Mam's Big Mis-Adventure

23 August 2026

2007

R. Linda:

I should move into the medical centre since I'm spending time there. Not for meself, but everyone else. Yesterday, it was Robbie; today, it was me Mam. 

A little background: Robbie brought his dirty laundry with him. Why? Because he is a thoughtless individual who takes a lot for granted. His excuse was that he wasn't expecting to be going anywhere, so his laundry at home was piling up, and when the Weasil told him he was coming to my abode, he had no clean clothes. SO, he just piled what he needed in his suitcase and would wash it when he got to me house. 

I knew nothing about this, but he did have the manners to ask me Mam if he could do a couple of loads. She told him, as long as it wasn't her doing his wash, it was fine by her. AND, that he needed to get it done and out of there because she had wash to do. Sounds good, but well, Robbie is not exactly a listener. He didn't hear her say, "Get in and get out." No, he left his newly washed first load in the washer overnight. It smelt really awful the next morning, and of course, with his eye, he forgot about it entirely. Me Mam didn't. She rewashed it and, when she saw him, told him to put it in the dryer and finish it. 

Well, he did, but this time he left the second load in the dryer and took the first one out without folding it, dumping it on the folding table. Mam asked him to please get his clothes out of the dryer so she could use it. So he did—and piled those on the counter by the soak sink, unfolded.

Now, me Mam has lost peripheral vision in both eyes to a degree, and everyone knows this, including Robbie, who had a conversation with her about the myopic Dragon when he came back from the eye doctors. So to leave clothes all over the laundry room was a bad idea. However, when Mam went to fold her clothes, she could only put them in her laundry basket since there was no space for them. As she was finishing up, she bent down to place something in the basket and cracked her forehead on the granite countertop. 

She said she heard the crack, and then saw the blood, so she ran to the kitchen for ice and wrapped that in a paper towel real quick, sat down and held it to her forehead. Meanwhile, the cause of this was standing at the kitchen counter filling his face and gulping down milk. 

"Somethin' 'appen?" he asked her.

She told him, and he laughed and said, "Oh well, if ye need an IbProben let me know." 

"Can't take that, have high blood pressure." Says she.

"Well, ok." And off he went. 

No, can I help you? No, do you need to go to Casualty? No, what can I do for you? No. Nothing. There she was sitting there bleeding, and he's filling his face.

So, she gets her phone and takes this photo:

Mam vs. granite. Granite won

And she sent it to me and says: "I hit me head. Hard. I heard it crack but I be okay."

It didn't look it to me! Just as I was about to go find her, she sent me this one:

And that photo was accompanied by: "I think it's looking better. I put some ice on it."

Right!

I went downstairs to find her sitting on the couch, icing the wound. It looked pretty awful, but she told me she was feeling fine. I insisted we go to the Casualty and have her checked. No sign of Robbie, by the way. You'd think he'd tell me she cracked her head open, but no, he had a sannie and was off to do whatever he and Weasil were up to.

I got her to the casualty, and no other patients were there. This was great. I had to check her in, and I put cracked skull thinking that would have her seen in no time. I was wrong. No sooner had I done that than some guy came in with his EpiPen and said he'd been bitten by a wasp. Instantly, he was ushered into the doctor's. 

I said to her, "A wasp bite is more serious than a fractured skull? Since when?" Thankfully, we didn't have to wait long. We were called into reception. I was thinking, first you have to sign in on a computer screen, then you have to answer questions in reception, then a nurse takes your vitals, and then, if you're lucky, the doctor comes in. What happens if you are bleeding out? Do you still have to go through all that?

The receptionist (or Mr Sunshine, as Mam called him) was a happy, happy sort. You could be sitting there bleeding out, and he was fine with that. "Oh, a little blood, we can clean that up, don't you worry none." THAT kind of person. I don't know what he was on, but he asked her about her insurance, then he asked her to confirm her birthdate, then he asked her if she worked, and she told him she was retired. Then he started asking her if her injury was work-related. "Well, no, she just told you she's retired," I said. Finally, he asked her date of birth AGAIN to verify she was who she said she was. She just sat there looking at him like he was a lunatic. Finally, she gave it to him again, and he was all set. If she had to spend any more time with him, I think he would have been seeing the doctor too!

We went into the patient room. Her blood pressure was taken, and while this automatic BP machine was doing its work, the nurse said she had to step out to get the wasp guy in an ambulance for transfer to a hospital. As it turned out, apparently a wasp bite was more serious than a fractured skull. Who knew? Meanwhile, the machine did its thing, and then the alarm went off; her blood pressure was 165/95.

I said to her, "You feel okay?" She nodded. Then the machine's oxygen level reading went off; she was not breathing. I looked at her; she started laughing. "Tell me, dis is a bad dream. I don't take as many breaths as other people, so dis happens." Says she. 

"Just breathe more," I said.

And she did. 

The alarm stopped. My God, we went from head wound to high blood pressure to now apparently dead. 

The nurse came in, shut off the machine and said, "You have high blood pressure."

No kidding! I was like So what are you going to do about it? Well, she did nothing. Instead, she started asking Mam what medications she is on. And that was that. 

"I be sure everyone cooms in 'ere wit an injury has high blood pressure," Mam said, after the woman left to get doctor.

If we thought it was going to get better, we were sadly mistaken. The doctor came in and was one of the most tentative human beings I've ever seen. I wondered if, first, he was afraid of Mam. He stood next to the door as if he might need to make a quick getaway. He asked Mam what happened; she told him. He went over, washed his hands, put his surgical gloves on and told her he had to press gently on her wound to see if it hurt. She just looked at him, biting her tongue. I know what she was thinking: It's a bloody hole in me forehead. What do YOU think? He did his exam, told her he didn't think she needed a scan. That she should go home, ice the bumps, and put Neosporin on the wound, etc. BUT he noticed she hadn't had a tetanus shot since 2017. She was due. He went into a whole spiel on tetanus shots, and how important it was she have one. He spent more time on THAT than on her head. 

He sent in another nurse to give the shot, and she was full of the old Harry, as they say. She was not a serious person. She gave Mam the shot, but when it was time to put the band-aid on, she didn't remember where she gave the shot, so she just slapped the band-aid on Mam's arm, and that was that. Then she had some paperwork to give us on what to do, what not to do, what to look out for, etc., and before she left, she slapped another band-aid on Mam's forehead.

We were both gobsmacked.

So we left for Starbucks because we both needed something. As I pulled up, the order-taker sounded like Tinkerbell from Boston, all those years ago. I wasn't sure I heard that voice right, but I hoped I was mistaken. All I'd need was Argiebelle in me life in New Hampshire and the day would be complete. Of course. Why wouldn't Argiebelle be working the Starbucks drive-through? This is apparently me life now. We gave the squeaky-voiced woman our order, and I slowly drove up. I was telling Mam me fears when I saw the person was not Argiebelle. Thank the Fates for small favours. I tell ya! That would be all I needed to end me day. 

While I be paying for our coffees, Mam was busy looking in the mirror. When I looked at her, she had put a smiley face on the band-aid.

Yup!

"Who are you?" I asked her. She just laughed.

Apparently, cracking her head had turned her into Weasil.

The coffee cups, yes, the cups. They, too, added to a crazy day. Hers:

"Yum" indeed

And here is mine, with God knows what that says. It's supposed to say 'Enjoy', I assume. 

Mam said it says, "'Enj oz' like in 'annoys" 

I do believe it does. And frankly, after the day I'd had, "annoys" was far more appropriate than "enjoy."

