble driveway. The poor dear was helped out by a solicitous husband and gently supported to the front door, as if she had mobility issues. I shook me head at this display and knew then, and there, we were in for it. We'd be blamed for her discomfort, I just knew it.

Well, R. Linda, the moaning and groaning, the complaints that she couldn't sleep or nap, echoed around our walls. This was the day before the big turkey feast. I found that Big was as knackered by the complaints he could do nothing about as by the ones he had to be sympathetic about, which finally wore him down. Me idea all along was to help out in the kitchen, get dinner ready, and not be available to socialise. Seems Big had the same idea. 

Now, Mam enjoys her kitchen and doesn't mind the help, as long as it's the help she needs. But the two of us were in the way, not doing "it rioght!" I had stuffed the turkey, but Big insisted on putting it in the roaster and putting the tray upside down; to wit, she had a fit. He was shooed out, and I stayed. I felt sorry for him, but was happy it wasn't both of us shooed out. 

As the family sat down to dinner, I could hear the Dragon complaining she knew she could not eat any of it, just the soup maybe. I ladled the soup out as Tonya carried it to the table, and Mam turned down the cooker so she could partake.

Well, the sipping and slurping of Dragon (whose excuse was that she still had residual numbness from the injections a week before, uh-huh), exasperated Big because he was at his wits' end with her. I was just happy she wasn't drooling! I looked at Mam, and she gave me a silent message look. She told Big she could use his help in the kitchen if he didn't mind, and that it "would give Gabriel a break, since he'd been helping so much." You'd have thought she told him he won the lottery. He jumped up and went right to it, a huge smile on his face.  

As we were waiting for the main course, Dragon's phone rang. She looked down, and it was a message from the Gastroenterology Department at her hospital, reminding the poor dear she had a colonoscopy scheduled for January. It was a WTF moment.

"WHO DOES THAT?" She shouted, entirely insulted to her core. "It's Thanksgiving for crying out loud! Do these people not have family that they find it FUNNY to harass me on a holiday?!" As if the Dragon wasn't stressed enough, now THIS.

I was thinking someone at the Gastroenterology Department had a warped but funny sense of humour. I did not voice that, but well . . . you know I thought it.

I won't regale you with any more of the Dragon saga, but I will give you the aftermath once she was home. 

The crown was removed, and the dentist, just back from Honolulu, prescribed stronger antibiotics. This seemed to end the tooth infection, but her gums hurt from all the injections. It turned out she did need that extra week for her mouth to settle down. The Endo person got the rest of the angry root out, and the Dragon was pretty pain-free. She has to go back in what is becoming her least favourite month, January, for a new crown. 

In the meantime, not to be outdone, me very own apple-cheeked, grey-haired Mam got a call from the office of "Dr House" who wants to perform hand surgery on her. She has a trigger finger; he says he can fix it, but she's not so sure after hearing PT would be involved. She said she wasn't interested, but the "House" office has been persistent. So they set a date and called her for preliminaries. They asked her standard questions, including whether she gets winded or tired going up stairs and whether she can walk three blocks without feeling winded or tired. Mam has a heart murmur (you will remember Story #1140, Who's Your Cardiologist? 25 July 2025), so the answer is no: she cannot walk the three blocks and stairs. . . Well, sometimes she gets winded and other times she doesn't. So there! 

That brought the next question: Is she seeing a heart specialist? Why no. 

And what has her general practitioner prescribed besides a statin? Why nothing, why? 

Well, usually, if you are experiencing breathlessness, you see a pulmonary specialist as well. Mam said she saw one not long ago. 

Ok, and what did he say? He said she had sleep apnea, which she says she does not. 

Ok, did he test you for that? No, he just was convinced I had it, and I don't.

The whole sorted story came out as Mam poured out her grievances. The woman on the other end of the phone was shocked. "What a jerk he sounds! And who is this doctor you saw?" And Mam tells her, and she says, "WOW, I'll egg his car for you! What a terrible thing to do to a patient!" And Mam commiserates, and the woman tells her, "I'll get him back for you, don't you worry." To which Mam starts laughing. They both call this man a jerk, and I am overhearing this, hoping the conversation isn't recorded.

I tell ya, I live in a crazy house! 

Gabe

Copyright © 2025 All rights reserved

They're Bombing WHAT?

17 July 2025

Story #1138

R. Linda:

I was doing a good deed, and as usual, when I do anything, it gets screwed up. Not because I purposely do anything to hinder whatever it is, but because I have NO FREAKING IRISH LUCK! That aside, and because by now, you know this to be true, the question begs why I even bother to do anything remotely helpful for anyone, and that includes meself.

