18 December 2012
612
R. Linda:
My parental units arrived from the old sod three days ago for the annual visit. They didn't come in October because we saw them in May (the tour of Ireland you will remember -- see blog entry of 24 March 2012, LUCKY ME - I get to take a TOUR of me own country!), so we decided a Yule visit would be more the thing. So yesterday was my Da's birthday. We have celebrated the last five years here at my house since they've been here on that date. And, an American phenomenon has happened to me Da. Yes, it has. He has taken to liking PIE. We have pie in Britain we do, all kinds from apple to pork pies, we have them too, so pie is nothing new to us, but for a birthday dessert, it isn't the norm.
How this started was at me old neighbours. His birthday falls in November, and the year before last when me parental units were here, we were all invited down for a piece of birthday pie. Yes, the man's wife baked six egg custard pies, which are his fav and well, when me Da dived into his piece of custard pie, it was like his taste buds exploded in joy. He was in pie heaven. Never had he tasted such a fine custard pie. He gushed about those pies for weeks. He even declared that from then on he wanted PIE for his birthday dessert, no more cake.
We had forgotten all that a year later, and we wondered why he had a sour face when we brought out the birthday CAKE. It was a few days later he muttered something about birthday PIE. So this year Tonya was determined to get the old couple's egg custard pie recipe and make him one. But we've had some issues health-wise going on with her, so she wasn't up to either getting the recipe or baking the pie, or even remembering it for that matter. It was the furthest thing from her mind. I was so wrapped up in Tonya that it completely slipped me mind and Mam was all wrapped in my concern that she forgot too! So this pie business slipped our minds completely UNTIL yesterday when we all remembered . . . the man's birthday, and pie was not anywhere to be seen, or had, or eaten!
And how did we come to this stark realisation? We awoke to the mixer whurring in the kitchen, the rattle of pans and the beeping that the oven was heated to temperature and ready to cook. And who did we find in the kitchen? Me Da, that's who, pouring over a Betty Crocker cookbook recipe baking three custard pies for HIMSELF because he knew he was forgotten. It was sad, I tell ya! There he was in a frilly apron, puttering around, his reading glasses perched on the end of his short Irish nose, his old hands whisking eggs, measuring sugar, rolling dough and fitting it in pie plates. He was busy and determined to have egg custard pie on his birthday, or he wasn't an O'Sullivan by Jaysus!
As soon as the ladies of the house saw him, they rushed in to take over, but he'd have none of their belated help. No, he would make them both suffer for his having to make his own birthday PIE all by his lonesome, without the benefit of the "proper recipe" since "no one went and asked for it," and now they were all in his way.
We shuffled into the living room, talking this over in low voices.
"Are we in trouble or what?" Tonya asked.
"We are dat we are," Mam said, shaking her head. She was still holding on to a wooden spoon she had grabbed to help with.
"Well, we caun't let him do DAT; we'll never hear da end of it, yeah," I said.
"An' you tink he'll let us in dare? Nooo, we need to let him gooe at it." Mam said, resigned to the fact that we would pay for his having to make and bake his own birthday pie. Shame on us!
"OK, I have an idea. How many pies is he making?" Tonya asked.
Mam looked through the crack of the door and quietly came back to our little circle.
"Tree. It looks like tree of em'," she whispered.
"OK, then this is what we'll do. I'll call Sandy and ask her and Herb to come for birthday pie. I'll tell them how he loved her pie and thought Herb was a lucky man to have egg custard pie for his birthday cake. I mean pie." Tonya said.
Da likes the old couple who live in the big house below us, so I agreed this might take the pressure off we three miscreants, at least for the duration of the birthday.
"I'll fix em' some roast beef with plenty a pot-attas and sauce," Mam said making a mental list and slapping the palm of her hand with the spoon as she rattled the ingredients off.