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

"Numb Drops For Dumb Drops"

22 August 2026

2006

R. Linda (HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUSIE):

I basically locked meself in me office to get away from the craziness that was infesting me abode. Yes, me wife pounded pathetically on me office door for me to come out, or she was going to get a ladder and have her mother climb through me window to chase me out. Yup, that's what she threatened.

I reluctantly opened me door and let her in, BUT I locked it behind her so no one else could enter.

"YOU invited your two cohorts to stay, and YOU disappear, leaving ME to entertain THEM."

"Tonya, I'd be so sorry, but if I am with them, I will become a raging alcoholic or worse, a murderer. I just can't do it."

"Stop it!" She then sighed and sat down. 

I knew she wasn't venturing back out there if she could help it. So that left the two miscreants with me, little grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam, and HER mother, the Dragon, and luckily the three kiddos were all at summer camp, so they couldn't be corrupted by the two insane houseguests. 

"You do know that within an hour your mother will be in the kitchen poisoning their food and my mother will be behind the curtains hiding."

"Now that's a thought and a picture," I said. "Okay, okay, I will go out there, try to find something for them to do."

"Here's a thought, why don't you three take a nice scenic drive to the Cape and spend a few nights there?"

Ah, I could see what she was doing; she was getting rid of the male population of the house so she and the two ladies (and I use that term sparingly on the Dragon) could have peace and quiet in the abode by themselves.

'Uh . . . no. You are not making me drive several hours in a car with those two. I'd be a crazy person by the end of the driveway, so no."

"You need to think of something to do with them." She cried, exasperated. 

"Well, I could make that eye doctor appointment for Robbie. Get them both out of the house for a little bit. What harm can they do in a doctor's office, eh?"

"Yes, Gabe, you do that." And with that, she got up, unlocked me door, held it open for me, and escorted me to the kitchen, where Robbie, at least, was eating everything we had. 

A little background here: After the 'haunted house' craziness of the night before, and after Sam and Ms. Jaio left (which was before she found out what hand Sam had in scaring the hell out of her - oh what I wouldn't have given to be a fly in the car on that drive home), and Dragon took her chuckling and self-satisfied self to bed, the two crazies were in the kitchen having thirds and fourths on dessert and regaling me poor little grey-haired Mam with what went on in the house. This rancorous retelling had finally got to the Weasil because Robbie made a fool out of him, and the Weasil was not taking kindly to it. Suddenly, without warning (but I saw it coming just by the slits for eyes the Weasil was sporting and the deep frown on his mouth as he looked at his oblivious tattling friend), I knew that no good was coming Robbie's way. Just as Weasil was about to poke Robbie in the shoulder, Robbie shifted position and got a finger (with some force) in the eye. That had to hurt; I saw it and wow!

Well, Mam got a cold cloth, Weasil was saying sorry (and I knew he didn't mean it), Robbie was wailing and holding the eye like it was falling out of the socket. A sleepy Tonya just stood there looking like a Cheshire Cat with a smirk on her face, but then realising her appearance she bolted into, "Oh, that must have smarted, here let me help." 

But she didn't. She ran over to the sink to watch me Mam wring a cold cloth out, then watched as Mam gently took Robbie's hand from his very swollen, red eye and placed the cold compress over it, cooing Mam comforting words.

"Well, that's taken care of, I'm off to bed," I announced to the women's horror.

"Me too!" Weasil said we both walked out and went our separate ways.

So this morning when I walked down to breakfast, the first thing I saw was this gigantic bulging white bandage over Robbie's eye. I wanted to turn around and get in my car and drive away to Dunkin', but I had been seen by me apple-cheeked, grey-haired Mam, so I had to go in there. Weasil was slumped over a gigantic coffee cup and looking sheepish. 

I went to pour meself a cuppa joe, but the pot was empty. I held it up and turned to look at the giant cup Weasil had. He must have poured the whole pot into that cup, since none of us will let him drink directly from the coffee pot!

Not hiding me displeasure, I slammed around making another pot and standing in front of it to make sure the coffee glutton didn't get up for a refill. 

"So Robbie, how's the eye?" I asked while I waited.

"Dinnae fash yersel'." Said he, which means not to worry, but in this case, just looking at the size of that bandage, well . . . 

Without losing a beat, the Weasil says to me, "Whit's the craic?" 

"I be askin' after Robbie's eye is all," I said. "Robbie, do ye need to see a doctor?" 

"Aye, would be a good idea." He said as Weasil scowled at the news.

"I'll luck one oop fer the laddie," me Mam volunteered, sliding the biggest omelette I'd ever seen from fry pan to Robbie's plate. Weasil looked put out that she was going to all this trouble for Robbie and not him.

So later, armed with this memory, I found the two still in the kitchen, me Mam cooking away God knew what Scottish delicacy she could think of to make Robbie feel better (who was milking this for all he was worth), meanwhile, making Weasil feel as guilty as Weasil could ever feel about that emotion, which wasn't very guilty, just a tad. 

"Did ye find a doctor, or no?" I asked.

"Oh, aye, we did. Got an appointment at 2." Robbie said.

I glanced at me watch. 

"Well, it's 1:15, so ye better get finished here and get a move on if you're going to make it." I said, as I watched me Mam turn to me and mouth, 'bless you."

Somehow, I got roped into driving them both to Manchester to see an optometrist. Well, not somehow, Tonya made sure I was driving them because, "We don't want them to get lost." Oh, yes, we do. 

Once we had checked in, we were instantly taken to a room. I say 'we' because Robbie insisted we two support him. It seems Robbie laid it on thick; it was an emergency and needed to be seen straight away. The technician came in, gently removed the huge bandage, and pointed a penlight in his eye, which made him baulk. She then explained she was putting drops in his eyes to numb the pain so she could proceed with the preliminary exam before "doctor comes in."

Well, she got her prelim in and left us to wait for doctor. That had to be the most pain-filled 20 minutes I've spent in a long time. Robbie got out of his chair and walked over to the eyedrops. 

"Hum, numbing drops," he said, "ye wanna 'ave a laugh?"

"Sure," Weasil said.

"Sit in the chair, let's numb those eyeballs." And Weasil did, and Robbie squeezed the drops in as I sat there speechless, too scared to stop him.

"Oh! Hold on, Weaz. Look at dessie, the ones that make yer eye whites turn yellow, and then yer eyes glow in the dark!"

"Give way wit 'em," Weasil said, putting his head back as dumbarse squeezed some drops in.

"You both have to stop this!" I said, getting up. I took the drops away from Robbie, capped them and put them back.

"I suppose dess means ye dunt want any yersel?" Robbie said.

I started a tirade on what they were both thinking and such that he finally put a hand in front of me face and said, "Haud yer wheesht! Keep the heid aboot ye."

I muttered under me breath, "Numb drops for dumb drops."

The doctor entered just seconds later. If he had been a second earlier, he would have caught the two messing with his eyedrops.

Robbie's prognosis was good. He had sustained quite the poke, but the eye would be fine in a day or so and didn't need any drops (which was music to me ears; I had visions of both of them squeezing off rounds in me dog's eyes and such). As the doctor went to turn the light back on, he had turned it off for his exam, he stopped and looked at Weasil, his hand on the light switch. I looked at Weasil, then Robbie turned in his chair and looked at Weasil. The laddie's eyes were bright yellow and glowing in the dark. 

