Some Assembly Required

It’s late Christmas Eve, the tree is still lit;
I should be in bed, but here I still sit.
Regretting each choice I have made in my life;
For surely, I should be a billionaire’s wife.

Instead, there are three kids upstairs in their beds,
And beside me a dog with a cone on her head.
The floor all around me is littered with parts
of gifts, treats, and toys for my three little farts.

They all seemed like good things back there in the stores;
Little did I know this would be such a chore!
That bicycle there nearly cost me a thumb,
and the train set instructions left me feeling quite dumb.

Barbie’s Dream Home needs an engineer crew –
The roof’s looking wonky and the back wall’s askew.
The tape’s stuck to everything but the gift wrap;
I wish we had coffee and Bailey’s on tap!

Should have started a week ago (or maybe last year?!?);
I may not get finished, I might shed a tear.
But I know with the first golden rays of the dawn,
the grumbles will stop, and the anger be gone.

When they run down the stairs and peek at the tree,
And the air is filled with their screeches of glee.
I’ll be a kid again too and the long night will fade,
In my memory none of the stress will have stayed.

Until next year, when at the same place and time,
I will once again curse all these children of mine!

Pandemic Pressures at the North Pole

The Elves are getting cranky in their Workshop at the Pole;
They're running out of PPE and Naughty-List brand coal.
The masks just in are not the kind to fit their pointy ears;
They haven’t seen the Missus so depressed in all their years.

The toy stocks were growing well ‘til the BC flooding hit,
But without CP running trains the schedule’s gone to shit.
The bicycle department can’t get their tires out of customs,
So many Billies and Janies will be throwing Christmas tantrums.

With all these issues you’d think Santa would have turned to drinking,
But he’s retreated just to do some really heavy thinking.
The CEO of Santa Co. plans slow and steady gains,
By heading off an Elvin strike and managing supply chains.

You see, he’s seen this all before and made it through alright,
All he needs is to believe in the magic of Christmas night.
The piles of presents may be smaller but no small child without,
So don’t despair that you’ll be missed and put away your pout.

Merry Christmas, one and all, and here’s to another year.
May Santa make it to your house – you might want to leave him beer.

Wishful thinking

Oh, to be a dog on a log in the middle of a bog,
with the sun falling down all around.

Oh, to be a moose on the loose on the back of a caboose,
with the sun falling down all around.

Oh, to be a bug on a rug in the middle of a hug,
with the sun falling down all around.

Oh, to be a cat in a hat sleeping on a yoga mat,
with the sun falling down all around.

Oh, to be a whale eating kale while a turtle cleans her tail,
with the sun falling down all around.

Oh!

But maybe…

Perhaps…

The dog on the log,
and the moose on the loose,
and the bug on the rug,
and the cat on the mat,
and the whale eating kale,

Are just like me…

As happy as can be…

With the sun falling down all around.

Frozen in Suspense

It was the scream that made her remember.  She hadn’t meant to forget, but the whole thing had happened in the dead of winter, so what else was she supposed to do?

Another bone chilling scream came from the other room and she remembered that it had happened the winter before last, too.  The goosebumps of surprise on her skin took her back to the day it had happened – well, days it had happened, as they had really both died in similar ways, hadn’t they? She could remember the twisted limbs, the blood and hair stuck to the bars of the cage she had kept first one and then the other in for months.  The shock of finding each one gone so soon, before she could really have some fun with them.

With a sigh of regret, she got up off the couch and went to the kitchen to face the music.

“Calm down, Mum,” she said from the doorway.  Her mother was hyperventilating by the dishwasher, forgotten trays of freezer-burnt meat piled in the sink beside her, already wearing frosty fur-coats in the humid summer air.

“Why are there two dead bodies in my freezer?”, her mother exclaimed between wheezes.

“Well,” she said, “I couldn’t bury them in January, could I?” She reached into the back of the freezer and picked up the two Ziploc bags.

“Well, you get those hamsters out of my kitchen this minute! Out to the back garden with you and bury them deep enough that the cat can’t get to them again.”