"I have all you need for that, Mother O'Sullivan," Tonya whispered, and they smiled like two conspirators. We just have to get him out of the kitchen once his pies are done, and that's where you come in, Gabe. You take your Da out with the boys someplace, and I'll set up the invitations. Maybe get Lois and the Chemicals to join us, and then I'll help your mom get dinner going."
"And gittin' 'em out will do wot eggactly?" I asked, wondering why I had to take me Da anywhere since they were not doing anything they couldn't do in another room without him overhearing.
"Take his mind off pie for one maybe," Tonya said, "and for the other, let's us women get the dinner going, the presents wrapped . . . uh oh, do we have presents?"
"Em . . . ," I knew WE didn't, and I looked at Mam, whose eyes were like saucers in her head telling me she didn't either. Oh boy, were we in deep shite.
"Listen ere' since ye hav da ingredients fer da dinner, I'll git dat goin' if you'll go get da presents," Mam said to Tonya taking control.
"Deal," Tonya said, and they shook on it, Tonya hurrying off to get dressed.
As soon as I thought enough time had gone by to settle me Da down, I went into the kitchen. Pies were in the oven baking, and he was finishing the cleanup. I ran to the sink to take over, but he elbowed me out. TOO LATE! I suggested we go to the Maple Barn for a bite of breakfast. He loves the place, and it is the boyos fav, so this was the first "good suggestion" he had heard all morning. I had to reassure him Mam would look after the baking pies and such, and he caved.
With a nod to the women of the house, I packed up Da and the boyos and off we went. He wondered why the women weren't going, and I winked at him. They had some things they needed to do, and of course, there was the baking of those precious pies. Of course, he knew it was birthday-related, and with a covert smile, he nodded and went out to the motor. I tell ya, me Da be a kid at heart STILL.
I got a thumbs up from Tonya and Mam as I headed out the door. The kiddos love the Maple Barn, and so do I, and Da makes sure we go to the "pancake place" each time he and Mam visit. So this was a big birthday treat, and it took his mind off the pie fiasco. We were cosy beside a wood stove in the big rustic dining area. We ordered a pot of maple coffee, and the kiddos were started on hot chocolate with plenty of homemade whipped cream. None of that canned stuff, uh uh. We ordered and neither of us ordered the "Irish breakfast" because it isn't really that, but what Irish Americans who have never been to Ireland think an Irish breakfast is. So we sat enjoying the ambience of the place, and the boyos were colouring and chatting between them -- all was right with the world UNTIL me Da's breakfast of two eggs over easy, link sausages, a couple strips of Canadian bacon and I half a loaf of sourdough toast appeared.
He had a very repulsed look on his face; he did and was staring at the eggs, one hand holding his fork straight up in his left hand and the knife straight up in his right.
"What be the matter, dare, Da?" I asked as I poured maple syrup over me pancakes.
"Everyting be fine if it weren't fer da brown hair in me eggs."
UH OH
I looked, and sure enough, there it was, an unappetising long brown hair giving his eggs a smiling mouth or, if you were looking at it from my dad's side of the table, a long brown hair frown. Yup. INDEED.
I called the waitress over and showed her the hair frown staring back at me Da, and she apologised profusely and took the plate immediately. Well, I don't know about you, R. Linda, but that sort of thing takes me appetite away, it does. It took me Da's that's for sure. He grumbled that he should have changed the order to pancakes, "They cuan't get hair in dem can dey?"
Uh duh.
So the eggs arrived. He hardly touched them. I could only bring meself to eat a couple of bites of gingerbread pancake before I, too, sat there grossed out looking at his new plate of hairless eggs. The kiddos made short work of their breakfasts though. No hair is going to bother either of them. Sigh.
We left there, but not before Da had me checking by phone if the pies were safely out of the oven. They were. I suggested since all was well at the abode we go to a little antique store down the road. Da collects those old telephone glass insulators. I have no clue why he does this, but he does. So we stopped in as I let him wander the place. I kept hold of me two boyos, who instantly had found the old toy section where they wanted an arm and a leg for some toy made in the 1950s that, as soon as they got it home, would be in pieces.