"What on earth—"

Weasil blinked at him.

"Wot?"

"Your eyes."

"Wot bout me eyes?"

The doctor stepped closer.

Robbie suddenly became very interested in the floor tile.

I became very interested in Robbie becoming very interested in the floor tile as well.

"Have you been having any problems with YOUR vision?" the doctor asked.

"Uh . . . no."

"Any pain?"

"Uh . . . no."

"Blurred vision?"

"Nooo, why?"

The doctor leaned closer, and Weasil leaned back and as far away as the chair allowed. 

"Your sclera are extremely yellow."

"Me WOT?"

"The whites of your eyes. You're not a liver patient, are you?"

Weasil's hands flew to his face. "WOT'S WRONG WIT ME EYES, DOC?"

"I don't know yet."

That was it. The Weasil went white. "IMA GOIN' BLIND!"

"Naw, naw," Robbie said soothingly. "Dinnae fash yoursel'."

I looked at Robbie hard, and he looked back at me. The corner of his mouth twitched.

The doctor reached for his penlight, and Weasil shot backwards in the chair.

"WAIT! Is this from pokin' 'em in the eye? Can ye catch sumthin' frum pokin' sumbody in the eye?"

"No."

"Could me eyeballs fall out?"

The doctor stared at him. I stared at him. Robbie turned his back because his shoulders had started shaking. Then the doctor looked toward the counter. At the bottles. Then at Weasil. At Robbie. And, finally, ME!

"Did someone put fluorescein in his eyes?"

Silence, absolute, beautiful silence. 

Then Robbie, the treacherous bastard, pointed at Weasil and said, "He volunteered."

"I DINT KNOW IT TURNED YER FECKIN' EYES THAT YELLOW!"

The doctor flipped the light switch and closed his eyes for a moment. I knew that look. I'd been wearing it since these two arrived. 

Ten minutes later, we were escorted out of the office with Robbie under strict instructions to leave his injured eye alone. Weasil, under equally strict instructions not to put anything else in his eyes, and both of them under what I strongly suspect was an unspoken instruction never to return.

On the drive home, Weasil spent fifteen solid minutes checking his eyes in the vision mirror.

"Are they still yellow?"

"Yup," I said.

Five minutes later—

"Still?"

"Yup."

Another five—

"Now?"

I glanced in the rear-view mirror.

Robbie was sitting beside him with his good eye closed, trying desperately not to laugh.

"Oh, aye," I said. "Brighter, actually."

"BRIGHTER?"

I smiled and turned me eyes back to the road. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

Sam's Revenge On Weasil

21 August 2026

2005

R. Linda:

SO! After enduring accusations, an international phone argument, a Scottish investigation, the Dragon, Weasil, Sam, and Wolfie's grand entrance—all because me Mam moved a plate of sausages—I have survived all that and an entire crime over something that was never stolen in the first place. What is me life like? 

With the sausage mystery solved, everyone stayed to eat them, which was me worst possible outcome because instead of people leaving, me Mam started cooking again. AND, I hadn't forgotten that Weasil and Sam really hadn't got to know each other. Sam was busy being attentive to Ms. Jaio, which was a good thing, but Weasil was slit-eyed, watching his every move. 

I was thinking Wolfie interrupted the sausages; could I get him to interrupt the Weasil somehow? 

I could see that once full of sausages, the Weasil remembered. I could almost hear his mind saying, "Wait a minute. Dissy 'ere is the fellow Fioner says is Gabe's new bestest bud." 

Yup, and here I thought the crisis was finally over, only to discover the real crisis hadn't even started yet. Why do I feel escalating disaster coming me way? Because it did!

Sam was just sitting there, throwing a smile Ms. Jaio's way every so often. Or was that a smile to himself? That's when I looked at Sam; he looked at me. Then he smiled. That was when I knew we were all doomed. I realised me problem was not Weaz, but Sam!

Ugh, where was this fiasco going to go? I ask you. Weasil had brought some high-priced bottle of Scottish rotgut that he and Robbie expounded upon. They cracked it open for all of us to have a glass with the sausages. Wolfie declined; I should have known then it was strong stuff. Tonya and Ms. Jaio both choked on it, but Sam and I were good at covering how much we were struggling with it. Somehow Weasil knew this and went on bragging about how well he handles it. Sam became strangely interested in this. The more questions Sam asked, the more boastful Weasil got. 

I started to realise Sam was plotting something, and I needed to stop him without alerting the women in particular, because whatever Sam was thinking of doing, the women would blame me.

So there we were, me watching Sam, Sam watching Weasil, Weasil obliviously running his mouth, Robbie encouraging him, Ms. Jaio suspicious, the Dragon entertained, me Mam believing for perhaps the first time all evening that everything had finally settled down, and then there was Tonya, buying none of it. 

It was about that time that Sam said the most terrifying words I could possibly hear: "Here, Weasil, I've an idea."

Knowing Weasil, whatever challenge Sam had come up with, Weasil would simply not be able to refuse, because we are talking Weasil here, a slightly inebriated Weasil. Sam had talked with the lad long enough to know what button to push; I was certain of it. 

Sam convinced Weasil that there is an old Irish/Scottish test of nerve called 'turgnamh misnigh' that Weasil AND Robbie never heard of. It means a trial of courage. Like walking into a haunted room and staying put for five minutes. Robbie immediately scoffed at that and said it was rubbish. That alone made Weasil more determined to prove he could do that. Sam insisted that every Irish lad knows about it, but I knew perfectly well Sam just invented the whole thing. And Weasil? Well, anything an Irish lad can do, a Scottish lad can do better!

And there I am thinking, Ah Jaysus. I see this setup developing too late to prevent it. The whole idea Sam had must have fallen in his lap when Robbie mentioned the old dilapidated house a few roads away. While we were eating the sausages and other goodies Mam had put out, Robbie mentioned that sinister old farmhouse and how spooky it looked as they passed by. 

“What's that old wreck down the road?”

Before I can answer, Sam does.

“Oh, that place.”

I looked at him. That place? Sam knows something I was thinking. Then Sam very casually tells them there's a room upstairs nobody will stay in after dark.

The Weasil immediately scoffs.

Robbie: “Why?”

Sam shrugged.

“Door closes.”

The Weasil laughs. "Doors close, Sam. Dat's generally wot dey're fer."

Sam didn't react.

“Not like this one.”

Tonya wanted to know what he meant. But before he could open his mouth, me mam told Sam to stop filling people's heads with nonsense. But the Dragon is interested because she recognises entertainment when she sees it. 

I am still watching Sam, and I realise he is enjoying this far too much.

Eventually the story comes out: supposedly you walk into this particular bedroom and stand near the window. Everything is fine. Then, very slowly behind you…creeeeeak. The door closes.

Open it again.

And creeeeeeak.

Closes again.

Naturally, the Weasil announces that the entire thing is bollocks.

And Sam says:

“Probably.”

Sam was letting the Weasil challenge himself.

The Weasil asked whether Sam had actually seen it happen.

“Yep.”

“Then show me.”

“No.”

Now I know. And how did I know? Because Sam wanted Weasil to say that. 

"And why notty?" Weasil asked, exasperated. 

"It's dark. The place isn't safe. We'd be trespassing."

Every objection only made Weasil more determined to go there. Then Robbie made the fatal mistake: "I'd like to see it."

Now they were all going, except the two smart ladies: me Mam, and me wife.  

