Life in Kickapoo Center at the Turn of the Century
Ah fer sure! Ain't it grand. Another 2-5 inches of snow on the ground. Last night's movie turned out to be a dud. I was hoping for a camp movie starring the former Freddy Krueger. Look on the bright side.My wife goes shopping with a gift certificate she won attending an in-service. She shops like the rest of the world around here. Run for your lives it's gonna snow! Insert pretty picture of snow here:
At the Village Market, she picks up one of those women's magazines near the front. Not the ones with the picture of Martian babies or another story about Brad and Jen. This is the one with the permanent headline about losing fifty pounds fast. My wife is an intelligent person. She's talented,too! Gee, honey, I'm not being sarcastic. Honest. You know I love ya, especially when you come down to the basement clothesline for a sweater in the morning.
This issue of the magazine has no fat article. It's a holiday issue. It should be termed The Paranoid Issue Here are a few sample banners.
Cure Your Holiday Stress.
Have a Stress Free Holiday.
Why Your Multivitamin May be Putting You At Risk...
Protect Your Breasts From Cancer.
Home Remedies That Really Work.
Ok. Shoot me! I thumb open the magazine. The article is titled, What Your Christmas Tree May Be Saying About You. We don't put up a Christmas Tree. By the time we get the thing decorated with ornaments(mine, hers,family heirlooms, ornaments from past life gifts-we both were teachers) Easter is around the corner. Besides, we have five, forty foot Norway pines in the front yard. Each has a name. Each has a face, if you don't count Grandma Pine. I haven't gotten around to her. I walk out to Jonathon Pine to see what he's saying about me. He's really angry. I ask Tom the Swinging Gnome to translate a bunch of garbled Norway Pine language.Tom says he over heard Yarb Firdman talking about four gnomes buying a Norway Pine.
When I heard it was me, I couldn't believe it, he says.
Do you know how much of a ruckus those gnome make? It was bad enough when the mice moved into the birdhouses onto the fence, he complains.
All night long the shouting, cursing, drinking-clanking of beer steins, spilled swill all over my roots, venison jerky farts. Jonathon is red in the face. Tom is having difficulty following along.
I had no idea it was that bad,I say. I look at the base of the tree. Four very contrite gnomes stand there. They are hung over and tired. "Wassamatter", one of them growls. "Ain't you never seen a gnome before?"
All you you toads, I yell.
Outta my tree and my life!
"We paid good money for this tree and we ain't going nowheres," they all shout in unison in their squeaky helium voices.
I'll call Yarb Firdman to come over and talk to the bunch. If he can convince them to quiet down, Jonathon Pine will settle down. Then, there will be peace in the front yard. If I can learn their names- it's only a few days until the solstice, then I can put them to work.
The Working Dog Center at Penn Vet
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