Ding Dong The Dragons Gone!

4 November 2010

Story #323

R. Linda:

Ah, life as I enjoy and know it. FINALLY!

It be an icy rain out there today, I be working from home, and I have plenty to occupy me up in the office loft. I can smell the barmbrack, Mam's baking in the kitchen, the sound of the wee ones playing, Tonya letting the dogs out, and I can see me Da below in the lounge doing what else? Crossword puzzle with the cat curled up on the top of his chair. Yes, life be good and so much more harmonious without that woman.

I took the Dragon to airport on election day. Yes, I know what you be thinking, "WHAT, no limo?" No, no limo, just ME. But I did talk me dear old Da in going along. Well, not exactly talked. He didn't want to go, R. Linda; he truly did not, but I dragged him to the passenger seat, and the heels of his shoes left tracks in the gravel as he protested. We dropped her sad, sorry arse off and peeled out of the terminal like gangbusters (an ancient term me Da uses, and I have no clue what it means, but sounds the right word). So, to treat him and meself for a job well done, we stopped at a McDonalds on the way home.

We were sitting inside munching and talking, mainly about the Dragon, when this woman, sitting by herself not five feet away, looked over at us with a funny smile. We couldn't help but see she was looking at us, so me friendly Da said hello, and that started a conversation between us all.

It seemed she was from County Tyrone, and she recognised our accents and was all about making friendly with us., She asked me what I did, and I told her I was a professional hermit. That's the one really favourite thing of mine since leaving busy, social Belfast. I told her I liked that people keep to themselves here, but if you needed a good neighbour, they'd be there. None of this over the wall, "Wot ya doin?" or "I see you got a new motor." I shrugged with a smile.

For her part, she was a housewife, waiting for her hubby to get the burgers, and my oh my, don't these burgers taste better than the ones in Ireland? She said she'd been here for eight months and hadn't made a stew or scone since she moved. No need, said she, haven't a neighbour for miles to share it with. They farm dairy cows they do and are out in the middle of nowhere, lovin' the land they own thanks to a bad economy. They pooled their savings, and each of their parents threw in, and there they had a farm in the U.S. She rather likes it, she said. What did I enjoy most about living here? She wanted to know.

It didn't take me a moment to think right off, I knew. I said, "I enjoy bronchitis and constant wind; the wind reminds me of back home," I mused, "With snow all winter and spring, I enjoy that one day of summer we have, and Bob's your uncle; it's fall again like summer never happened." She nodded ruefully at me sarcasm, as I thought a bit more, and then said, "Except this year, it seemed perpetual jungle weather without the bugs all "summer," which I realised we actually had that season (summer) for a change." I laughed, and so did she, "I think we will pay for this wee bit of summer next time round, though."

I know, I know what you are thinking, good old Gabe, always nervous making conversation with someone he doesn't know (especially a pretty woman), so off me mouth goes on a spiel of its own making no real sense and saying nothing of consequence (as usual).

Her husband came with a tray of food, and introductions went all around. Lo and behold, the name was a Northern one, one me Da recognised, Niall McCauley. The McCauleys were an old branch of Da's family on his Mam's side, and this Niall turned out to be a distant cousin many times removed. His wife Lizzie looked at us and said, "There was a flick we saw the other night, it started with a sayin', I tink it wuz . . . 'It is said some lives are linked across time . . . they are connected by an ancient calling that echoes through the ages . . . destiny,' aye, that be it."

We all thought about that and I do believe she's right. How else can you explain meeting distant relatives on a distant shore, or anyone for that matter, that has a connection with you in some way, shape, or form? What were the odds of our meeting? Do not tell me I have Dragon to thank for it. That is an unpalatable assumption.

Niall said his main concern with living where he does is flooding. I was like WELCOME TO ME WORLD! I know flooding well; I almost lost me house to one a few years ago. He told us he had taken some young calves to a farmer by the Connecticut River and stood there with the man, watching pumpkins float downstream. The last rain system was so bad it flooded a field of pumpkins (thousands of them) that had been readied for market when the waters washed them off down the river. Was a sight, he said. Worse, he had just finished a trench to hook up water from the barn well to another outbuilding when the rains came to his farm. He said he'd never seen anything like it. Within an hour, he had a moat around the building, and if he didn't attend to it soon and finish things, he'd be battling burst pipes as well. Lizzie said he started to fill in, and all her beautiful bleeding hearts and some rare hosta are gone forever because, as she well knows, men are prats when it comes to preserving the beauty of any kind. Da piped in, agreeing with her because he can't resist a pretty face, and said that men have no regard for anything THEY did not cultivate. Instead, they stand with shovel in hand or beside a tractor and glory in a hole they have dug.

I was shocked, Niall was somewhat taken aback, and his face got red as it all sank in that Da was talking about him! But that be me mindless Da sometimes, not taking into account the entire conversation because the girl across the way be so "beeuteeful" he couldn't help himself! Now you know where I get the nervous chatter from, me Da!

"Could have been worse; we could have planted b'ataetas (potatoes she meant), and they'd have been ruined for sure they would; a few pipes ye can replace ye can," Lizzie said, taking the focus away, she hoped.

"Niall, ye should let us buy ya a boddle next time yer in our area," me Da said in way of contriteness.

"A cooffee be a better bit, Mr. O'Sullivan," said Lizzie with a smile, "Niall operates heavy machinery, so . . . " Which was a polite way of saying he goes heavy on the alcohol, so coffee, please!

We exchanged phone numbers, and on that note, we parted. I was asking meself if me Da might be planning on moving in. He was doing all the inviting, and I thought it was odd. If Niall was picking up a tractor part (he lived near Vermont), it wasn't likely we'd be running into each other, if at all.

You'd think he was a young buck in love all the way home. He sang the praises of Lizzie as though she was a single daughter of Ireland and free for the taking. I was appalled at first. I was thinking of me sainted little apple-cheeked, grey-haired Mammy, and here he was . . . then I thought, all right there, old man, you keep on like that, and when Mam gets hold of you, you'll wish you were blind, deaf and dumb.

So far, not a peep out of him. I warned him if he kept on, he'd be signing his own death warrant. As we walked in the door, I whispered to him, "No country for old men. Meaning no Lizzie for you!" He did tell Mam he ran into an old line of relatives from County Tyrone, and I stood there holding me breath, but he told her not much else. Good man, at least so far.

Gabe
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