R. Linda:
My parental units arrived from the old sod three days ago for the annual visit. They didn't come in October because we saw them in May (the tour of Ireland you will remember -- see blog entry of 24 March 2012, LUCKY ME - I get to take a TOUR of me own country!), so we decided a Yule visit would be more the thing. So yesterday was my Da's birthday. We have celebrated the last five years here at my house since they've been here on that date. And, an American phenomenon has happened to me Da. Yes, it has. He has taken to liking PIE. We have pie in Britain we do, all kinds from apple to pork pies, we have them too, so pie is nothing new to us, but for a birthday dessert, it isn't the norm.
How this started was at me old neighbours. His birthday falls in November, and the year before last when me parental units were here, we were all invited down for a piece of birthday pie. Yes, the man's wife baked six egg custard pies, which are his fav and well, when me Da dived into his piece of custard pie, it was like his taste buds exploded in joy. He was in pie heaven. Never had he tasted such a fine custard pie. He gushed about those pies for weeks. He even declared that from then on he wanted PIE for his birthday dessert, no more cake.
We had forgotten all that a year later, and we wondered why he had a sour face when we brought out the birthday CAKE. It was a few days later he muttered something about birthday PIE. So this year Tonya was determined to get the old couple's egg custard pie recipe and make him one. But we've had some issues health-wise going on with her, so she wasn't up to either getting the recipe or baking the pie, or even remembering it for that matter. It was the furthest thing from her mind. I was so wrapped up in Tonya that it completely slipped me mind and Mam was all wrapped in my concern that she forgot too! So this pie business slipped our minds completely UNTIL yesterday when we all remembered . . . the man's birthday, and pie was not anywhere to be seen, or had, or eaten!
And how did we come to this stark realisation? We awoke to the mixer whurring in the kitchen, the rattle of pans and the beeping that the oven was heated to temperature and ready to cook. And who did we find in the kitchen? Me Da, that's who, pouring over a Betty Crocker cookbook recipe baking three custard pies for HIMSELF because he knew he was forgotten. It was sad, I tell ya! There he was in a frilly apron, puttering around, his reading glasses perched on the end of his short Irish nose, his old hands whisking eggs, measuring sugar, rolling dough and fitting it in pie plates. He was busy and determined to have egg custard pie on his birthday, or he wasn't an O'Sullivan by Jaysus!
As soon as the ladies of the house saw him, they rushed in to take over, but he'd have none of their belated help. No, he would make them both suffer for his having to make his own birthday PIE all by his lonesome, without the benefit of the "proper recipe" since "no one went and asked for it," and now they were all in his way.
We shuffled into the living room, talking this over in low voices.
"Are we in trouble or what?" Tonya asked.
"We are dat we are," Mam said, shaking her head. She was still holding on to a wooden spoon she had grabbed to help with.
"Well, we caun't let him do DAT; we'll never hear da end of it, yeah," I said.
"An' you tink he'll let us in dare? Nooo, we need to let him gooe at it." Mam said, resigned to the fact that we would pay for his having to make and bake his own birthday pie. Shame on us!
"OK, I have an idea. How many pies is he making?" Tonya asked.
Mam looked through the crack of the door and quietly came back to our little circle.
"Tree. It looks like tree of em'," she whispered.
"OK, then this is what we'll do. I'll call Sandy and ask her and Herb to come for birthday pie. I'll tell them how he loved her pie and thought Herb was a lucky man to have egg custard pie for his birthday cake. I mean pie." Tonya said.
Da likes the old couple who live in the big house below us, so I agreed this might take the pressure off we three miscreants, at least for the duration of the birthday.
"I'll fix em' some roast beef with plenty a pot-attas and sauce," Mam said making a mental list and slapping the palm of her hand with the spoon as she rattled the ingredients off.