“Yes, Mum,” she said, heading for the screen door.  “Sheesh, you’d think I’d stored a human head in there or something…”

run frogger,8,1

Back in the early 80’s, when I was yet a child of the single digits, the morning show of CFTR with Tom Rivers and Mike Cooper Brampton radio station CKMW ran a contest surrounding the hit new board game SuperQuiz. (Editor’s Note:  Mum corrected me on the station and says she can’t remember the DJ’s name but does remember that he was very good looking!  I think it was Russ SomethingOrOther…) My mother managed to get through on a regular basis and became one of the multi-show winners.  One of the early prizes, of course, was the actual game.  As the contest went on, Mum continued to win as did two other contestants.  All three became finalists in one last game held at the centre court of the Bramalea City Centre.  The grand prize was a brand new Commodore 64.

My father being a young electrical engineer, this was quite a coveted prize.  In preparation, he and Mum spent their evenings memorizing every card and every question in the box.  As a result, Mum was indeed crowned SuperQuiz Master and the computer came home with us that day with full fanfare from family and friends.  Its arrival in our living room was a grand party – complete with pizza and flowing alcohol.  The kids were spellbound and the adults jockeyed for position at the keyboard.  I’m sure my sister and I were carried off to bed just before our eyeballs dropped from their sockets.  The adults, meanwhile, stayed up learning all about BASIC, floppy disks and that oh so brightly coloured joystick.  Everyone had a great evening.  Except, of course, for the poor frog; he never did make it across the highway that night.

I believe

I believe in the power of humour, love and the written word.  All can conjure magic and all can induce inspiration.

I believe there is order in the chaos.  It’s just that, like any great masterpiece, one must be at a distance to see the patterns.

I believe in the guiding grace of the unseen God.   There are many sacred places on this earth and few of them have a roof.

I believe that Jesus walked the earth – as a male, a rebel and one heck of a storyteller.

I believe in MacGyver, Kermit the Frog and my Poppa.  All three have taught me invaluable lessons.

I believe that Trevor Linden was the best Canuck of all time.  And I believe there are those who should be ashamed that they let him leave for awhile.

I believe that John Denver, Great Big Sea and Matchbox Twenty can quite happily co-exist in a playlist.   Indeed all music, when played from the heart, goes together.

I believe we should bring back lawn darts.  Too many stupid kids are making it through childhood alive to reproduce.

I believe Rick Mercer should run for Prime Minister.  And if he won’t then Justin Trudeau will do.

I believe that stories change the world.  No village has ever followed a leader who couldn’t speak to them.

I believe a whisper will always trump a shout.  Everyone stops listening when one person starts shouting to be heard.

I believe the species we are exploiting will survive to enjoy this world long after we’ve self-imploded.  The only way to avoid this end is to stop the uneducated masses from breeding.

I believe we should be building factories on the Shield and growing plants in the Horseshoe.  You can’t grow a carrot in two inches of topsoil.

I believe the bottled water industry is killing the planet.  Full stop, no discussion.

I believe Paul Gross is the best actor Canada has ever produced.  If you watch his hands on stage you’ll see what I mean.

I believe that truly good lives are short.  Because they do all the right things up front and get picked to the winning team first.

I believe I will write the great Canadian novel.  But I might be eighty by the time I finish it.

I believe in kindness, politeness and in walking gently on this earth.  And I hope you do, too.

The Second Horseman of the Apocalypse

Silvery flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon.  The blackbird was startled off his perch in the old oak tree by the approaching rider, taking off with a flutter of feathers and a disgruntled caw.  The horseman was dressed all in black leather, gleaming at the seams where snow and moonlight collected.  He pushed his steed hard, its breath pillowing about them like fine, spun glass.

At the crossroads the horseman abruptly reined in and the horse skidded to a stop in the middle of the intersection.  Standing in his stirrups, the man turned and looked intently in all directions.  All was calm to the north, west and east but behind him to the south there was an approaching darkness.  The wind bore with it a low grumble, the sound of many voices raised in anguish.  Hearing this, the rider spurred his horse to the west and galloped toward the lights of a small village in the distance.

Workshop Flash Fiction – Peter and The Plan

Peter stood frozen, his sock clad toes curling against the linoleum. He could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the laugh track of the TV in the living room. Everything else was quiet. No footsteps. But he better not breathe just yet.

He snuck a peek at Bobby. Bobby had also frozen to the spot, his eyes wide and his arm still reaching forward. It looked like he wasn’t breathing either. Bobby’s eyes drifted towards Peter’s as a drop of snot dripped from his nose. Bobby didn’t even move to wipe it away – they were both too scared to move another muscle.