Dust, Dust, Dust!

Dust, dust, dust!

My neighbor is one o' them storytellers who's got to give you every detail of a story no matter how mundane. He's an old geyser like me so he's got nothin' but time on his hands. For example, this is what he says to me the other day:

'What in blazes? The missus is runnin around the house with her dust mop like Errol Flynn in a sword fight. Duster poised in her hand like a deadly rapier, she's stabbin' here an' there with pin point accuracy, all the while mutterin' loudly about where is all the dust comin' from.

“Didn't you vacuum just yesterday?” she wants to know.

“I did.”

“Well then, you tell me where all this comes from?” she says, takin' another series o'pokes at one o' the picture frames on the wall.

“I dunno, from in the air I guess.”

“It's driving me nuts!”, she says.

“Don't touch it – don't see it,” I tell her.

“There's a limit to that,” she says, quite rightly.

I don't know what to say to that. It's not that the missus is lookin' for a solution, cause there ain't none available. You can't just go an' get yourself some cataracts so as you can't see nothin'. An' I can't believe that this is a new phenomenon neither, cause dust has been around forever. It ain't as bad as it used to be back when Saskatchewan was migratin' across the country to Kenora or wherever in the dirty thirties mind you, but there seems to be a lot more of it around. I don't know, maybe it's just comin' loose from the ground an' hangin' around, suspended in mid air. Wouldn't surprise me none neither, what with all that sand and stuff they scatter all over the roads in winter. You'd think in winter there'd be no dust around, but the missus is right. It's all over the place.'

That's the story he told me, an' it got me to thinkin' about dust an' all. See, I got a theory that it's comin' from someplace else, maybe from Japan or someplace like that. It wouldn't surprise me one bit. Well you can see by the junk in the ocean which way the tides are blowin' where that garbage comes from. We seem to be havin' an Asian invasion of sorts, so maybe that's where the dust is originatin' from too. An' the way them volcanoes keep spoutin' off too, it's no wonder we got dust in the house.

An' the other day somebody discovered some kind'a disease germ in the permafrost up north that could'a been responsible for killin' off them dinasaurs way back when. They say it ain't contageous, but do you believe everythin' you hear on the news? We're getting' to be somewhat dinasaurs ourselves an' who knows if there ain't some o' them germs floatin' around in the dust. I wouldn't put it past 'em. Gives a whole new meanin' to; “and the meek shall inherit the earth” don't it?

Holy crap! We ain't gonna put up with that! So we went out an' bought one o' them dust buster hand vacuums you can do some serious dustin' 'round here with. You gotta fight fire with fire, I always say. Well I don't always say it but by gum, we ain't gonna take this lyin' down! If somebody's gonna send us dust, we got the equipment to bust it. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.

Somebody Moved the North Pole!

Somebody Moved the North Pole

This whole environmental business of global climate change is a huge big issue that the politicians haven't been payin' too much attention to ever since it's been around. They been poo-pooin' the whole business, makin' like they care about it, but if you ever check up on 'em, you'll find it's nothin' more than a fireside chat subject. All the information they got on it is sittin' up on some back shelf somewheres.

I don't know if you noticed or not, but there's a conspiracy goin' on here an' I don't exactly know who's behind it. Them meteorologists have coined a new term called “Polar Vortex”. It shows the cold arctic air goin' right down through South Dakota. They got all kinds o' fancy explanations for that one. Poppycock I say! It almost sounds like somethin' David Suzuki might'a thought up. Polar Vortex, my arse! I'm gonna tell you exactly what's happened. Somebody pulled the north pole up out'a the ground at the north pole an' stuck it right in the middle of Vegreville Alberta, that's what!

I don't know how they went an' done that neither 'cause the ground is so froze up there at the north pole, you'd never get that pole out'a the ground no matter what equipment you got to tackle it with. So that rules out the environmentalists for sure. An' Green Peace, well they can't get any publicity out'a that, so forget them. An' the government, well they can't even find Franklin's ship, never mind the dad blamed north pole.

Well that leaves only one suspect left an' that's mother nature. Who can blame her for bein' a mite disgruntled at the human species? I mean everybody else is mindin' their own business, doin' what they're supposed to do like they done for ever while we, the super intelligent species of life on this planet are busy diggin' up oil an' gas an' diamonds an' gold an' puttin' nothin' back, like we own the place. Just think about it for a minute. How'd you like it if somebody came into your house an' took out some walls, leavin' the residue in a heap on the floor. Turns out that this world is HER house, not ours. We might do well to keep that in mind when she starts to get a little testy with us.