"I have all you need for that, Mother O'Sullivan," Tonya whispered, and they smiled like two conspirators. We just have to get him out of the kitchen once his pies are done, and that's where you come in, Gabe. You take your Da out with the boys someplace, and I'll set up the invitations. Maybe get Lois and the Chemicals to join us, and then I'll help your mom get dinner going."
A note: the "Chemicals" are a couple who live behind us on the hill. (For more info on their story, see me blog, "The Local News Part 1" - 01 August 2008). They are the McGraths who were moving but never did because of a small chemical problem broadcast all over southern New Hampshire. No one and I mean no one, was interested in purchasing their house after that, so they had to stay.
"And gittin' 'em out will do wot eggactly?" I asked, wondering why I had to take me Da anywhere since they were not doing anything they couldn't do in another room without him overhearing.
"Take his mind off pie for one maybe," Tonya said, "and for the other, let's us women get the dinner going, the presents wrapped . . . uh oh, do we have presents?"
"Em . . . ," I knew WE didn't, and I looked at Mam, whose eyes were like saucers in her head telling me she didn't either. Oh boy, were we in deep shite.
"Listen ere' since ye hav da ingredients fer da dinner, I'll git dat goin' if you'll go get da presents," Mam said to Tonya taking control.
"Deal," Tonya said, and they shook on it, Tonya hurrying off to get dressed.
As soon as I thought enough time had gone by to settle me Da down, I went into the kitchen. Pies were in the oven baking, and he was finishing the cleanup. I ran to the sink to take over, but he elbowed me out. TOO LATE! I suggested we go to the Maple Barn for a bite of breakfast. He loves the place, and it is the boyos fav, so this was the first "good suggestion" he had heard all morning. I had to reassure him Mam would look after the baking pies and such, and he caved.
With a nod to the women of the house, I packed up Da and the boyos and off we went. He wondered why the women weren't going, and I winked at him. They had some things they needed to do, and of course, there was the baking of those precious pies. Of course, he knew it was birthday-related, and with a covert smile, he nodded and went out to the motor. I tell ya, me Da be a kid at heart STILL.
I got a thumbs up from Tonya and Mam as I headed out the door. The kiddos love the Maple Barn, and so do I, and Da makes sure we go to the "pancake place" each time he and Mam visit. So this was a big birthday treat, and it took his mind off the pie fiasco. We were cosy beside a wood stove in the big rustic dining area. We ordered a pot of maple coffee, and the kiddos were started on hot chocolate with plenty of homemade whipped cream. None of that canned stuff, uh uh. We ordered and neither of us ordered the "Irish breakfast" because it isn't really that, but what Irish Americans who have never been to Ireland think an Irish breakfast is. So we sat enjoying the ambience of the place, and the boyos were colouring and chatting between them -- all was right with the world UNTIL me Da's breakfast of two eggs over easy, link sausages, a couple strips of Canadian bacon and I half a loaf of sourdough toast appeared.
He had a very repulsed look on his face; he did and was staring at the eggs, one hand holding his fork straight up in his left hand and the knife straight up in his right.
"What be the matter, dare, Da?" I asked as I poured maple syrup over me pancakes.
"Everyting be fine if it weren't fer da brown hair in me eggs."
UH OH
I looked, and sure enough, there it was, an unappetising long brown hair giving his eggs a smiling mouth or, if you were looking at it from my dad's side of the table, a long brown hair frown. Yup. INDEED.
I called the waitress over and showed her the hair frown staring back at me Da, and she apologised profusely and took the plate immediately. Well, I don't know about you, R. Linda, but that sort of thing takes me appetite away, it does. It took me Da's that's for sure. He grumbled that he should have changed the order to pancakes, "They cuan't get hair in dem can dey?"
Uh duh.