Sam had embellished the house's history to the point where I almost believed him, but I knew better. He talked about voices in an attic room where doors close, and that if someone stayed in the room for five minutes, it would prove their courage. 

I sat there like a man who had accidentally wandered into a room full of people carrying lit matches. Me worst fear was Wolfie. He left shortly after. He came to ask if the help he gave me in NI was satisfactory and to drop off a bottle of Irish whiskey I couldn't find while I was there. Seems he's on his way to see Capt. Jaack and me being along the route, it was convenient to drop off the bottle. After he left, I really felt catastrophe creeping up on me.

I remembered glancing at Wolfie earlier, who was looking at me, and I knew he knew before I did that Sam was setting Weasil up. He knew what turgnamh misnigh meant and nodded at me. I leaned toward him (I was sitting next to him), and he said quietly so only I heard, "Let it play out." I knew then he was aware that Sam had a plan and Weasil would walk into it, and that I should let it go. "Just desserts and all that," and then, raising his voice, he said he had to be on the road and couldn't stay for tea. 

I walked back towards the kitchen after seeing Wolfie out. I stopped to regain me courage. I noticed this first: Sam wasn't engaging Weasil as much as Weasil was trying to engage Sam. Sam was being good, and Ms Jaio was maybe the reason. Was he trying to impress her? No insults were hurled Weasil's way; Sam hadn't even growled at some of the stupid things Weasil was saying. And Weasil was critiquing our Bigfoot adventure (See Story 1196, The Bigfoot Stakeout, 31 July 2026), and it wasn't flattering. Yet, Scotland was brought up several times by Robbie, who was oblivious to Weasil's poking at Sam. Yet, Sam was polite to Robbie, never made a disparaging remark about Scotland, sausages, or anything else for that matter. 

When I stepped back in the kitchen, I heard Sam deliver the hook to Weasil, "Sure, if you're frightened, Weasil, just say so." I knew instantly, DONE, HE'S GOT HIM. And suddenly, they were up and getting ready to go to the old farmhouse. I looked over at Dragon, who had an innocent look on her face, which gave me pause, a lot of pause. Dragon hasn't had an innocent look on her face since 1987, and she wasn't innocent then either. What was up with the Dragon lady, I wondered.

I didn't have time to wonder, as Tonya said she was staying with Mam to clean up and get dessert ready for when we returned from our "great adventure." 

"You going too?" Her daughter asked her mother.

"Oh, wouldn't miss this for the world." Said she. "Gabe's coming too." 

"Like hell I am."

"You scared too?" Sam asked, like he was surprised. 

And suddenly, ME—who saw the entire disaster coming—began trudging off behind Sam and the Weasil, while me Mam calls after us, "Don't be long, boys. Dessert's nearly ready."

Dessert. The woman was worried about dessert. 

However, it was Sam, Ms. Jaio, Robbie, Weasil, Dragon and me all participating in the "great adventure." I just knew Sam was leading Weasil and me toward certain death; Robbie was following because apparently Scotland has no sense of self-preservation; Ms. Jaio was only going because Sam was; and Dragon, for some reason, had her phone out. All I could think was that Dragon knew this was going to be good and intended to have photographic evidence.

This be where we went

"Here we are," Sam said as we came up the old driveway. "There is an old room upstairs where the door I told you about shuts by itself. That's when the voice comes through."

We all went inside. We had torches so we could see our way. Up two flights of rickety stairs we went single-file, Sam leading the way, Weasil behind him. There was a noise, and we all stopped dead in our tracks. 

"What woz dot?" Me Chinese ex-intern said aloud. No one had any idea, but Sam said the old dumb waiter probably dropped with the vibration on the stairs. This sort of settled everyone's nerves, so we continued up the stairs, stepping lightly like we didn't want to wake the dead or the dumb waiter. Then I noticed Dragon at the bottom of the stairs. I motioned for her to come up, but she shook her head, no. I shrugged and continued to bring up the rear. 

So six of us walked into the room. Within 3 seconds, the door creaked shut. 

"Oh, thots yer mutha-in-law," Robbie says and goes to the door. No one there. He walked out, and there was Dragon at the bottom of the stairs. He walked back in, and it wasn't 1 second before he was back in the room; the door creaked shut again. 

Weasil's face was set in determination to prove there is nothing frightening about the house.

Then . . . from somewhere inside the wall beside him, very faintly: "Weasil . . . "

We all heard it. This frightened the bejayus out of all of us. Ms. Jaio grabbed onto Sam. Sam stood there, looking perfectly innocent. Then the house said it again. 

"Weeeeasil . . . "

The Weasil was out of that room like a greyhound.

Robbie, the fool, was doubled over laughing at his best friend running down the stairs like Seabiscuit running the Kentucky Derby. Ms. Jaio was yelling she was scared and wanted out NOW! I tried to get down the stairs without looking like I was running. And Dragon was recording everything. And Sam? Sam hadn't moved. When he was ready, he slowly made his way down the stairs with a shaking Ms. Jaio. 

Well, it wasn't until today that I got the low-down from Sam on what actually happened in that house. Sam knew that the door to the attic room swings shut if somebody walks across a certain section of the room. He also knew the stairs vibrate enough that the dumb waiter shifts in the walls and makes a noise. He also knew an old speaking tube carried sound strangely through the house. Sam knew exactly where the other end of the tube was, at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway. 

It seems Sam and Dragon were talking together when the sausage fiasco was taking place. Somehow, he enlisted her to be a "delicious" part of the conspiracy (she told me). If I had known any of this, the mere thought of that combination alone would have terrified me.

Oh, one note: once Ms Jaio found out what Sam arranged, well, we are back to square one. She's outta there, and he's single . . . again.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

Letter to Fiona: Re: Sausages Mostly

20 August 2026

2004

R. Linda

AND

Fiona:

It all started innocently enough, or I thought it did. Me Mam was busy in the kitchen making sausages, special sausages because her favourite person in the whole wide world let us know (for the first time, we got a heads-up) he was coming to visit AND he wouldn't be alone, he'd have his Scottish sidekick Robbie with him. Yes, you guessed it, Fiona, after all the hints you gave him, the Weasil took the bait and arrived last night.

That's not all that arrived last night; the Dragon lady flew on her broomstick from the shores of New Jersey to alight upon our doorstep as well. And why? Because me darlin' wife shared her angst that The Weasil was arriving, and you know the Dragon is a Weasil fan as well. Tonya's reasoning was that her mother would keep Weasil busy and out of our hair. I've heard lame excuses before, so I rolled with this one out of defeat that I could stop any of this.

In between all this, you'll be happy to know that Sam and Ms. Jaio are "starting over." Isn't that sweet? Last night was a community supper, and Sam invited Ms. Jaio. After the supper, they dropped by to say hello. Yes, they did. Now Ms. Jaio has met the Weasil, but Sam has not. After all the fuss you, Fiona, made over Sam being me best new friend, Weasil couldn't let that happen, as he considers him my best friend. So you may imagine the angst that caused yours truly to have them both meet for the first time.

I was expecting one-upmanship from Weasil. But that didn't happen because the sausages me Mam made suddenly disappeared. Nobody admitted to taking them. This happened when we were all in the kitchen, introductions were happening, and me Mam suddenly piped up about missing sausages. That stopped everyone's polite chatter. 

"Sausages? Missin' Missus O?" Robbie whined at the thought.

"Well, yes, I had 'em 'ere on da counter an' wuz goin' ta serve 'em up to yas." She said, looking around for them. 

