NOTES FROM THE SCOTCH COLONY
The Devil really did make me do it
by Robert LaFrance
So this is
Spring. All winter I and most other people looked out our windows at the
hellish expanse of white stuff and wondered when it would ever decide to melt –
and not too quickly or under a deluge of April showers. We don’t need no
flooding.
Excuse me,
that was bad grammar. I meant to say none of us ain’t in no need of flooding.
The spring of 2012 is a chilling (no pun intended) reminder of what can happen.
Speaking of
Spring and thawing, I must speak to the government soon to alert them to what
might happen when some drivers are a little too literal in reading road signs.
I was shopping for groceries last week when I saw Glenna McManus standing in
the diet and gluten-free aisle. She looked as if she had lost about thirty
pounds since I had seen her last.
“You’re
looking sleek as a cheetah,” I said. That didn’t light up her expression any.
She said it wasn’t her idea, by which I guessed that her husband Fred must have
made some comment when she said something like: “Does this dress make me look
fat?”
“No, it
wasn’t that,” she said glumly, if that’s a word. “About three weeks ago I was
driving out to visit my friend Myrna in Craig’s Flat and screeched my Gremlin to
a halt as I was driving up through The Gulch. I turned around and came back
home because of the road sign just after I left Perth Hill.”
“What did
the road sign say?” I asked, and that was a stupid question, because signs
can’t talk.
“Well, it
said ‘Weight restriction 80%’ in order to drive on that road, Highway 109 I
think it is. So I came back home and started my crash diet.” I stared at her as
if she were from the planet Mars and didn’t have the heart to tell her that the
sign was aimed at trucks not Glennas.
Glenna was
the person who almost had a heart attack last year when she saw on TV that some
guy named Trump was planning to close ‘the southern border’ as he was having a
Twitter tantrum about something. “Oh no,” she moaned, “I have to drive down to
Bath next week to babysit my grand-daughter and I won’t be able to if I can’t
cross the southern border.” She was referring to the border between Victoria
and Carleton Counties. Personally, I am not sure I would want her to babysit my
grand-daughter.
I mentioned
that Spring is now here so now is the time to stock up on fly dope so the
blackflies, mooseflies, deer ticks and the rest of Nature’s creatures will be
met with a nuclear arsenal the like of which we’ve seldom seen. Of course there
is the option of staying inside and watching television. They say the Toronto
Blue Jays aren’t doing very well this year but since I don’t live in Toronto
any more it’s not a big issue.
Speaking of
Toronto, I am thinking back to the most fabulous landlady – fabulous meaning as
crazy as a cut cat – I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. Her house was
located in Scarborough, just off Lawrence Avenue, and within walking distance
of my work near the Scarborough Bluffs. I was training as a meteorological
technician and would soon be stationed in Alert, NWT.
Back to my
landlady, whom I’ll call Mrs. Littlewood because that was her name. She would
not give any of her boarders a key and she had a 10:00 pm curfew. She would
lock every door at that time and if anyone came home at 10:01 pm they were
S.O.L. That is, out of luck.
Within my
first week there I went to evening church (a pub) and didn’t get back home
until almost 10:30. I pounded on the door and windows for at least fifteen
minutes before Mr. Littlewood came to the door and let me in. “Don’t let that
happen again,” he said. “Lois will call the police. She has before – on me.”
About that time the thought of a nice warm cell on that February evening seemed
rather enticing, but I took his warning as a warning and didn’t come home late
again.
It was an
interesting household. The only bright spot was that Mrs. Littlewood could
cook, if you can stand fried baloney six times a week but I am a New
Brunswicker. If we went away for the
weekend were had to let her know exactly where to be reached at all
times and when we would be back. Another interesting item: during the four
months I lived there (Jan. 5, 1974-April 22, 1974) I had to buy three safety
razors because mine kept disappearing. I put an identifying scratch on the
third one I bought and found it later in Mr. And Mrs. Littlewood’s bathroom.
Believe me when I say I was glad
to get out of that place and here’s a final note: as I was leaving and they
were both out, I borrowed his screwdriver and removed the front door’s Yale
lock. Don’t blame me; the Devil made me do it.
-END-
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