So the eggs arrived. He hardly touched them. I could only bring meself to eat a couple of bites of gingerbread pancake before I, too, sat there grossed out looking at his new plate of hairless eggs. The kiddos made short work of their breakfasts though. No hair is going to bother either of them. Sigh.
We left there, but not before Da had me checking by phone if the pies were safely out of the oven. They were. I suggested since all was well at the abode we go to a little antique store down the road. Da collects those old telephone glass insulators. I have no clue why he does this, but he does. So we stopped in as I let him wander the place. I kept hold of me two boyos, who instantly had found the old toy section where they wanted an arm and a leg for some toy made in the 1950s that, as soon as they got it home, would be in pieces.
I was near the cash register when I saw Da go traipsing by. He tells me in earshot of the man behind the counter, "Dare be nuthin' but trash bin rejects in ere'." And he shuffles off as the man looks at me and says, "Is that your brother? He's in a mood." I took pause. I did, I wanted to find a mirror fast because me father is some 26 years older than me and if I look as old as he, then me father is ageing very well and me? Not so much. I was so flummoxed I said, "He's me neighbour," and I started to drag the kiddos in pursuit of me "neighbour" to get us the hell out of there.
I caught up with him, and he was complaining loudly we were in a "junk shop," so I suggested we go to another place I knew of on the way home. Slipping out the side door so we wouldn't have to be subject to the shopkeeper's evil eye, I packed us back in the motor and headed to the next shop. This time, he wasn't disappointed, but he made things a wee bit uncomfortable. We had been walking down the aisles of old stuff, me battling the two wee ones at every step as he took his sweet old time looking at china figurines he thought "yer mutha would like." I shook me head no, no, she wouldn't, and then he saw something he remembered from his childhood and went into a long detailed story about it while I was being pummelled by two boyos that wanted to be set loose like bulls in a china shop.
Finally, he found a purple glass telephone insulator, a colour he does not possess, so I said I'd buy it for him (sort of a mini birthday present) and off to the cashier we went, me thinking how much could the old piece cost? I place it on the counter. The man says, "These are rare; we only got this in this morning, knew it wouldn't last," and cha'ching goes the register. He says to me, "That is an even $60.00." I was stunned. I could find no words. Actually, I think I swallowed my tongue, but I can't be sure. I literally coughed up the cash, thinking this was no mini present; this was getting to major league for a piece of antiquated glass that has no use now whatsoever. UGH!
This is what he got:
I caught up with him, and he was complaining loudly we were in a "junk shop," so I suggested we go to another place I knew of on the way home. Slipping out the side door so we wouldn't have to be subject to the shopkeeper's evil eye, I packed us back in the motor and headed to the next shop. This time, he wasn't disappointed, but he made things a wee bit uncomfortable. We had been walking down the aisles of old stuff, me battling the two wee ones at every step as he took his sweet old time looking at china figurines he thought "yer mutha would like." I shook me head no, no, she wouldn't, and then he saw something he remembered from his childhood and went into a long detailed story about it while I was being pummelled by two boyos that wanted to be set loose like bulls in a china shop.
Finally, he found a purple glass telephone insulator, a colour he does not possess, so I said I'd buy it for him (sort of a mini birthday present) and off to the cashier we went, me thinking how much could the old piece cost? I place it on the counter. The man says, "These are rare; we only got this in this morning, knew it wouldn't last," and cha'ching goes the register. He says to me, "That is an even $60.00." I was stunned. I could find no words. Actually, I think I swallowed my tongue, but I can't be sure. I literally coughed up the cash, thinking this was no mini present; this was getting to major league for a piece of antiquated glass that has no use now whatsoever. UGH!
This is what he got:
| Seems a day of phallic symbols was to be had |
However, Da was over the moon he was. I was considerably lighter than when I first came in, but hey, it's only money I could have used to buy 60 things from the Dollar store! I tell ya. But it didn't end there. Da had disappeared as I was given the price of his present, and as I shelled out the cash, I saw him come ambling over like he wanted to either see something in a case or ask a question. It was the former, and he said to ME, "Now dare is back in dare, dis really nice silver mirror I tink yer Mam would like." I was instantly thinking silver = dollar signs, but before I could open me piehole, the guy behind the counter spoke up with this gem, "You want to see something I can open it for you; you just have to speak up."