"OH NO, NOT THE SAUSAGES!" Robbie shouted in a muck sweat, looking under the table, lifting chair cushions. 

"What is wrong with you?" The Dragon asked him.

"Missus, never coom b'tween a man an' his meat an' pastry-based snacks!" 

Sam piped up and said he thought we should investigate, and I thought he had lost his mind. 

"Only another Scotsman would take sausages," Robbie said, looking suspiciously at that fellow Scotsman, who looked innocent as the day he was born, or at least, was trying to. 

"Iz bein' unfairly blamed fer being a sausage-loving Scotsman," Weasil said, holding up a finger like he was giving a political speech. 

Just then, the phone rang, and I picked it up to hear the melodic voice of me sissy Sheila on the other end. Everyone in the kitchen was talking at the same time, and Sheila could hear all this, and she somehow accused ME of being the culprit, and she wasn't even in the same country!

"Ack! This sounds like the "Sausage Roll Row" that's been goin' on! Dare be da debate over semantics gooin' on over 'ere. Everyone be debating da definition of snack food. Dey be callin' sausage rolls, "Savoury plant-based puff pastry cylinders."

"Jayus, Mary an' Joseph dare, Sheila," I said, "Thot has nothin' to do wit wot's bein' 'debated' in me very own kitchen!" 

After more back and forth, and the people in the kitchen getting louder, I hung up on me sissy. Yes, I did. Somehow it was me fault I had started the 'sausage roll debate' back home AND in me house. The phone started ringing again; I hung up, then took the receiver off the hook because I knew who it was, and I was not about to defend meself over something so stupid. 

Everything stopped when Wolfie suddenly arrived. 

"I rang the bell, but no one answered, so I let meself in and called out, but all the loud shouting, not one of you heard me." He said.

And with his handsomeness standing in the doorway, everyone forgot about the sausages. Yup, Wolfie managed to steal the spotlight without doing anything but looking good. When I think about it, I have spent years developing relationships with people only to have the handsome Wolf walk into the room and instantly become everyone's favourite. 

"I did not know you were coomin'" I was so flustered by all this and all of THEM that me Irish was making itself prominent in me speech. 

"Oh sorry," Tonya gasped, "I knew, and I meant to tell you but with all this going on . . . "

Wolfie had no idea what he walked in on. I wasn't going to apprise him of the situation because, frankly, I couldn't get a word in. They all started talking again at once. That is until me Mam took Wolfie by the arm and seated him at the head of the table and said, "Haf ya eatin', luv?" The woman was in Mam mode, and it was obvious who her favourite was.

Of course he hadn't, or said he hadn't, and she immediately forgot other people were standing in her kitchen who apparently could have starved to death without troubling her in the least. "I'll git ye sumthin'," and she started rummaging around to find something to give him. Robbie stood there in the middle of everyone, looking quite a bit put out, if not appalled, that the Wolf apparently was going to get fed when the SAUSAGES ARE STILL MISSING!

Instantly, Weasil started cosying up to Wolfie; the word food was music to Weasil's ears, and he'd think nothing of picking food off Wolfie's dish.

"EXCUSE ME!" Robbie shouted. "We still 'ave a meat-based crime tae solve, yeah?"

"There is no crime," I said.

"There's missin' sausages!"

"That does not constitute a crime," Sam put in, backing me up.

"It does in Scotland."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, "Actually, Gabe, technically if somebody took them—"

"Don't—no," I said, shaking me head.

"I was only saying—"

"Well, don't."

Sam was somehow getting dragged into the missing sausage mystery by interviewing Robbie. The Dragon, seeing the smart way Sam was questioning the Great Scot, started interrogating everyone else. Interrogating being the operative word here. Ms. Jaio was trying her hardest to be polite to the bullet-quick questions Dragon was shooting at her, something about spring rolls resembling sausage rolls. 

The Weasil had positioned himself beside Wolfie now, probably hoping some of Wolfie's handsomeness might rub off on him. It wasn't going to happen. Sam was watching the two of them; Robbie was still suspicious of Sam; the Dragon was watching Robbie; Ms. Jaio was watching everybody; and Tonya was watching me because she knew I was approximately thirty seconds away from ordering every last one of them out of me house.

Tonya, seeing this, had stepped in, thinking that apologising for everything that had happened in the world would make it all go away. It did not. 

And me? I stood there realising this is me abode, and I have abso-bloody-lutely no control over anything happening inside it. 

Meanwhile, in her dramatic apology, Tonya placed the phone back on its cradle, and it instantly started ringing. Before I could shout, NO! Tonya had picked it up, and Sheila was BACK! Just as Tonya was about to hand me the receiver, I said, "DO NOT GIVE HER TO ME."

"Hi, Sheila."

"TONYA!" I couldn't believe this.

Everybody went quiet. Even from where I was standing on the other side of the room, I could hear me sissy squawking through the phone. 

"She wants to know if you've found the sausages."

"Tell her I have left the country."

"You're standin' right 'ere," Weasil said loud enough to carry to the phone. I threw a dirty look at him, and he shouted to Tonya, "Tell 'er he said to lie he's not 'ere."

Tonya listened to Sheila and told me, "Your sister apparently told half of Northern Ireland that YOU are involved in an international sausage controversy."

I stood there with me mouth open in astonishment, and everyone else stopped what they were doing and looked at me suspiciously. Everyone but me Mam, who was busy putting together a plate of food for her favourite person, Mr. Wolf. It was then that she opened the dishwasher to put a utensil inside when she discovered, yes, you guessed it, the missing sausages! 

Seems the woman was afraid that Robbie, the Great Scot and lover of sausages, would get at them before everybody else. 

"Oooh 'dere dey be," says she. "Now I remember."

Every head turned towards her.

"Wot?" Robbie asked.

She looked at Robbie, then she looked at the dishwasher.

Robbie slowly rose from the chair cushion he had been inspecting. 

"Remember wot?" 

Mam reached into the upper tier of the empty dishwasher and pulled out a covered dish. There was silence. She removed the cover. Sausages. Robbie made a sound I have only heard previously from wounded livestock.

"THERE THEY ARE!"

Weasil stared at me Mam. "Why were dey in dere?"

She shrugged, "I hid 'em."

"You HID them?" I said.

"Well, yeah."

"Why?"

She pointed at Robbie.

"Because I knew he'd be coomin'."

The kitchen exploded.

"I KNEW IT!" Robbie shouted.

"Knew what?" I yelled. "You've spent the last half hour accusing every Scotsman in New Hampshire!"

"I wuz protectin' the sausages," me Mam said indignantly.

"FROM ME?" Robbie cried.

"Well, ya ate fourteen sausage rolls las' time ya wuz, 'ere."

"Twelve!"

"Fourteen. I counted."

"That's slander."

"It's not slander if she counted them," Sam offered.

I turned on him.

"Samuel."

He shut up.

Sheila's voice came from the phone. "WOT'S HAPPENIN'? DID DEY FIND 'EM?"

I grabbed the phone.

"YES, SHEILA! THE INTERNATIONAL SAUSAGE CRISIS HAS BEEN RESOLVED."

There was a pause.

Then she said, "So ya took 'em."

I hung up.

Again.

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

MEANWHILE Back At The Office

18 August 2026

2003

R. Linda:

I left Sam, our romantic wounded hero, and moved on to HER, the woman who said, "There was no engagement. There is nothing to discuss." Only said with a Chinese accent. And then, there be me, the man who be told is responsible for this (See Story #2001, Hammocks, Matchmaking, And A Misplaced Diamond, 16th August 2026).