Well I shouldn't say we don't put nothin' back. We do – like them big pipes to transport the oil an' gas we're stealin from her to here an' there. An' we're pumpin' brackish water that aint good for nothin' down into her belly. There's a long list o' what we're givin' back an' none of it's good for nothin' an that's a fact.

Mother nature has been warnin' us for a while now, but we don't take no notice. A few hurricanes here an' there, a tsunami or two, blazin' forest fires, none o' that stuff gets our attention for very long. But if you look at how them things thin out our numbers we ought to be payin' a little more heed. This latest thing of movin' the north pole to Vegreville is a pretty drastic measure. I think she's tryin' to tell us somethin'. An' maybe what she's tryin' to tell us is that she's moving the north pole to Vegreville. What we do about it is none o' her concern. She don't give a rip one way or another. If we become extinct in the process, what does she care anyways? At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.

HOCKEY, HOCKEY, HOCKEY!

Hockey, Hockey, Hockey!

Well now we know what really matters in Canada. It ain't the deficit an' it ain't the economy. It ain't even jobs or payin' the rent! It's HOCKEY for crimeny sakes! HOCKEY, HOCKEY, HOCKEY! That's all that on anybody's mind these days. Good heavens, they ain't even bitchin' about the weather. Now THAT'S serious! Seems the whole world comes to a stop when hockey's even possible. Seems anybody can play this game. All you need is a TV, bacon an' eggs an' beer, or alternately, a TV, pancakes an' beer. Beer seems to be the operative word here. O'course, what I'm describin' here is the fan base. The players don't get their beer an' bacon an' eggs 'til after the game.

The point I'm tryin' to make here is that we got a resource that nobody is takin' advantage of. Given the importance of the game, we should be turnin' it into a weapon to threaten an enemy with. Just imagine the power Canada would suddenly have! Take the sovereignty of the arctic for example. You got the Russians, the Danes, the Americans an' who knows who all else claimin' sovereignty over it, well an' of course Canada (come lately). Well, if you was to say, “We'll play you a game of hockey over it and the winner takes all” we'd soon have a different outcome o' things.

Mind you, we'd have to insist that women's teams play in such a tournament. Well, the thing is that them NHL'ers go to play for the country where their ancestors bones are buried. You can't blame 'em for that. It's the NHL's fault for importin' them in the first place. Ask Don Cherry, he'll tell you a thing or two about that. No, it should be the women. They're better'n the men anyways. An' it would give 'em a round about way to participate in wars an' politics all at the same time.

Just think of it. Hockey would be the new standard of law in the world! It would make the United Nations an' the World Court redundant. Well them organizations are about as far off the rails as anyone could imagine anyways. An' the results would be measurable in no uncertain terms too! There'd be no hanky-panky about who the winner was neither.

I don't know why nobody never thought o' that before. It makes perfect sense to me. When you got more than one country contendin' for somethin' you just have a 'round robin ' series an' eliminate 'em down to two. The final two then go for the prize. Sure beats a gold medal hangin' around your neck don't it? An' you don't have to kill a bunch o' people to do it. Canada could soon become a world power – run by Haley Wickenheiser! What a thought! It's almost as good as havin' Sheila Fraser as our queen! At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.

Mind Yer Own Business

Mind Yer Own Business

It never occurred to me 'til the other day that the whole world is busy livin' everybody else's life. I normally associate that with individual people who got nothin' better to do than to gossip about somebody else. Well it turns out that's what the whole dang farned world is doin'. There was a program on the TV about Cuba, citing the changes they were makin' in freein' up human rights an' movin' to more of a market economy. The story line was about a fellow who now had the chance of openin' his own little business to suppliment his income. He was selling everythin' he could get his hands on, includin' the kitchen sink. He was doin all this while still working at a hospital as a trauma doctor. Well, there was other stories too, but this one illustrates how people manage in a restrictive economy.

While the narrator was busy yammerin' on about abject poverty, the lack of opportunity to pursue ones dreams an' all that, I couldn't help but notice in all them fine vintage circa 1940's an 50's cars they drive down there. Man, they bring back some memories. Well an' while I was at it, I noticed some pretty well dressed people meanderin' around on the streets of Havanna. Makes one want to redefine the abject in abject poverty.

Of course it's mainly the U.S. that's still pissed off at the nationalization of a number of industries in Cuba. Under Batista, they (the banks and other industries) had free reign over the island paradise. That was an expensive deal for them. Of course, as somebody said recently, the world revolves around the United States according to Americans. Empire builders tend to be like that. They carry long grudges. Too bad they don't see the shoe is on the other foot in their dealin's with the American Indians.