"Well, I taught yer wuz busy wit da purchase ere' and didn't want ta disturb ye," Da quipped.
"I assume he's (gesturing to me) paying, so if there is something else, we should go look at it before I ring the whole of it up!" The man said as I was still struggling with the idea this one purchase was becoming two, and as they both went off, the owner getting out his keys, Da leading him toward the case, and me standing in sticker shock, coming to the realisation that the kiddos were missing. OH MY GOD, what were they into? Talk about someone being shocked into action. That was me!
I took a fast-paced swing around the aisles of old stuff and found them in the back on the floor, playing with delicate ancient toys. I shouted and whispered, "Remove your hands from those toys and get up!" They did, and then once I got hold of them, they started dragging their feet that if I was buying something for "Gramps," I should buy them a toy since they were being "good" which is a rare occurrence with them. Feeling guilty but also realising I was running out of money, I reluctantly asked them, "Just what? What is it you want?" And they both pointed to the floor where they had been. There was for Guido a train set, and for O'Hare, he wanted the race car. The race car was $3.50, but the train set was a whopping $75 buckeroos, and Tonya had already got him the Polar Express train set for Christmas, so the answer was no, "Pick out something else." That got wailing and the "I dunt like you daddy!" which got him, "Then you get nothing, you don't talk to me in that tone young boyo." I had to carry him to the cash register because he suddenly, on purpose, lost control of his legs and mobility all on his own. This got to me more, wondering how Tonya takes them anywhere without this behaviour happening. Why me?
I had full intentions to buy him something, just not the trains. But I wanted him to learn that he shouldn't act like that in public. Once I had the two of them back at the counter, I saw me Da and the owner were already there talking about the little silver mirror that was out and being looked at. Oh boy, I wondered, how much is THAT. I told O'Hare to put the race car up there. While the discussion on old silver toiletries for women was being discussed, I knelt at Guido's level and told him firmly that he could pick out a toy. Still, it had to be small because Christmas was coming and Santa's elves were busy working on toys, and he didn't know that Santa might bring him a train set better than the one in the store. At which he informed me he wanted the trains set NOW.
I sighed and tried again: "Either you get no toy, or you get a small one. It's your choice."
He flapped his arms at his sides in defeat, and with an "Okayyy," he walked back to the toys like a condemned man. I tell ya! I watched him stand there for a short eternity before picking up a rubber monkey and coming lopping back, sort of happy.
When he handed the monkey to me, I almost dropped it. It was made of slimy rubber that nearly made it feel like it had life. It was gross. It was that kind of rubber that gets around dust or dog hair and that sticks to it for life and well . . . more gross! And you could bend the thing any which way. But it was a $5.00 item (much too much, in me humble opinion), but I put it up there to find me total was . . . $162.03. YUP, it was -- for junk!
BUT Mam for Christmas will have a very nice silver mirror from me da that I paid for. Uh-huh. I pulled out me plastic and covered me face as the three "shoppers" talked in animated glee over "their prize purchases." Yes indeed.
Last night, we had THE birthday with friends and our immediate family. The pies were excellent. I took a peek as I passed through the kitchen. But there was some discussion between me two boyos that I could just overhear after dinner as I sat in the living room. They were talking between them that the pies were not as "nice" as birthday cake and needed dressing up. Now overhearing that right there, you'd think I'd jump up and go tell them to get out of the kitchen and leave the pies alone. But I was half hearing them, but when I heard this: "Ya think yer monkey would look cool stretched on a pie wit candles?" "Oooh yeah, let's git em' and see!"