When I saw Ms. Jaio yesterday morning, she looked anything but happy. I've never seen the "glum" side of Ms. Jaio, and I hoped that would end soon. She's all business and doesn't seem like her old self at all. No snide remarks about what Jessica Lee in Fashion is wearing, no criticism of Tony's poor choice of ties or lack of, no nothing. 

So, adventuring in, since I feel like I have nothing to lose, I said to her in passing, "Ms. Jaio, Sam seems kind of—"

"No."

"But I didn't—"

"No."

"I was only going to—"

"I know what you were going to ask."

And THAT was the entire conversation. 

I came to the conclusion that Sam is miserable. Ms. Jaio won't discuss it. Tonya concludes something must be done. No one has told ME how to solve this dilemma, yet they all seem to imply, in manner or words, that I am responsible for fixing it. This is where the trouble begins: I mapped it out in me mind. I need Ms. Jaio's side of the story. Unfortunately, she is not forthcoming. 

I saw her at her desk, looking out the window with her readers on, which told me she wasn't looking out the window; she couldn't see a damn thing. I approached carefully. 

"Ms. Jaio, can I ask you something?"

"No."

"You don't what I'm going to ask."

"Yes, I do."

That stopped me for a minute. But me being me, I decided to carry on anyway. I tried a different route.

"Sam's been kind of quiet. I saw him last night at the town meeting."

"Good."

"He doesn't seem himself."

"I'm sure he'll recover."

"He thinks—"

"Gabe." She looked at me for the first time over her glasses. She meant business.

And that was it. End of conversation. BUT I tried many times today, and she headed me off every single time. She's clever, I tell ya. But you know me, it takes a lot to deter me when I get something in me mind that needs be done. Since me first approach was going nowhere, it was time to invite the two of them somewhere they'd have to meet face-to-face.

I rang up Tonya. I told her the plan I had hatched. 

"Nothing elaborate, I'll be simply inviting both of them somewhere without telling either that the other will be there."

"You didn't do that yet, did you?"

"I thought if they just talked—"

"She specifically said she didn't want to talk about it."

"Right."

"So YOU arranged for them to talk about it."

"Well, when you put it that way, it doesn't sound like such a good idea."

"It's an approaching disaster, Gabe."

"Too late," I said softly.

Yes, I arranged a meeting. I did that. Desperate measures for desperate times, as they say. I bribed my administrative assistant to talk Ms. Jaio into going with her to the little coffee shop down the street after work.

"Tell her you need some advice."

"On what?"

"Anything. Some girl thing."

"Girl thing?"

"Oh, I don't know. Tell her you are dating a Chinese Art Student at Harvard, and would love to know how to go about that so you don't insult him somehow."

"Insult him? Really, Mr. O'Sullivan."

"No, you know what I mean, like, he is from another country, her country, and you want to make a good impression. Something like that."

"You mean lie."

It took some fast talking, but I got her to do it. Then I waited. She came back and whispered, all set. Then she asked me why she was doing this favour for me. I was counting on her not asking me, and when she didn't at first, I thought I was home free. I decided honesty was the best policy and so I told her why. Her reaction? She laughed. She thought the whole thing was a hoot. She also told me I was going about this all wrong and should leave sleeping dogs lie. Well, I can't do that. 

"Just get her to the coffee shop, and I'll take it from there," I said. She said she would, but I owed her. Of course, I do. I never get anything for free. 

"I want Friday off. This coming." She said.

"Done." 

Once this transaction was complete, I rang up Sam and gave him a song and a dance about the cemetery downtown with all the famous colonial names and GHOSTS. I said I was free early today; if he could get off work and meet me at the designated coffee shop, we could grab a bite and head out. He, of course, hasn't lost interest in this ghoulish business and said enthusiastically, "Yes, I can make it."

"Bloody hell," I said to me self-satisfied self. I was pulling this off. 

So, the time arrived; I was there ahead of everyone. Shortly after, Ms. Jaio and me assistant arrived. I acknowledged them like it was no big deal and went about stirring me cup of joe. Then right on time, Sam walked in. The first thing he saw was Ms. Jaio. I braced meself; was he going to walk out? Would she see him before he did? 

And? Nothing happened! Ms. Jaio said hello, Sam said hello. They behaved like two perfectly civilised adults. Me assistant slipped over to me table and asked me, "How's it going?" 

I couldn't hear what the two setups discussed; it looked like something utterly mundane. Maybe the weather, food, something that needs fixing? I was completely baffled. I was expecting Gone With The Wind. Instead, I get two people discussing whether it's going to rain. In hindsight, I think that's exactly what Sam needs—not a reconciliation, not an explanation, just proof life continues. Or, maybe that's what I needed.

My assistant had slipped out with my blessing. Ms. Jaio left after her conversation, but not without a glance at me and a mouthed "thank you," and I cautiously approached Sam. 

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"How do you feel"

"Fine."

"So you're over it?"

Sam looked at me.

"I didn't say that." Then after a pause, "Did she ask about me before she came?"

"No," I said.

Sam suddenly became depressed again. This threw me. Now I felt terrible that I had set him up, but not enough not to lie.

"She might've," I said, as if remembering something.

To this, Sam perked up. 

"You think so?"

For once I knew enough to keep me mouth shut. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved 

The Sam Side Of The Story

17 August 2026

2002

R. Linda:

Sam, Sam, Sammy boyo! The man is determined to make an art out of being depressed, BUT, and this is a big BUT - he's doing it with dignity! I saw him last night; I made up some birdbrained excuse to discuss a ghost in a cemetery I heard about (I didn't really), and I knew that would get his attention. SO, I was expecting to wind the conversation around to Saturday night's fiasco, and was ready to hear about how Sam's heart was broken, but no, that announcement didn't come. Instead, he acted like a man who suffered one of history's great romantic tragedies, while insisting nothing was wrong. 

He told me we should go to the Community Centre (the Congregational Church) because there was a meeting on "The Pit" (you remember the hullabaloo over mineral digging, same subject, new venue), and maybe we should just go. I figured, well, it was his way of getting his mind off Ms. Jaio, so OK.

When we got there, I went for refreshments; he didn't want any. I was mingling with me neighbours, but I did notice the usually talkative Sam was sitting alone. He was sighing for no apparent reason, but I suspected it was over that Chinese ex-intern of mine.

After a while, I bit the bullet and went back to Sam, who by this time was talking to single-guy Jeffrey Longworth. As I walked over, I was surprised to hear that suddenly Sammy had developed opinions about marriage, women, fate, and the unreliability of human communication. 

Jeffrey had been headshaking as if in agreement, but as soon as I joined them, he took me arrival as his chance to get away, and he did! 

I asked Sam what was wrong because he looked down in the mouth.

"Nothing."

Five minutes later, Sam said, "Gabe, you ever notice how a man can be engaged one day and completely unengaged the next without actually doing anything?"

I was gobsmacked but acted serious. In the back of me mind I be thinking, Sam needs cheering up. I wasn't sure how to proceed and made a mistake by mentioning Ms. Jaio.

"I'd rather not talk about her." He said.

"Okay."

There was a pause, and then he asked me, "Did she say anything?"

"You said you didn't want to talk about her."

"I don't," he sighed, "I just asked if she said anything."

UGH! I understood then that Sam was all at the same time, miserable, proud, curious, hopeful, and completely unwilling to admit any of those things. I was saved by the meeting being called to order. 

