Oh My God!

28 October 2010

Story #318

R. Linda:

This morning, I found that me parents had brought for the wee kiddies bows and arrows. You know, the kind that have the suction cups for arrowheads? They used to make them when I was a kid, so knowing they still do was quite a surprise. The boyos were enamoured of these nifty little items and were whooping it up before yours truly had even one cup of joe in him. I was about ready to shout me fool head off at them, but instead, I quietly sipped and kept me gob shut because the Dragon was way more upset about this than I was. And you know if the Dragon be upset, it be show time!

She sat there mumbling, "They are too young for such things."

Well, the smallest one was having trouble fitting the wood slit of the arrow into the string of the bow, so me sainted father was trying to show a 1 1/2-year-old how to do this. Let me tell you, it's not an easy feat, not for the child but for me old Da. He has arthritis in his hands, and his fingers lock, so it was painful to watch but somehow horribly fascinating at the same time! It took me Da several tries of his own to master the thing since it had been years since he had ever had to thread an arrow, or whatever the term be. So he had several failed attempts at shooting it until he got the hang, and well, Bob's your uncle, he could get the arrow across the room instead of dropping it at his feet. 

I sat saying nothing but covertly glanced at the seething Dragon on the other side of the table. I was waiting for the explosion, but instead, the steam was steadily coming out of her ears as she tried to sip her coffee and keep her tongue from lashing the old man in front of her wonderful grandkids. Finally, as I knew it would, this foolishness got the best of her, and she made a remark about grown men acting like children, but lucky for her, me father did not hear her for the noise the boyos were making. Both boys took off as if on paint ponies, galloping into the lounge thanks to Tonya ordering them and the weapons out of the kitchen until we had finished. The littlest Indian left his bow and arrows with me Da, for the simple reason that chasing off after his older brother was more fun. 

Mam sat down to join in the coffee-sipping, and she said to Da, "You will send us all to early graves by encouraging the wee ones like that. The toys could have waited until later."

"Ah, and fer sure they are havin' a good time of it, yeah? So wot's the trubble with lettin' 'em have their fun?"

"It be early, and we are tryin' to wake up," says she. "Really, you will be the death of me."

"I don't think so; it's the other way around," he said. Then he looked at me and said, "Gabe, your ma will outlive me for sure."

I was like, what? I even said it was too early for that kind of talk, and anyway, nothing was going to happen to him.,

"Well . . . " he began slowly. "I left a letter that, should anything happen, the police should open it because me demise will be all your ma's fault." 

Everyone chuckled except me Mam. It was inappropriate to discuss this conversation so early in the morning. In front of the Dragon in particular, I, for one, was trying desperately to drive the cobwebs from me brain to derail it from going any further than it had. But too late, he picks up the left bow and arrow, threads the bowstring in the arrow slot and says, "And, you can bury me where this arrow lands," he squints, and Mam jumps up to open the door. 

While he was taking aim, I thought this could not be happening. The two of them are nutters, and here is Tonya looking all questioning at the bow and arrow, the Dragon leaning back out of the way of the door so as not to get hit, and Mam gesturing at the open door for me ridiculous old Da to go ahead and shoot. He let fly, and it did not reach the door. No, instead, it hit the second shelf just above Dragon's head and with a boinnggg sound. We all turned and watched the shaft vibrate from the impact, but it stayed suctioned to the shelf.

"There ye be. Gabe, you are to put me dead self on the second shelf in your kitchen. Fate wills it." He puts the bow down, picks up his coffee and winks at me.

"Put his ashes in a coffee can, Gabriel. He loves coffee; he can spend eternity smelling the stuff," Mam volunteers.

Oh yeah, that's what I wanna do; when he passes, I want to put him up in a coffee can on the second shelf of me kitchen. We know what would happen if I did such a thing. Knowing how groggy I be, first thing, I'd make him up in the morning coffee and drink him! Are these people crazy, or what? Worse, how is it I be related to them?

But it gets worse. It does! After that pleasant beginning, our babysitter appeared to watch the two young hellions while we took the "folks" to Parker's Maple Barn for breakfast. Don't worry; the sitter was making the children breakfast at home. Taking them to Parker's is not fun because there is usually a long queue to get in, and with two hungry children, it can be hell on earth. 

So, as we are all in one car, I drive past this vast pumpkin patch filled with orange orbs, and this prompts me Da to exclaim over the number of pumpkins and so much for the pumpkin shortage I had told him of as if I were a liar. Well, a shortage was predicted, but it did not happen. What can I say? I report the news, but I don't make it. Anyway, me sainted Mam says, "That's good because I want to make me pumpkin pies for your Thanksgiving dinner, and I'd rather the canned pumpkin than buy one of those and have to skin, chop, cook, and puree one."

The Dragon piped up, "Well, you would have to make sure you had the right pumpkin, THOSE are carving pumpkins."

"A pumpkin is a pumpkin," says me Mam.

"No, there is the kind you carve, the kind you use for pie, and the squash kind."

"A pumpkin IS a squash," Mam points out to Dragon.

"Well, of course, it is, but there are sugar pumpkins, carving pumpkins . . ." Dragon insists.

"I pick a pumpkin, scoop the slop and seeds out, roast the seeds and salt them. Gabriel loves pumpkin seeds, and then I chop it up and cook it until it is easy to mash."

The Dragon heaved a great sigh and started again on the type of pumpkin, "You can't just use any pumpkin for pie!"

"Well, I do!" 

"Oh, for God's sake, call the pumpkin police!" Da chimes in. "It doesn't matter, does it really? A pumpkin is a pumpkin."

"Of course, it matters!" Fumed the Dragon, "You wouldn't use Rome apples for eating. You'd use THEM for pie and Granny Smith's for eating!"

"Oh, Granny Smith's are good for pies; I made one for Gabriel and Tonya the last time I was here." Mam countered.

I looked at Tonya, and in a low voice so only she could hear, I said, "Think of something. We have got to stop this."

But no matter what Tonya said, and she did try to take both sides, it got hot in the backseat. I was thinking to meself, and I bet Ton was thinking to herself as well: How were we going to survive our relatives for the next five days!

Gabe
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