I heard that, I did, but as me body automatically got up to go stop them, my brain was pulled in another direction by me old neighbour asking me about me car plough (see blog entry 16 January 2009 The original, the one, the only -- CAR PLOW!) and well . . . you know how I love to talk about THAT, and so I forgot entirely what I had overheard in the kitchen, though the "Let's surprise Grampa," filtered out to me hearing. Still, I was too busy chatting away to take notice.
I must have sat back down and was deep in discussion when out of the corner of me eye, I saw the two boyos both holding a pie with the monkey spreadeagled over the top and a long green taper candle set between the monkey's legs coming into my full line of sight. Yes, they did! All conversation stopped as the little voices piped up with the Happy Birthday song and came inside the living room with the obscene pie! First up was Tonya with, "Gabriel, YOUR boys . . ." and that's as much as she got out, but I notice when they do something she disapproves of, they are ME boys, not hers.
Because we were frozen in the moment, the neighbours started to join in on the happy birthday song, not knowing what to do. It was the most sketchy singing I've heard in a long while. Mam did the opposite; she started to laugh so hard she began to cry, but Da started to laugh as if the audaciousness was the best thing to happen to him all day. Tonya and everyone else didn't know which to do, laugh or cry? So I did the only thing left to do, I lit the long monkey appendage and helped the proud boyos place the obscene pie on the coffee table. Me amused Da blew out the candle.
We are the talk of the neighbourhood. Yes, what are we raising at the O'Sullivan abode? No one had the heart to tell either of them that the pie was inappropriate, so they think they "dun good," and here we are. YUP.
And since such a fuss was made over that dumb rubbery monkey, Guido has declared it the birthday monkey and all future birthday pies, cakes, cannolis, and doughnuts will have it draped over the top. Go ahead, laugh. My birthday is up next. I can wait I can, not only because of the number I be turning but because the birthday monkey scares me. In the meantime, I have less than a month to get me hands on it and hide it until AFTER me big day and put the rubbery fiend in the back of a drawer for a long, long time until eventually forgotten and he can be chucked.
And no, no one thought to take a snap of the pie. THANK GOD FOR THAT!
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
"Well, I taught yer wuz busy wit da purchase ere' and didn't want ta disturb ye," Da quipped.
"I assume he's (gesturing to me) paying, so if there is something else, we should go look at it before I ring the whole of it up!" The man said as I was still struggling with the idea this one purchase was becoming two, and as they both went off, the owner getting out his keys, Da leading him toward the case, and me standing in sticker shock, coming to the realisation that the kiddos were missing. OH MY GOD, what were they into? Talk about someone being shocked into action. That was me!
I took a fast-paced swing around the aisles of old stuff and found them in the back on the floor, playing with delicate ancient toys. I shouted and whispered, "Remove your hands from those toys and get up!" They did, and then once I got hold of them, they started dragging their feet that if I was buying something for "Gramps," I should buy them a toy since they were being "good" which is a rare occurrence with them. Feeling guilty but also realising I was running out of money, I reluctantly asked them, "Just what? What is it you want?" And they both pointed to the floor where they had been. There was for Guido a train set, and for O'Hare, he wanted the race car. The race car was $3.50, but the train set was a whopping $75 buckeroos, and Tonya had already got him the Polar Express train set for Christmas, so the answer was no, "Pick out something else." That got wailing and the "I dunt like you daddy!" which got him, "Then you get nothing, you don't talk to me in that tone young boyo." I had to carry him to the cash register because he suddenly, on purpose, lost control of his legs and mobility all on his own. This got to me more, wondering how Tonya takes them anywhere without this behaviour happening. Why me?