Tonya had arrived for that meeting, which I knew she was attending, but when she had asked me if I was going, I told her I'd be commiserating with Sam. She raised an eyebrow at me and a head nod at Sam. I smiled brightly like, "Yes, we are here."

During a break in the 'action' (it was a very heated discussion), I had a moment with Tonya.

"Since YOU are responsible for introducing them, why don't YOU fix it? I can see Sam is sad."

"Well . . . yes, I did introduce them." I reluctantly admitted.

"So can't you introduce them again?"

"They already know each other, Tonya."

"Well, it worked the first time."

"Since when do introductions come with a warranty?"

After the meeting, stragglers stayed to finish up the goody spread that the committee had put out. There was Beth MacAfee, a very pretty single woman who had just moved here. I'd seen her a few times, but Sam had never seen her. I heard him ask Jeffrey, "Who's that attractive woman over there?" I stood with me mouth gaping open as Sam made a beeline for Beth. He introduced himself, and gone was the romance is dead attitude; he was very distracted by the town newbie. 

Tonya floated on by me and said under her breath, "Sam in recovery."

For five minutes, Sam was completely himself. I couldn't help but notice after the doldrums I had been subjected to. I said, "You're feeling better."

"About what?" He said, eating a piece of CAKE.

"Ms. Jaio."

Sam immediately became melancholy again. He realised what he was eating and put it down unfinished.

"I told you I don't want to talk about that."

I realised I accidentally reminded him of his heartache. 

I drove him home, and he invited me in. He seemed to really want my company, so I went in. Sam got us both whiskies, but he was quiet, something very out of character for him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You look terrible."

"Thank you."

I knew, with that retort, that something was definitely wrong. And that something was Ms. Jaio. So, I kept probing until Sam gave me enough information that me brain kicked in with an idea, a deadly one, but at the time, it seemed like a good one.

"Some things aren't meant to be, Gabe."

"What things?"

"Things."

"What kind of things?"

"Women things."

I understood that, or thought I did. That's when Sam's dog, Bowser, wanted out. I didn't offer to go with him; I thought to give Sam some alone time to clear his head. So I rang up Tonya. I was curious to know what she thought because I had introduced the two ex-lovebirds, and how she thought I possessed some mysterious authority over the relationship, or lack thereof.

I reported Sam's condition to her and Ms Jaio's refusal to talk when I rang her earlier that day.

"What are you going to do?" Tonya asked me.

"About what?"

"Sam and Ms. Jaio."

"What am I going to do?"

"You introduced them." She pointed out needlessly.

"That's a lovely leap of logic, Tonya. Let me say that introducing two adults does not make one responsible for whatever subsequently happens between them."

"I'm not convinced. You got them into this."

"I introduced them, Tonya. I didn't get them into anything."

"Well, somebody did."

Silence on me end. Then she said, "The best thing you can do is leave Sam alone."

But I didn't hear that; I heard Sam needs cheering up and the idea in the back of me mind was starting to take form. And how better to do that than give him romantic advice? Yes, indeed, that's the thing. But I found out quite quickly that Sam, despite the current evidence, considers himself vastly more knowledgeable about women than ME!

When he came back, I started this low-key (at least to me) conversation on the subject. HE just stared at me! Finally, he said something.

"Gabe, how many women have you been engaged to?"

"One, me wife."

"And it stuck. I don't see how you're qualified to advise me."

"You weren't engaged; that was an accident that happened, sort of."

SILENCE.

I realised I made a major tactical error. Then he said: "I know you were engaged. That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

He didn't answer. I was convinced that despite everything I'd been told, there was one simple solution: Sam and Ms. Jaio needed to talk. I know everyone thinks that's a terrible idea, but I got it into me head to arrange an accidental meeting. Yes, I know, I know, I can hear you saying, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I TOLD YOU NOT TO GET BACK IN THE MATCHMAKING BUSINESS, AND I EMPHASIZED NOT TO GET BACK IN THE MATCHMAKING BUSINESS; IT NEVER ENDS WELL FOR YOU!"

I would simply invite both of them somewhere without telling either that the other will be there. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

Hammocks, Matchmaking, and a Misplaced Diamond

16 August 2026

2001

R. Linda:

As I get to know Sam, I feel bad about me first impression of him. He is nothing like I thought. Well, let me correct that: he's a little bit like what I thought. Anyway, we have quite a bit in common, like telling exaggerated stories, investigating anything bizarre, and appreciating a quiet camaraderie when needed. Yes, Sam be a hammock guy just like this guy!

I found this out when I dropped off a borrowed stud finder at his abode. He told me he'd be around back, so just come there. I did, thinking to find him hard at work mowing his lawn or something like that, but no, no, there he was stretched out in his hammock sipping a coconut water. 

I had to stop in me tracks; I did, What-ho! Sam in a hammock, like moi? Instead of doing yard chores, he found time to laze about like ME? Well, this led to a conversation about hammocks, iced tea vs coconut water, getting out of yardwork, and similar ills we seem to share.

A few days later, he stopped by me abode and found me, just like him, in me hammy, sipping on an Arnold Palmer, letting the grass grow high. 

Next to me hammy is another one that I got for Tonya, who has yet to lie in it. She's too busy in the garden, she says, so I invited me new bestest bud to try it out. I poured him an Arnie, and we both sighed, satisfied with our little worlds, and swung gently in the breeze, both of us lulled into naptime. That's how the wife found us. It must have been her shadow blotting out the sunlight that awakened us. 

She wore her garden gloves and her sunhat. An arm around a flower pot and the other wiping sweat off her forehead. 

"Uh . . . yes?" I said, acknowledging her presence; how could I not?

"I hate to disturb what looks like my kindergarten naptime, but YOU, mister, have got to get this lawn mown today before your mother starts on the snakes in the tall grass thing that gets quite a bit annoying."

Then she looked down at Sam and smiled,

"Hi Sam, how are you?" Said she, like he mattered and I was chopped liver.

He got up, said his pleasantries back, and offered to take the blame for me inactivity, but she knew better. He left after that.

"Well, sorry if I chased your little friend away, but the grass?" She said with one hand on her hip, which is a sign she means business NOW!

"Tsk, okay, I will get to it, but did you have to be scary and run off me new best bud?"

"Oh, pull-ese." She said, leaving me to it. Then she threw over her shoulder, "You know, you were both lucky I didn't start that mower underneath you."

And why didn't she? I wouldn't put it past her. Probably didn't think about that until after. 

So, after I finished the lawn, I did some matchmaking. I know, I know, I promised never to do that again, but in this case, I just couldn't help meself. I got the idea for this from listening to Sam and Ms Jaio tell me how much their love life sucks. She is always complaining about Maureen at work and how she's always setting up Patrick to date her single sister, Rose. I am guilty of not keeping you across on all this, I know, but hashing it out is exhausting. Anyway, Ms. Jaio expressed an interest in getting Maureen to help HER find someone, just not Patrick. 

"Sum ting always goes wrong for me." She had said when it came to dating.

This has got on me last nerve, it has. I seriously started looking around the office for someone to sic on Ms. Jaio to keep her busy and keep me ears from listening to the stories of non-dating woe she spews to me daily.

Before our naptime, as Tonya calls it, Sam told me the dating pool in town was sparse. He has one lady who just loves him, but he can't abide her for more than two minutes at a time. So, here it is: I like Sam; he isn't married, said he's not met the "right one" yet, and he assumes he will die a bachelor. When he said this, Ms. Jaio's image popped into me head and well . . .