If it were up to me I'd tell 'em to shaddup an' mind their own dang business instead o' stickin' their big noses into everbody else's. But they don't see it that way. After all, they single handedly won WWI and WWII as well as the war of 1812, so they have a sense of entitlement. I remember the missus telling me one day about a woman who had come into her shop to buy a dress for a party on a Friday night. Saturday she was back wanting to return it. Of course on refusal, she let the missus know in no uncertain terms that she was an American an' Americans don't put up with that kind of nonsense. Diplomatic as ever, the missus was happy to provide phone numbers for head office to the lady and wished her well. Needless to say that was aonother war the American(s) didn't win.

There was a piece on the TV the other night about things goin' on in Syria. The journalist was talking to a little girl of maybe six years old who was sittin' on a stoop. She (the six year old) was explainin' about bombs an' mortars by sound an' how you could tell where they would land. As they were talkin' the girl suddenly looked up, her eyes wide an' then she calmly said, oh that was a such an' such a projectile an' it was aimed at another area. So she just went on talkin' as though it was nothin' special.

I guess what I'm sayin is that people in these repressive places know how to survive. Given enough time their situations will right themselves one way or another without outside interference. Ask any cop who's ever tried to settle a domestic dispute. No we'd be best off to realize we don't understand the various cultures and bases for the abuses that go on around the world an' we don't know what we're talkin' about, so we should shaddap an' mind our own business. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.

The Great Goatee Caper

The Great Goatee Caper

Holy mackerel, I never thought I'd end up in a windstorm like I did over this goatee business! The missus says to me one day, “You should grow a goatee. It would look nice on you.”

Well, she shouldn'ta said that.I sit here every day lookin' at a picture of Buffalo Bill who had a magnificent moustache and goatee. The only thing I'm missin' is the ten gallon hat. An' I'm thinkin' maybe it's not such a bad thought. I can always go buy a hat. After all, both my grandpas had goatees at one time or another. So I figure, why not? At my age it's a miracle if anythin' grows where it's supposed to so it ain't all that certain that anythin's goin' to happen. If Don Cherry can grow one, so can I. Heck, he's a year older than me an' he looks pretty snappy.

About a week or ten days into it I go down to Sunshine Records for some business, sporting this ugly white stubble that's growin' crooked on my chin an' what do you suppose? Both the guys over there are sportin' goatees. What the H E double hockey sticks? I feel like we all got the measles or somethin' and the beards are a rash that's developed. The only thing is, it's never gonna go away.

Let's face it, these attachments are just plumb ugly. Don't take my word for it. Look it up on the internet. I did an' was dismayed. The only people who looked good with that chin scrubble were also wearin' ten gallon hats. It seems you gotta cover what's missin' on the top o' your head so the junk on your face looks a little better.

I said that to the missus an' I could see by her expression she didn't agree so I didn't talk aboit it nomore. I shouldn'ta mentioned it at all 'cause she started on about puttin' a special conditioner in the blamed thing to make it nice an' soft. Yeah, right. Like I'm gonna let her take ownership o' stuff on my face. I don't think so. She done that before on my eyebrows an' my moustache without my knowin' what she was up to. She had a handful o' purple jelly she painted all over them things an' told me not to wash it out for two hours. What – now she owns my face too? Well I sat there, starched for two hours like an obedient little boy. Then I went an' cleaned it off an' sure enough everythin' was whiter but I think it only looked like that cause of the purple. Actually, I had in mind to clean it off with the razor instead of soap an' water. Well that's what happened to Ab Marley way back when. He was one o' them WWII air force men whose most distinguishin' feature was his pencil moustache. He went all through the war wearin' it an one mornin' about ten years after he gets home he walks into the office without the thing. Seems he was day dreamin' while shavin' and before he knew it, half the moustache was shaved off. Over forty years he'd worn it and suddenly half of it was in the sink. Well, nothin' to do but shave the other half off an' start over.

Well that's what I was thinkin' about. Now I got a whole new protocol of shavin' an' it seems I got to do acrobatics to keep the thing straight an' not carve a piece out of it in the process. The last thing I need is a gapin' hole in the blamed thing if I slip up. An' the second last thing I need is some o' that purple starch on my kisser an' I'm gonna tell the missus that too! What I do need is a ten gallon hat an' I'm gonna get me one. Then maybe I'll look the part an' the goatee will start to grow on me. At least that's how it seems from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.

I have Seen my Destiny

I Have Seen my Destiny

Imagine being able to know your destiny when you die. No more guesswork about where your spirit will end up, no fervent prayers asking for forgiveness for all the wrongs you done or your evil deeds in this life. Suddenly you know, you KNOW clear as a bell just what will happen to your spirit when your body gives out. An' you know you ain't goin' to heaven OR hell neither. No, you're goin to a place called Purgatory. Well that's not really a place, it's a state of bein', a place o' torture, as it were (accordin' to the dictionary).