I don't have to lift an unlucky finger, no, I do not. All I have to do be ring in an order for something, and the fates that be, take it over and make a mess of me efforts. A month ago, Tonya said to me, "Gabe, do you think you can do me a favour and order this for my parents' anniversary? I have the order form all filled out. All you have to do is pay for it and click the order in."

Yesss, sounds so easy, doesn't it? Why, for sure, I'll pay for the Dragon and Big's big anniversary prezzie, yesss, I will do that and click the order to send. Why, sure, what could go wrong?

Uhhh... Well, the order could just up and disappear along with me money, OR it could go to some other address somewhere, OR it could get bombed by the Russians and never see the light of day. You laugh at that last, but . . . that was a distinct possibility, let me tell you about it, why don't I?

Tonya had picked out this lovely handmade item. It was stunning, and when I saw it, I saw dollar signs. Yes, I did, big ones, but hey, it was worth the money just to congratulate Big Tony on staying married to the Dragon all these years, too many to count! 

Anyway, I looked at the order, paid the big bucks, ticked the SEND button, and off it went. About five minutes later, I received a receipt and a notification that the seller would begin work on the item within the next two business days. Okay, then. I thought no more of that until I got an email a week later stating that the item was finished, the order had been processed, and it was on the way to being shipped. Very good. I told Tonya, and she was happy.

I got another notification that said "Label Created." Shipper created a label, US Delivery Service has not received the package yet. Poland.

That was interesting because the item was made in Ukraine, but the maker might have had to flee the country to Poland, maybe?

Three days later, I got: Import Scan, Kyiv, Ukraine. Hum.

Two days later, I get: We Have Your Package. At the facility in Kyiv, Ukraine.

Many days after that, I get: We Have Your Package. Arrived at the Facility, Warsaw, Poland.

That same day, I get Export Scan Warsaw, Poland, and later this: The package is at the clearing agency awaiting final release. Still later that same night: Departed from Facility Warsaw, Poland. And then even later, I get: Arrived at Facility Koeln, Germany. Then, it departed Germany the next day and Cleared Import Customs (your package has cleared customs and is on the way). 

A day later, I get this: On the Way, Philadelphia, PA, United States.

And the best was this: Your Package Has Cleared Customs and is on its way from PL ON BEHALF OF WESTERN. BID EUROPE RE-EXPORT.

And then, a day later: We have your Package, Warsaw, Poland.

WTF?

Two days later: Your Package has arrived. Kyiv, Ukraine.

Is this sloppy work or what? So, I get in touch with the seller since Tonya be off the wall over this, and I get this:

My apologies. Russia bombed Kyiv. Thankfully, they weren't too accurate and missed postal service building. It's still standing. The item on its way; not to worry; it should arrive on Friday. We got your package to Poland as soon as it was all clear, and rushed it on plane. Re-export so tariffs won't effect you. 

So, the long and short of this fiasco be that the package was stuck in the Kyiv post office, waiting for the Russian bombing to let up. Since the bombs missed the post office, it was routed to Warsaw, Poland, where it was put on a plane ASAP and rushed through customs as much as they could with Trump's tariffs in place. If US Delivery doesn't lose any more drivers, it should arrive on Friday or Saturday. Hopefully, it will come in one piece, not as shrapnel or with a hole in the middle. Oi!

UPDATE: Hold on, the package went to North Haven, CT, then to Chelmsford, MA. Then it went to Manchester, NH. Was it coming here when I sent it to New Jersey? Hold on, it turned around and returned to Philadelphia, Pa. And now it's out for delivery in New Jersey. But I have this message: "Scheduled Delivery Today by 3:00 P.M. " Then it says, "We've experienced a delay while delivering your package. Your driver is still on the way to make delivery today." Then, under that, it says: Not going to be home? Check your delivery options. Click here. 

HUM! Does that last mean that it won't be delivered because nobody is home? And I know the Dragon is home, she told me she'd be home all day. BUT I've had it where something was to be delivered, and it doesn't because there is NO ONE AT HOME, but someone is. The driver is too lazy to make that last stop, which is usually my house. So here we are waiting for the shrapnel to arrive or not. Tonya says the travel tracking was meant to throw off the Russians if they wanted to finish the job. Um hum.

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 me 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 me 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 me 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, decided to order coffee and lunch, and then went 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 were 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, it is Missy in front of her name. I was polite and 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

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 keeps getting worse. 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 from one such sign carrier, who said she was standing on the lip of a concrete curb where vehicles make U-turns. She was tempted to put her toe on 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, bored mindlessly, wondering what it would feel like to be run over. Sigh.

However, one cowboy in our town has taken this a step further. Yes, this guy decided that if we were going to 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

Copyright © 2024 All rights reserved

I Literally Jumped Out Of Me 4th Of July Chair

05 July 2024

Story #1121

R. Linda:

I was alone in the living room, the telly on and Ken Burn's Civil War playing. I watched for a bit, but the 4th of July food I had had made me sleepy, so I switched it off to get some kip. I nestled (yes, nestled) in the big comfy armchair, quietly letting a lovely 4th of July dinner digest, eyes heavy with wanting to doze. It was only the dog and me; everyone else went upstairs to play Fortnite. As I drifted into sleep, an explosion of cannon fire suddenly set me right out of me chair to a standing position, blinking in the dim light of the room, looking to duck for cover. The dog's claws scraped on the wood floor as he zoomed out of the room and up the stairs to safety. I glanced at the dark telly to ensure I had shut it off.

I turned around to the window behind the chair and jumped. I saw sparks and flashing lights and heard metal fragments hitting the tree leaves as they whizzed to the ground. In my digestive daze, me first impression was that the generator had blown up. It was then that I realised it was fireworks. The idiots next door had an arsenal and picked me dozy time to set them off. 

Yup, the view from the window behind the chair. I thought all hell had broken loose

Why not just come over and set them off under me chair for a better reaction?

To be sure my generator hadn't blown up, I ran out and saw it wasn't, but the people next door were setting off a massive amount of fireworks. They usually do this yearly, but I could hear no party sounds this year and assumed there would be no free fireworks show. But, alas, I was wrong. Usually, they post a notice that they are about to set off explosives. If you have farm animals, beware: it will be a chaotic, noisy, loud night in the barn. 

I could hear the pellets hitting the leaves on the trees and thought the explosives were closer to my property than usual. Well, it all died down; it did. Thinking it was over, I went inside to settle down once again, and it was a good ten minutes before I started to nod off when it happened again. I tell ya!

Not once, but a continuous booming out me window

Yup, it nearly blew me out of the chair. I gave up all hope of sleepy land and went upstairs to find the dog cowering under the bed, but the cat, now that creature, knows no fear. It was sitting in the window, with a backdrop of bursting fireworks, looking, for all intents and purposes, like it was a regular occurrence. It washed its paws like no big deal and stole a look at me to see if I was taking this no fear in. I was. I tried to coax the dog from underneath the bed, but he wasn't having it and didn't seem to care if he looked like a coward to the cat. I decided that once the war outside was over, I'd go to bed. Only as soon as the fireworks concluded, the guns came out. Yes, they have AK47s or whatever those things are called. I could hear them firing rat-a-tat-tat in a continuous stream, and once THAT stopped, they whooped and yelled and did it again. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? 

I'll tell ya who they are; they are the Southerners from across the border in Massachusetts; that's who they are! They are a wild and crazy bunch of homesteaders with funny accents. If you think mine is nuts, you should hear them. They spout things like "Mah wife is wicked smaaht," and "Ask ya muthah, and pass the chowdah," "Give me moah fah puttn' up wit ya." and crazy talk like that. Some years ago, the Democrats in Massachusetts noticed the Republican population in New Hampshire was rather significant, so they decided to move up to balance out the scales. Lucky me has them next door.

I've had dreams all night of being in the line of fire somewhere in Virginia. I was in the blue uniform of the Federal Government, being fired on by a line of grey-clad whooping rebels from Old Dominion or maybe the invasive Army of Neighbours from Massachusetts! The pellets from the shells whizzed like pounding rain around yours truly. The woods lit up like cannon fire was aimed at me sorry self. It was strange that I'd find meself dressed as an American Civil War soldier when I had no actual knowledge of U.S. history. But all night long, I was trying to find me way through thick, soggy woods to the Appomattox River, and General Sheridan was after me with his sword unsheathed, telling me to get back in line. Right-ho General! And then I woke up just as his black horse reared at me, his sword raised, his black eyes ablaze, the explosions mirrored in them, his sword pressing into my chest, when suddenly I was back in the here and now. All was quiet on the home front.

Me heart was pounding. All was silent around me. I think it was a combination of what I ate, the fireworks scaring the bejesus out of the dog and me, and seeing a smidgen of Ken Burns's Civil War on PBS. But then I saw why my chest seemed heavy: the fearless cat was curled up in a ball on top of me, its eyes glowing with mirth as it raised its head and stared at me as if to say, "Get over yourself, I've got ya, ya big baby."

Gabe

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