I introduced the potential love birds. And they hit it off, I'm pleased to say. SHE said, "He's not verr good luckin' but afta that Patric fiasco I'm glad." 

"He's a nice guy," I said. "Looks don't mean everything."

"I know he is. I jus mean that's a plus."

As for him, he was intrigued because he thinks Ms. Jaio is the most interesting woman he's met, ever. Things have been going well; he does have a small problem: she's in Boston, so it's a drive. They don't go out but on Saturdays because of that, and he sleeps in his hammock most of Sunday to recover. 

As for Ms. Jaio, she's very cheery and talks Sam all the time. It's Sam this, and Sam that, and well, at first I was thrilled, but now it's getting old. Sam has attained superhero status, and I was starting to get nervous about what I did. I actually looked in the mirror and said to meself, "WHAT DID YOU DO? ARE YOU CRAZY? What if those two get married and then you have BOTH of them closer to you than before? You can't get away. I know Sam is okay, but can you really, really take more of Ms Jaio? Because, GABRIEL, she's going to be in your life 24/7. At least during the day, Sam can get away from her, but not you, Mr. O'Sullivan. You will see her outside work and at work. Your smile will be a permanent frozen feature on your face FOREVER!"

However, all that self-recrimination wasn't necessary. And, I'll tell you why.

This last Saturday, Sam made reservations at some Boston bistro that his Ms. Jaio likes. He wanted to surprise her with a card that said, "Happy 4th Anniversary," because it would be 4 whole weeks since they started dating. I thought that was a bit premature, but hey, I'm not Sam.

Well, here's the kicker. Everything went well. At dessert, he handed her the card, and she was touched. Very touched. As she gazed into his eyes with adoration, the cake she ordered arrived, and, letting go of his hand across the table, she picked up her fork and took a bite. Then she took another, then a third. When she was marvelling to him how wonderful the cake was, she stopped mid-chew.

He sat there with his fork in midair, staring at her. He knew something was amiss. He watched as she got her napkin to her mouth and spit something out, her eyebrows furrowed in indignation.

"What's wrong?" He whispered across the table.

She held a hand up in wait as she reached into her napkin, which she had placed in her lap. Then all of a sudden (he said), it was like the sun came out. She looked at him with surprise written all over her face.

"What?" He asked, really curious.

"Oh, you," she giggled, tears in her eyes. Then she held up the diamond sparkler, wiping the cake icing away to show him.

He said he sat there gaping at the sparkling ring, wondering where the hell it came from. Was this a prank she was pulling on him? 

"I . . . I . . . " was all he got out.

"YES! I will marry you!" She blurted out.

OH TOO LATE NOW, SAM.

But Sam did notice one thing out of the corner of his eye. Everyone around him and Ms. Jaio were smiling at the 'newly engaged' couple, except one couple. The man at that table was waving for the waiter, and the lovely woman with him looked very jealous of Ms. Jaio. Sam saw the waiter bend down, listening to the gesturing man as he pointed at Ms. Jaio and the ring. 

Suddenly, the man got up from his table and accompanied the waiter to Sam's table. 

"Excuse me," he said to Sam, "Is that your ring?"

"Well," Sam said, clearing his throat and trying not to look at Ms. Jaio, "No, it is not."

"Wha . . . ?" Ms Jaio said, looking at Sam.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong cake." The waiter said to Sam and Ms. Jaio. "That order was for that table. My apologies to both tables."

The almost not engaged man held his hand out to Ms. Jaio, who dropped the ring in his palm. With that, he turned on his heel and went back to his relieved lovely, who was all anticipating a proposal.

An awkward silence fell between Sam and Ms. Jaio as the waiter offered to bring them another piece of cake each, gratis, for the mistake. But that wasn't necessary; they both had lost their appetites, especially Ms. Jaio, who was mortified and Sam, who was embarrassed. 

I haven't seen or heard from Ms. Jaio, but I will see her at work tomorrow. As for Sam, I did see him, I was asked to come over for a chat. I didn't know at the time what it was about. But when I walked into his backyard, I noticed a second hammock and a pitcher of Arnies. I was touched he'd get me a hammock, but now I'm not so sure about that.

I spent two hours commiserating with him over his forced faux engagement. We went through two pitchers of Arnies mixed with rum that Sam had the forethought to have handy. It seems everything fell apart last night after that. SHE had little to say and wouldn't discuss the tragic event at all. He said he'd call her; she said no; she needed to not hear from anyone. 

He's not sure he wants to call her. Married life came too close for comfort last night, and he's rethinking bachelorhood. 

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved

HUH? Of Crazy Headlines And The Lack Of Gravitational Pull, Or Not

12 August 2026

2000

R. Linda:

I tell ya!

While at work, me fellow British ex-pat Tony came over waving one of those British rags at me.

"You have got to see this."

He slapped it down in front of me. The headline read:

CHEATING DAD WHO KILLED FAMILY AND HIMSELF THEN BURNED DOWN HOME

Tony tapped the paper.

"How do you kill yourself and then burn down the house?"

I took another look at it and shook me head.

"Maybe he was very organised."

Tony snorted.

"Sounds like a story you could get your teeth into."

"It's a good thing me mother-in-law isn't here," I said. "She'd have a field day with that. That is, if she didn't write the bloody thing herself."

I've seen misspellings and botched headlines plenty of times. When one gets into print, the powers that be get rather ticked off, and everybody in the line of fire ducks.

Or tries to.

Tony, however, was now enjoying himself.

"Remember the one about the London Underground? Too much sunshine to blame for Tube delays."

"Sunshine?" I said. "On the Underground?"

"Exactly! Where's it coming from? Is there some enormous window down there nobody's told us about? And more to the point, where's all this sunshine in London? I haven't seen it."

I shrugged.

"And the Pooh one!" he said.

That one I remembered.

SEWER BLOCKED BY LARGE POOH

Underneath was a photograph of a discarded Winnie the Pooh lying across a sewer drain.

We both started laughing.

"Then there was The surprising reason people use umbrellas," Tony said.

"Rain?"

"Apparently this required investigation."

"Do you remember 'Can fish get thirsty'?"

"Slow news day."

"Rain expected to make roads wet."

"Investigative journalism at its finest."

"Headless body in topless bar."

Tony raised a finger. "Now that is a headline."

I sat back in me chair.

"Well, I've got one for you."

He looked interested.

"Yesterday I saw an article online saying that today, at precisely 10:30 in the morning, gravity was going to disappear for seven seconds."

Tony stared at me.

"Disappear."

"That's what it said. Apparently, NASA has something called Project Anchor. Two black holes were supposed to collide and pull the gravitational waves away from Earth. Or push them. Or suck them up. I don't know. There were black holes involved, so naturally it sounded scientific. Anyway, we were supposed to float up in the air along with everything else."

"Oh, yeah," Tony said. "I saw that rubbish."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Didn't happen."

"I know."

I must have sounded more disappointed than I intended because Tony looked at me rather suspiciously.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Gabe."

"All right, fine. At 10:25 I went out to the parking garage."

He stared at me.

"Why?"

"I wanted to be ready."

"For what?"

"For gravity to disappear."

"What exactly were you planning to do if it did?"

"I got in me car and waited."

Tony was quiet for a moment.

"You got into your car?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I looked at him.

"I was pretending it was a spaceship."

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved