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R. Linda:
So here it is, I was out in me yard raking the last of the leaves when me sainted Mam came out with a cup of hot tea for yours truly. I could have used a cold iced tea because it was tough, hot work, but no, no, if you were outdoors, it felt chilly (to someone doing no work), so hot tea it was. I was appropriately grateful, sipping it as she watched, thinking how much hotter I was getting. Mam was always one who believed if you were outside working, you needed refreshment, and if you were sick, you needed to take your meds, and she would watch over me to make sure I did either one or the other.
As she turned to leave with me empty cup, over the fence climbs Lois. This action of a heavy-set woman climbing a barbed wire fence bare-legged, wearing Wellies on her feet and a raincoat was at once fascinating to me; Mam stood in her tracks watching in wonder. Over Lois came raincoat and all, and that article of clothing meant she probably had nothing on underneath. I knew this was going to be a disconcerting experience for my mother. I told Mam to hold up; Lois was hailing her (they had met the last time my parents came for a visit). Lois got to us, huffing and puffing up the small hill to where we stood; greetings were made with me. Mam looked slightly confounded at the rain-coated, wild-haired Lois, who would straddle a barbed wire fence bare-legged with nothing on underneath.
Lois, for sure, was very personable. I was praying under me breath she did not open the raincoat because, for certain, me little apple-cheeked Mam would have heart failure at such a sight. I knew me own wife would be flying out the door like a witch upon a broom after Lois and oh the carnage that would be had. But I digress.
As the two women chatted, I started raking around them because I, for one, wanted to get finished. I honestly did not want to listen to Lois complain about the price of lamb chops, the awful way the government was taxing everyone in America and how Sarah Palin was our saviour (let me barf now). Not to be outdone, me sainted Mam was telling Lois about how all the young Irish were once again exiting Ireland for here in the pursuit of jobs, how there was such scandal over the Irish police in the North and how they handled the Republicans up there, and oh begorrah but it was becoming a police state, etc., etc., etc.!
I raked farther away, the best I could, marking a distance. I couldn't hear either of them going on and on. I finally got me leaves bagged in front and back and was done, and they were still at it. I shook me head, and as I passed them, I relieved me Mam of the teacup and saucer and went inside.
"Why didn't you tell them to come in?" Tonya asked me as I deposited the cup in the sink.
"Because if I do that, we'll never get rid of Lois." I said, "AND because she probably isn't dressed under that raincoat, and you know me sainted father will ask to hang her coat up, and oh my, what would we do THEN?"
Twenty minutes later, Mam came in singing the praises of that "very nice neighbour woman next door." She hoped we didn't mind, but she invited Lois to come up and have a piece of birthday cake on her upcoming birthday. Then she muttered that she also asked her to dinner.
Oh, for joy! It was me Mam's birthday in a week, yes it was, and we had a celebration planned for her and now it had extended to one neighbour. Later in the week, we found she had asked the "nice older couple in the big house" to join us. The "nice older couple" was the same age as her and me Da. Therefore, the spring chicken of a Mam of mine was busy planning a larger party for herself when Tonya and I had planned an intimate evening of dinner at home with cake and presents. We had three more coming, and the roast chicken Mam had requested was too small. We decided we needed a larger bird.
Well, the day came. We had graduated to a few more neighbours and ended up with a turkey—a large one. I should be turkey-ed to death by Thursday. The cake also got bigger. It was going to be homemade, but with twenty-five people, we got a sheet cake from the bakery instead. Oi!
The celebration went off well enough. We had a nice dinner, a lovely dessert, plenty of laughs all around, and then it was time to open the presents. Yes, it was. We had tea and coffee while this was going on, and Mam got a lot of neat stuff and then some neater stuff. Yes, that last present from Lois, em, came with an extra present, totally unexpected, and it broke up the party pretty fast.