I had full intentions to buy him something, just not the trains. But I wanted him to learn that he shouldn't act like that in public. Once I had the two of them back at the counter, I saw me Da and the owner were already there talking about the little silver mirror that was out and being looked at. Oh boy, I wondered, how much is THAT. I told O'Hare to put the race car up there. While the discussion on old silver toiletries for women was being discussed, I knelt at Guido's level and told him firmly that he could pick out a toy. Still, it had to be small because Christmas was coming and Santa's elves were busy working on toys, and he didn't know that Santa might bring him a train set better than the one in the store. At which he informed me he wanted the trains set NOW.
I sighed and tried again: "Either you get no toy, or you get a small one. It's your choice."
He flapped his arms at his sides in defeat, and with an "Okayyy," he walked back to the toys like a condemned man. I tell ya! I watched him stand there for a short eternity before picking up a rubber monkey and coming lopping back, sort of happy.
When he handed the monkey to me, I almost dropped it. It was made of slimy rubber that nearly made it feel like it had life. It was gross. It was that kind of rubber that gets around dust or dog hair and that sticks to it for life and well . . . more gross! And you could bend the thing any which way. But it was a $5.00 item (much too much, in me humble opinion), but I put it up there to find me total was . . . $162.03. YUP, it was -- for junk!
BUT Mam for Christmas will have a very nice silver mirror from me da that I paid for. Uh-huh. I pulled out me plastic and covered me face as the three "shoppers" talked in animated glee over "their prize purchases." Yes indeed.
Last night, we had THE birthday with friends and our immediate family. The pies were excellent. I took a peek as I passed through the kitchen. But there was some discussion between me two boyos that I could just overhear after dinner as I sat in the living room. They were talking between them that the pies were not as "nice" as birthday cake and needed dressing up. Now overhearing that right there, you'd think I'd jump up and go tell them to get out of the kitchen and leave the pies alone. But I was half hearing them, but when I heard this: "Ya think yer monkey would look cool stretched on a pie wit candles?" "Oooh yeah, let's git em' and see!"
I heard that, I did, but as me body automatically got up to go stop them, my brain was pulled in another direction by me old neighbour asking me about me car plough (see blog entry 16 January 2009 The original, the one, the only -- CAR PLOW!) and well . . . you know how I love to talk about THAT, and so I forgot entirely what I had overheard in the kitchen, though the "Let's surprise Grampa," filtered out to me hearing. Still, I was too busy chatting away to take notice.
I must have sat back down and was deep in discussion when out of the corner of me eye, I saw the two boyos both holding a pie with the monkey spreadeagled over the top and a long green taper candle set between the monkey's legs coming into my full line of sight. Yes, they did! All conversation stopped as the little voices piped up with the Happy Birthday song and came inside the living room with the obscene pie! First up was Tonya with, "Gabriel, YOUR boys . . ." and that's as much as she got out, but I notice when they do something she disapproves of, they are ME boys, not hers.
Because we were frozen in the moment, the neighbours started to join in on the happy birthday song, not knowing what to do. It was the most sketchy singing I've heard in a long while. Mam did the opposite; she started to laugh so hard she began to cry, but Da started to laugh as if the audaciousness was the best thing to happen to him all day. Tonya and everyone else didn't know which to do, laugh or cry? So I did the only thing left to do, I lit the long monkey appendage and helped the proud boyos place the obscene pie on the coffee table. Me amused Da blew out the candle.
We are the talk of the neighbourhood. Yes, what are we raising at the O'Sullivan abode? No one had the heart to tell either of them that the pie was inappropriate, so they think they "dun good," and here we are. YUP.
And since such a fuss was made over that dumb rubbery monkey, Guido has declared it the birthday monkey and all future birthday pies, cakes, cannolis, and doughnuts will have it draped over the top. Go ahead, laugh. My birthday is up next. I can wait I can, not only because of the number I be turning but because the birthday monkey scares me. In the meantime, I have less than a month to get me hands on it and hide it until AFTER me big day and put the rubbery fiend in the back of a drawer for a long, long time until eventually forgotten and he can be chucked.
And no, no one thought to take a snap of the pie. THANK GOD FOR THAT!
Gabe
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