Fun Times

25 May 2026

1161

R. Linda:

I sometimes wonder what the heck be going on with me Mam. On Friday. I had the pest service guy out to spray for insects and vermin around the house. I have had this service since I moved here. With the number of horse barns in the area and the grain in the barns, the small mouse critters get around. As an added bonus, I have insect spray applied around the edges of the house for one reason and one reason only. Tonya is scared of spiders. ANYWAY, that all aside, me own apple-cheeked, grey-haired little Mam must be getting on because after the chemical man did his thing, two hours later she went out to the front deck to cut some lilacs. 

"Oh my, it smells so good out here. I wonder what kind of insecticide they used."

I had come out with the scissors she couldn't find and took a whiff. What she was smelling was the lilacs. She went on about the insecticide smelling so good, but thinking it wasn't healthy to breathe it in. I shook me head and went back inside, laughing that she must be losing it.

To make matters worse, she had an appointment with her financial advisor. I offered to drive her there since she isn't a highway driver (which is rather interesting to me since Irish drivers are natural-born speeders) and she had no problem in Ireland, but here, "Can't drive with these people, Gabriel, they are dangerous and nuts they be." I wanted to say "Who's the nut?" but I refrained. All I could do was shake me head, because I just don't know about her. ANYWAY, we get there, get in the door, and the receptionist asks who we have an appointment with.

"I doon't no." Says she, looking rather perturbed, she was even asked.

"Wot do you mean ye doon't no?" Me Irish accent came out to my surprise. "Do ye even haf an appointment?" I asked.

"Well, for sure I do." Said she. "I just doon't remember wit whom. He's da new one." She said this to the receptionist.

Name taken, time of appointment taken, receptionist looks that up and says, just as it strikes Mam, "Mr Pica," said in unison. 

"Ok then," I said as we were gestured to have a seat.

As we are sitting there, this young professional-looking man sits down, and he is glued, and I mean glued to his phone. Outside, there was a fender bender, and did he look up once? No, he did not. Everyone else ran to the large windows to watch the two drivers looking over the slight damage. One calling the police (I suppose), the other his insurance agent. People inside went back to their respective areas, but the buzz was about the accident, and still, the young gent was phone-bound.

Me Mam was sitting across from him, and she nudged me and, in a theatrical whisper, said, "THAT is a solid case of TOD." And she shakes her head in affirmation.

"TOD?" I whispered.

"Terminal Online Disease." Says she knowingly. 

I tell ya, the woman is a piece of work, she is.

Lastly, as events in me life seem to happen in threes, we had a community dinner where, at the end of it, instead of having awards for the town leaders, there were joke prizes(?) for want of a word. All the "prizes" had numbers, and when the town leaders came in, they were shown a hat containing folded papers, each numbered. They'd get to pick a number at the end of the evening. That number would correspond to one of the "prizes."

We all wondered what the prizes were and who would get what. That was until me sainted little apple-cheeked, grey-haired Mam says in a low voice, "Isn't dat da hat dey used fer da Yankee Swap at Christmas?"

Tonya looked, as did I and yes, why yes, it was. 

"Why?" Tonya asked her concerned mother-in-law.

"Well, if ye remember, at the Yankee Swap, soom noombers were revealed, soom persons put dem back in da hat, an soom did not." She looked knowingly at us, like we would get the problem. 

She sighed. We are obviously two stupid people.

"Old John put blanks in da hat to fill out later, but knowing him, he probably fergot. AND no one counted the noombers in dat hat, but I did; dey went from 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, an skipped to 11; there were no 6, 7, 8, 9, or 10. So dat means 5 people won't haf noombers, just blank pieces of paper! OR," she said, "soom papers be blank, soom haf da same noomber a few times, an half the noombers dunt exist because Old John isn't all dere in da head, he isn't!" She said, quite exasperated with the two of us. "I tole 'em not to leave Old John in charge of dat hat!" She said emphatically. 

"Well, might make a fun last part of the evening," I quipped and got a dirty look.

And indeed it did.

At the end of supper, the committee members went up to the chairs set out for them on stage, and as each passed by Old John, they took a piece of paper from the hat he held. Some smiled, and a few looked perplexed, probably thinking their blank pieces of paper were part of a joke.

A smiling Father Murphy stood at the prize table and announced in his solemn church voice, "And now, our appreciation awards for the town committee." Laughter followed that remark as Father chuckled along with the joke he made. Father picked up the first wrapped prize and handed it to the Mayor, who proudly announced, "Number 6!"

Silence.

"Number 6," he announced again.

The hall went quiet. Father Murphy squinted at the number on the wrapped prize, then looked up at the stage, as if someone with a 6 might appear if he believed hard enough.

Mam leaned over to me, folded her arms, and said, loud enough for half the hall to hear, "Well now, dere's a surprise. Old John lost anutter one."

"There is no 6 Father," Said one of the committee women after rummaging through the committee members holding their numbers in growing panic. That is, only the ones lucky enough to have actual numbered papers remained calm. The others had no clue. No one on stage understood the joke, and they were plainly flummoxed.

Father Murphy looked at the wrapped number 6 joke gift, then at the ceiling as though appealing directly for divine intervention.

The Mayor shrugged and picked up another wrapped prize. 

"Number 10!" He said loudly in anticipation.

Mam never blinked.

"Dat's wot 'appens when ye leave Old John in charge of anyting wid noombers," she muttered into her tea, but loud enough to be heard.

By the third missing number, half the room was crying with laughter. Father Murphy was threatening to bless the prize table into obedience, and Old John kept insisting everyone was being dramatic because "sure, there's plenty o' numbers left," as he gestured at the committee members.

The Mayor looked embarrassed and confused all at the same time.

"Mine is blank," one of the committee members shouted.

Old John, meanwhile, kept insisting the numbers had to be there because he remembered writing "most of them."

"Did ya use invisible ink, John?" Someone shouted, and everyone laughed.

Ever the optimist, the Mayor picked up another prize and read the number.

"Number 5!"

Mild applause. Someone had a number 5 paper! Finally!

"…11."

A pause.

Three committee members raised their papers at once.

Then another pause. Seems all three had 11. 

"11?" The Mayor croaked, unsure what was going on with the three committee members arguing among themselves.

By the fourth "11," people were shifting in their seats, and Old John had gone mysteriously deaf.

Finally Mrs. Donnelly stood up and snapped, "How can there be three elevens and no sixes?"

Dead silence.

From our table, Mam crossed her arms, leaned back like a prophet proven right, and said loud enough for the whole hall to hear:

"Because ye let Old John near dat hat agin."

And that is how the Town Council Awards ended with five leaders sharing three joke prizes, one man winning a decorative cabbage twice, some received sympathy, and Mam was proven right in front of God and everybody, which, if you ask her, was the real prize of the evening and a personal victory.

This fiasco, the town is calling, The Incident of the Missing Numbers, and Old John is no longer trusted with raffles, bingo, or anything requiring arithmetic above the number four.

Yup.

Gabe

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