There was Mam seated on the couch, and Lois handed her a tall box all wrapped in lovely ribbon and foil paper of embossed roses and the like. Mam examined it and remarked it be almost too pretty to open, and then giggled and started to unwrap. Lois had done her homework; when she and Mam had their conversation the week before, Mam had mentioned a particular winter hat she had seen in a local shop window and how she coveted it and was determined to purchase it before she went home to Ulster. Well, Lois went and got her the hat. The only problem was no box for the hat, but Lois had one in her attic that was perfect, so she went up and saw the tissue wasn't disturbed. She stuck the hat in the box, and it fit! She wrapped it up all pretty, and there was Mam, opening the box, everyone watching, especially Lois, all intent on seeing the surprise. There was a surprise; Mam held the hat box top in midair as she stared into the box, a look of unbelievable surprise on her face. But, it wasn't the kind of surprise one reads on a countenance that is all happy; no, it was the kind of surprise one gets when one is shocked. For nestled in the well of the hat was a family of mice! Yes, little greys and the proud momma looked up with its beady brown eyes at me Mam, as surprised as her.
It was then that Mam's reflexes kicked in. She dropped the box and stood up, and as the box tipped, out came mother mouse and . . . father mouse was in there too with all the little kiddies! Everyone scattered, that is everyone but Mr. Kit. He was delighted. Need I say more? It wasn't but five seconds that cat's nose didn't pick up mouse smell and he was all over that box and there were mice everywhere and guests running in all directions to get away from them. Coffee and tea flew through the air, and the men in the room reacted to the women jumping up and running and screaming by jumping up and screaming too, at what they didn't know, but they did too.
It was soon that almost everyone was outside the house, except for me Da, who sat where he was watching the show of mice running up curtains and the cat right up there with them. The dogs joined them, thinking this was a great thing. The cat was throwing a mouse party, and even though neither dog was a vermin hunter, it was still just the thing. They were barking and tearing around the house, over the furniture, on the furniture, sliding through the spilt tea and coffee on the floor, the Newfie stopping long enough to devour the sugar cubes and then off again, woofing after the spastic setter who was *lurveying all over the place like "Look dad, I'm a hunter!" I was not impressed, but I was impressed with the old man who quietly poured himself another cup of tea and sat back as dogs flew over his legs, he holding dearly to that cup at his lips as if nothing was amiss.
"Da, there is a mouse on your shoe," I hissed at him from afar.
He looked down, not moving his head, only his eyes, and shrugged like it was no big deal, as if the whole bunch of us were nuts and had lost our minds. He put the cup down, cut another slice of cake and, with a gentleness I had never seen in him, picked up a baby mouse and started to feed it.
OK, WHO DOES THAT?
I was grossed out I was! But then he got up and walked to the door with it, down the back stairs and out to the woodpile, where he put it gently onto a log. Then he came back in and finished his tea while the madness was starting to die down.
Mam and Lois ventured in once the cat was put out, and the dogs were banished to the mud room. Tonya walked stealthily with a broom in hand, looking around with the old neighbours for mice. With a dustpan and hand broom, me friend Tom was scooping the dead mice into the pan. Yes, the dogs, if not the cat, had wreaked havoc. Mary, another neighbour, was picking up broken crockery, and an assortment of neighbours were busy cleaning up and putting the cake away. It was then that Mam and Lois ventured to the box. Lois bent down and lifted out the hat. Well, it was a nice gesture, but the hat and the mice had been together long enough for the hat to become a cosy mouse duvet, and well, it was ruined beyond compare. To add insult to injury, it was the only handmade, one-of-a-kind that the little shop on the green had. Big sighs from the ladies.
Everyone has gone home now. We are, I am sure, the talk of the neighbourhood. Tonya has the hebbie jebbies over the unaccounted mice. Mr. Kits is back in and isn't looking for mice; he's grooming himself like there are no mice, but we know there are at least three unaccounted for. I have a feeling we will get no sleep tonight. SIGH.
Gabe
*Lurveying or being a Lurvey - from the character Lurvey in Charlotte's Web, a farmhand in the story who is a bit of a simpleton.
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
So here it is, I was out in me yard raking the last of the leaves when me sainted Mam came out with a cup of hot tea for yours truly. I could have used a cold iced tea because it was tough, hot work, but no, no, if you were outdoors, it felt chilly (to someone doing no work), so hot tea it was. I was appropriately grateful, sipping it as she watched, thinking how much hotter I was getting. Mam was always one who believed if you were outside working, you needed refreshment, and if you were sick, you needed to take your meds, and she would watch over me to make sure I did either one or the other.
As she turned to leave with me empty cup, over the fence climbs Lois. This action of a heavy-set woman climbing a barbed wire fence bare-legged, wearing Wellies on her feet and a raincoat was at once fascinating to me; Mam stood in her tracks watching in wonder. Over Lois came raincoat and all, and that article of clothing meant she probably had nothing on underneath. I knew this was going to be a disconcerting experience for my mother. I told Mam to hold up; Lois was hailing her (they had met the last time my parents came for a visit). Lois got to us, huffing and puffing up the small hill to where we stood; greetings were made with me. Mam looked slightly confounded at the rain-coated, wild-haired Lois, who would straddle a barbed wire fence bare-legged with nothing on underneath.
Lois, for sure, was very personable. I was praying under me breath she did not open the raincoat because, for certain, me little apple-cheeked Mam would have heart failure at such a sight. I knew me own wife would be flying out the door like a witch upon a broom after Lois and oh the carnage that would be had. But I digress.
As the two women chatted, I started raking around them because I, for one, wanted to get finished. I honestly did not want to listen to Lois complain about the price of lamb chops, the awful way the government was taxing everyone in America and how Sarah Palin was our saviour (let me barf now). Not to be outdone, me sainted Mam was telling Lois about how all the young Irish were once again exiting Ireland for here in the pursuit of jobs, how there was such scandal over the Irish police in the North and how they handled the Republicans up there, and oh begorrah but it was becoming a police state, etc., etc., etc.!
I raked farther away, the best I could, marking a distance. I couldn't hear either of them going on and on. I finally got me leaves bagged in front and back and was done, and they were still at it. I shook me head, and as I passed them, I relieved me Mam of the teacup and saucer and went inside.
"Why didn't you tell them to come in?" Tonya asked me as I deposited the cup in the sink.
"Because if I do that, we'll never get rid of Lois." I said, "AND because she probably isn't dressed under that raincoat, and you know me sainted father will ask to hang her coat up, and oh my, what would we do THEN?"
Twenty minutes later, Mam came in singing the praises of that "very nice neighbour woman next door." She hoped we didn't mind, but she invited Lois to come up and have a piece of birthday cake on her upcoming birthday. Then she muttered that she also asked her to dinner.
Oh, for joy! It was me Mam's birthday in a week, yes it was, and we had a celebration planned for her and now it had extended to one neighbour. Later in the week, we found she had asked the "nice older couple in the big house" to join us. The "nice older couple" was the same age as her and me Da. Therefore, the spring chicken of a Mam of mine was busy planning a larger party for herself when Tonya and I had planned an intimate evening of dinner at home with cake and presents. We had three more coming, and the roast chicken Mam had requested was too small. We decided we needed a larger bird.
Well, the day came. We had graduated to a few more neighbours and ended up with a turkey—a large one. I should be turkey-ed to death by Thursday. The cake also got bigger. It was going to be homemade, but with twenty-five people, we got a sheet cake from the bakery instead. Oi!
The celebration went off well enough. We had a nice dinner, a lovely dessert, plenty of laughs all around, and then it was time to open the presents. Yes, it was. We had tea and coffee while this was going on, and Mam got a lot of neat stuff and then some neater stuff. Yes, that last present from Lois, em, came with an extra present, totally unexpected, and it broke up the party pretty fast.
