Wednesday 18 May 2016

Of course I saw the geese! (April 20)



DIARY

More big news from April Fools Day

                        by Robert LaFrance

            On Friday, April 1st, I looked up to see a gaggle of Canada Geese flying north and making a helluva lot of noise. I was tempted to notify the authorities and then I remembered that the return of the Canada Geese was something to be cherished and awaited with joy. Instead of dialling 911, I smiled and went over to see my friend Flug, who lives next door. He looked at me with some scepticism.
            “Of course you saw Canada Geese,” he sneered. “Are you sure they weren’t pigs flying over?” I said I was quite sure they weren’t pigs because they were wild geese. Two different species. “You’re not gonna get me like that on April 1st,” he said, and it didn’t matter what I said, he wouldn’t believe me. Just then, a flock of pigs flew over. True story.
            On Wednesday of that same week, I was talking to some people who was going that evening to eat at a certain Chinese restaurant over in Maine, because the Canadian money was at par. I commented that, just down the street in Perth-Andover, was Kim Restaurant and it also serves Chinese food, and also has Canadian money at par – every day. I doubt if I persuaded anybody. The U.S. is such an exotic country, isn’t it, and the imminent danger of getting shot at any moment added to the allure. I wouldn’t know. I don’t go there.
            Coincidently, on the same subject of spending money across the border, that same day I was talking to a couple who had recently spent two and a half weeks in Kissimmee, Florida. The day after their return, the husband had an attack of something or other (not to be too accurate) and spent four days in hospital. I was tempted to open my big fat mouth and point out that the money to pay for these health services came from taxes in New Brunswick and that Florida had not sent any tax money our way, but I’m just too nice to say such a thing. Why do they think American taxes are so much lower than ours?
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            Today has been quite a sad day, at least for some, those who own snowmobiles.
            It has not been a good winter for those folks. I think Victoria, BC, had more snow than we did around here, and we live on a mountain.
            4:07 pm – A halfton (or whatever those behemoths are called nowadays) just went by here. It was hauling a trailer that contained four snowmobiles that I would have guessed hadn’t been out of the pasture since the one big snowstorm in early April. In one 20-hour period, whatever that is in metric, a total of 32 centimetres of very wet and heavy snow fell here at our estate, so the Skidoo guys and gals must have had a grand time.
            Not so, said the Sidney Millageon who was driving the next halfton to go by. He stopped and told me this: “It was so wet we couldn’t get anywhere,” he nearly cried. “Just think, I spent almost twenty thousand dollars on these sleds and I’ve had it out – maybe – five hours all winter. It is to weep.” (He likes W. H. Auden poetry.)
            Not long after that, another particle of the long calvalcade of retreating snowmobilers came by. It was my third cousin-once-removed Swampy. “I never even took my sled off the trailer all winter,” Swampy said. “Whenever there was a forecast of snow a bunch of us would head for our camps out here and wait. We usually just sat around and drank beer.” As if drinking beer were an easy job.
            I’m joking about it, but I think snowmobiling is a great sport; I hope they have a better winter next time.
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            In late 1939, after Britain and we declared war on Germany because they had invaded Poland, and before Germany began the Blitz – bombing military and civilian targets in England – it was called The Phony War. This was because nothing was going on except ‘sabre-rattling’. I’m think we’re in a similar period right now.
            My gardens are too wet to till, the ground is too cold to plant seeds or transplant, and I am too wimpy to spend a lot of time away from the TV. This is the Phony War. Another reason I don’t want to do anything is that my Internet works great. Just think if, in 1940, when the Phony War ended, Hitler’s computer crashed and he couldn’t get a technician in until 1941, when the Americans joined the war.
            I’m happy that many takeouts are now open so the cholesterol levels will soon be peaking, but what I appreciate most about summer is when the flagmen and women, directing drivers by the sites, point to the lane where we’re supposed to drive as if we can’t figure it out.
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