I didn't even have a concept o' what that meant 'til this mornin' durin' our usual conversation over breakfast coffee. We usually talk about the weather or dyin' or that kinda stuff, but this mornin' it was about cats, of all things. My position on cats is well known. I dunno why the Missus keeps bringin' it up all the time but she does. Every time she sees a cat at somebody's house, she wants one. Well so far, I been winnin' the argument.

I threatened to throw all my clothes all over the floor, the furniture and the plants. The wife was confused. What the H E double hockey sticks did I think I'd accomplish with that, she wanted to know. I'd be the same as a cat, I said. They shed their fur all over everythin' an' don't ever pick it up.

“Well,” she comes back rather smartly, “what do you think the vaacum is for?”

“An' who does the vaacumin' around here?” I come back just as smart. I got her there. She ain't got no argument against that (even though I can see she'd like to).

“Okay, you win,” she concedes reluctantly, “but when you die, I'm gettin' a cat an' callin' it Victor!”

“What the - - - you wouldn't!”

“What'll you do about it, bein' dead an' all?” she quips.

I have no idea how I came to losin' this argument but it seems there's no way out. Now I gotta think of how to reply. I always teased my cat lovin' grandchildren that if I ever got a cat, it would be a cat named Bob, or alternately that I didn't want a cat – I wasn't hungry. None o' that would work in this case though.

“So you're sayin' that after you're done with me you're goin' to be married to some wussy pussy.”

“Don't be so silly. I'll name the cat Victor an' it'll be your spirit in the cat. It'll be just like you never left. You'll be rumblin' around here quietly all day like you do now an' you'll be all soft an' cuddly at night on the pillow. Sounds great to me.”

Yep. That's Purgatory alright. Victor the cat! Well at least now I know my destiny. Listen, it can't be all that bad. At least I know the layout, an' the place'll be nice an' clean an' I won't have to vaacum neither. If I gotta suffer this kind o' torture, it won't be that much torture I figure. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Jusr sayin'.

What's in a Birthday?

What's in a Birthday?

I celebrated another birthday the other day, Feelin' proud of myself for havin' lasted this long and still in fairly good health, I set about the day to make the most of it. Before I knew it the missus was up an' came over to wish me a happy birthday. Well that was nice an really bolstered my spirits. Thus bolstered, I went about the business of takin' a slice outta life.

Well, a couple'a things had gone haywire durin' the course o' the week so I thought I'd tackle them an' get things put back on an even keel. First thing was the blinkin' barbecue that wasn't workin' proper. So I brought it in the house to thaw out first of all. I put it on MY desk in MY office, right on top o' the missus' duster, sayin' nothin'.

“Just what do you think you're doin' with that thing in the house?” she says to me.

“I'm fixin' it,” I says.

“You're not fixin that piece o' junk! We only paid twenty-five bucks for it!”

“Hey! When we first moved to the city, twenty-five bucks would pay a month's rent AND buy the groceries, so don't knock it.”

“Yeah, well that was seventy years ago.”

“Don't matter. At least I know the value of a dollar.”

“Don't matter is right. You ain't fixin' it! We'll go buy a new one.”

Well the whole business of who's fixin' what an' who's buyin' what goes on for a while an' no body's getting' wore down in the argument. Finally she says. “You have no authority!”

“WHAT? I HAVE NO WHAT?”

She's got this smug look on her face. “No authority,” she says again quietly.

There's somethin' in that tone of voice that makes me think I'm gonna lose the argument. “Now look here lady,” I start. “I'm settin' here in my office where I'm the supreme commander an' YOU'RE tellin' me I got no authority? I think you're wrong there!”

“I don't care where you're settin'. You're an old man. In fact you've never ever been this old before. You've come full circle an' are now in your second childhood. Some body's got to take charge. So you're NOT fixin the barbecue.”

Well, I got maybe one gambit left. “Well, fine! You want me to do any more barbecuein' then you dig into yer own wallet an' come up with a new barbecue!”

“Fine with me. I know you want to be cremated, but it ain't gonna happen on our balcony before you're even dead,” she says. “I don't fancy pickin' your guts off the railin's to hand them over to the crematorium.”

We kind'a both won that argument. That's what I'm thinkin' anyways. Well okay, maybe I lost, but at least I got a free barbecue out of it, an' I don't have to fix that old piece o' junk. That's the nice part about arguin' with your best friend. You can always figure it out so's you both win an' nobody get's their nose outta joint. At least that's how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.

Just sayin'.