There was Mam seated on the couch, and Lois handed her a tall box all wrapped in lovely ribbon and foil paper of embossed roses and the like. Mam examined it and remarked it be almost too pretty to open, and then giggled and started to unwrap. Lois had done her homework; when she and Mam had their conversation the week before, Mam had mentioned a particular winter hat she had seen in a local shop window and how she coveted it and was determined to purchase it before she went home to Ulster. Well, Lois went and got her the hat. The only problem was no box for the hat, but Lois had one in her attic that was perfect, so she went up and saw the tissue wasn't disturbed. She stuck the hat in the box, and it fit! She wrapped it up all pretty, and there was Mam, opening the box, everyone watching, especially Lois, all intent on seeing the surprise. There was a surprise; Mam held the hat box top in midair as she stared into the box, a look of unbelievable surprise on her face. But, it wasn't the kind of surprise one reads on a countenance that is all happy; no, it was the kind of surprise one gets when one is shocked. For nestled in the well of the hat was a family of mice! Yes, little greys and the proud momma looked up with its beady brown eyes at me Mam, as surprised as her.
It was then that Mam's reflexes kicked in. She dropped the box and stood up, and as the box tipped, out came mother mouse and . . . father mouse was in there too with all the little kiddies! Everyone scattered, that is everyone but Mr. Kit. He was delighted. Need I say more? It wasn't but five seconds that cat's nose didn't pick up mouse smell and he was all over that box and there were mice everywhere and guests running in all directions to get away from them. Coffee and tea flew through the air, and the men in the room reacted to the women jumping up and running and screaming by jumping up and screaming too, at what they didn't know, but they did too.
It was soon that almost everyone was outside the house, except for me Da, who sat where he was watching the show of mice running up curtains and the cat right up there with them. The dogs joined them, thinking this was a great thing. The cat was throwing a mouse party, and even though neither dog was a vermin hunter, it was still just the thing. They were barking and tearing around the house, over the furniture, on the furniture, sliding through the spilt tea and coffee on the floor, the Newfie stopping long enough to devour the sugar cubes and then off again, woofing after the spastic setter who was *lurveying all over the place like "Look dad, I'm a hunter!" I was not impressed, but I was impressed with the old man who quietly poured himself another cup of tea and sat back as dogs flew over his legs, he holding dearly to that cup at his lips as if nothing was amiss.
"Da, there is a mouse on your shoe," I hissed at him from afar.
He looked down, not moving his head, only his eyes, and shrugged like it was no big deal, as if the whole bunch of us were nuts and had lost our minds. He put the cup down, cut another slice of cake and, with a gentleness I had never seen in him, picked up a baby mouse and started to feed it.
OK, WHO DOES THAT?
I was grossed out I was! But then he got up and walked to the door with it, down the back stairs and out to the woodpile, where he put it gently onto a log. Then he came back in and finished his tea while the madness was starting to die down.
Mam and Lois ventured in once the cat was put out, and the dogs were banished to the mud room. Tonya walked stealthily with a broom in hand, looking around with the old neighbours for mice. With a dustpan and hand broom, me friend Tom was scooping the dead mice into the pan. Yes, the dogs, if not the cat, had wreaked havoc. Mary, another neighbour, was picking up broken crockery, and an assortment of neighbours were busy cleaning up and putting the cake away. It was then that Mam and Lois ventured to the box. Lois bent down and lifted out the hat. Well, it was a nice gesture, but the hat and the mice had been together long enough for the hat to become a cosy mouse duvet, and well, it was ruined beyond compare. To add insult to injury, it was the only handmade, one-of-a-kind that the little shop on the green had. Big sighs from the ladies.
Everyone has gone home now. We are, I am sure, the talk of the neighbourhood. Tonya has the hebbie jebbies over the unaccounted mice. Mr. Kits is back in and isn't looking for mice; he's grooming himself like there are no mice, but we know there are at least three unaccounted for. I have a feeling we will get no sleep tonight. SIGH.
Gabe
*Lurveying or being a Lurvey - from the character Lurvey in Charlotte's Web, a farmhand in the story who is a bit of a simpleton.
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
1 comment:
You poor bloke, will life ever settle down? I hope not, LOL, you amuse me like no one I know. :)
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